


Ruins of Camelot

by Robin4



Series: Ruins & Battles [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, Rumplestiltskin as the Sorcerer, Rumplestiltskin's mother, The Dark One (Once Upon a Time), alternate season 5, ends up as swanfire, slow burn swanfire, starts as captain swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 123
Words: 873,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Season 5.  Merlin is long dead, Camelot destroyed.  Emma is the Dark One, without an easy answer.  Rumplestiltskin becomes the Sorcerer, but magic alone cannot save her.  An age-old war against darkness revives in Storybrooke, in which the fate of all the realms will be decided forever—and the final battle begins.</p><p>CS until about chapter 50, after which it will shift towards slowburn SwanFire.</p><p>Winner of Best AU!OUAT, Best Season Rewrite, and Best OC in the 2016 TEAs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Truths and Half-Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Two Days Ago: the last acts of the Apprentice

“…does that mean his heart will be healed?” Belle asked, and the Apprentice glanced her way.

“Perhaps,” he said.  “If the strength is there.”

He had to give the poor woman hope, though there really was none.  He knew what he was doing, understood what would become of the host once the darkness was removed.  But if he tried to explain that now, Belle would only jump in the way.  She would try something, anything, to save the man she loved, not understanding that that man was already gone.  The true soul of Rumplestiltskin had vanished the moment the darkness consumed him; he had merely fought it longer and more effectively than any of his predecessors.  But even as the Apprentice pulled the blackened heart from Rumplestiltskin’s chest, even as he rose and chanted the words, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He was not saving Rumplestiltskin.  He was not even trying to.  He was trying to contain the darkness, as Merlin had once done, though in a far different way.  This was something Merlin had never tried, containing the world’s greatest darkness inside the Sorcerer’s Hat.  But it was the only way, lest the Dark One rule Rumplestiltskin’s body and thus gain absolute power.  Having consumed the human soul to which the kris dagger was tethered, the dagger’s control would be incomplete at best, and the darkness would reign supreme.  Those surrounding him did not fully understand the danger in this moment; fate hung in the balance, here and now, more so than with the casting of any mere curse or with the rise of any small villain.  Ironically, the only one who truly understood what had been at stake now lay unconscious on the floor, having tried to save them all from the darkness in the only twisted way the Dark One would let him try. 

Rumplestiltskin had turned to the Author, had asked him to write an alternate history where the darkness had never been chained to a human soul.  Interestingly enough, that world—backwards and twisted though it was—would have actually done what Merlin had never been able to do, and would have destroyed the darkness once and for all.  _If it had become reality,_ he thought.  To the Apprentice, that idea was a mere intellectual exercise; he hardly cared which reality was in control, provided the Author allowed people freedom of choice.  Yet that had clearly been Isaac’s doing, not Rumplestiltskin’s, a fact that the Apprentice found very curious.  No Dark One had ever died to protect others, and one _certainly_ hadn’t ever tried to write the darkness out of the story.  It was a shame that he had realized too late how different Rumplestiltskin was from his predecessors, but that no longer mattered.  That difference would serve Merlin well.

Taking a deep breath, the Apprentice began the spell, banishing Rumplestiltskin’s clumsy effort to eliminate the darkness from their world from his mind.  “Purest evil, blackest bloom, darkness, too, can find its doom.

“Never dying, but contained, bound inside the falcon's chamber, shorn of anger, thornless danger, there forever to remain," he finished the chant, and the hat obligingly opened, its power reaching out to consume the darkness.  The heart and the hat shook in his hands, and he almost let go of both several times, but after several agonizing seconds, the darkness tore out of the heart, vanishing into the hat.

He had done it.  Why had Merlin never tried this?  Surely it was easier than feeding a human soul to the darkness.  His old master should have thought of this.  Unless there was a catch?

No matter.  The heart he now held in his hand was glowing white, nearly a blank slate.  _This_ was what he needed, particularly because the Apprentice knew that the hat could not contain the darkness for long.  No, it would do for now, but it would take all of Merlin’s power to stop the darkness from escaping.  The Apprentice knew that his own power would not be enough; it never had been.

But this, this white heart, transformed the man who had been the Dark One into the perfect host for something else.  Merlin was old, and the last the Apprentice had known, his body had been failing.  Creating the Dark One had taken its toll, even with the help of the Black Fairy.  The Apprentice had always suspected that she had done _something_ to his old friend and master, but Merlin had never said.  But in past centuries—nearly a thousand years, truth be told—he had not spoken to Merlin save through the portal, in which Merlin’s power and essence could manifest itself across any realm.  He had not seen his master in person since the Apprentice had left Camelot.

Not since Camelot itself had grown out of step with normal time.  Merlin should have left then, but he had refused.  Now he would have to.  Now, he could leave his failing body, transferring his power and his soul to this new one.  Oh, it was battered, but at least Rumplestiltskin’s form was accustomed to handling great power.  That mattered, particularly with what Merlin would need to do.

Rumplestiltskin was all but gone, anyway.  His battered soul would likely be happy to move on.  If it was not, well, Merlin’s strength would soon overcome whatever remained of the man behind the darkness.

Tiredly, the Apprentice put the heart back Rumplestiltskin’s chest, where it would wait for Merlin.  Of course, Belle spoke up immediately.

“He’s barely breathing.”

The Apprentice felt a flicker of guilt, but lied, anyway.  “Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One for centuries.  His return to the man he used to be will not be easy.”  A quick flick of his hand placed a stasis spell on the former Dark One, one designed to lift only when Merlin’s power came across the realms to inhabit it.  “This will preserve him until we discern if we can help him.”

“If?” Belle questioned, and the depth of her love for this man, for this former near-demon, resonated in the air, feeling like a magical spring squeezed too tight and ready to snap back.  He would have to watch her; she might inadvertently interfere with his plans. 

_Merlin must return_ , the Apprentice thought.  _He is the only one who can—_

But then the hat began to glow, and the darkness reared out for him.  The Savior pulled it free—which she ought not have done—and he could feel his own body failing. _Is this what happened to Merlin?_ he wondered helplessly.  There was not much time, not enough to explain everything to her, but the Apprentice knew that there would be a new Dark One before the night was out.

“The Sorcerer is the only one with the power to destroy the darkness once and for all, before it destroys everything,” he told Emma in a ragged whisper, and he told her to find Merlin, hoping that his old master would come quickly to inhabit the form and soul waiting for him.

He had left so much out, told too many half-truths, but there was not time to say more.

* * *

 

Two Days Later

Henry had taken the news of Emma becoming the Dark One badly, and he knew that, but the only way he could cope with that—or the fact that the darkness had gone for _Regina_ first—was by trying to find a way to help.  No one quite knew what to make of what had happened; Storybrooke had been strangely quiet since Emma had disappeared, but Henry couldn’t forget what the Apprentice had said.

_“The Sorcerer is the only one with the power to destroy the darkness once and for all, before it destroys everything.”_

The Apprentice had told them to find Merlin, so find Merlin Henry would do.  And he _knew_ that the answer had to be in the Sorcerer’s House, or at least he knew that it had to be after he combed through the Book (again) without finding any other doors or anything.  He even asked August if he knew anything about how to get to Camelot, but August only shrugged.  So, Henry started combing the house from top to bottom, looking for clues of any sort.  Unfortunately, he’d already searched that house from top to bottom, so two days after Emma had disappeared, Henry headed over to the small house the Apprentice had in town.  Regina had offered to go with him—she still felt guilty for what had happened—but Henry had refused.  He’d just taken a set of her skeleton keys and headed over.

He stopped by the pawn shop on the way, but the lights were off and the sign was flipped to closed.  Belle had been quiet and withdrawn when Henry had seen her, and he’d understood how she’d felt.  He’d lost his mom just like Belle had lost Rumplestiltskin, and neither of them knew when they were going to get those they loved back.  He really wished he could talk to his dad right now, because if anyone knew what it was like to lose a parent to becoming the Dark One, it would have been him.  Or, he would have loved to have talked to his grandfather, but Rumplestiltskin was still in stasis.  Or sleeping.  Henry wasn’t sure which, of if he’d ever wake up.

_Some family this is turning out to be,_ he thought glumly, opening the front door.  The house smelled like dust and burnt toast, but Henry started poking around right away.  Soon enough, he found a locked door that lead seemed to lead into some sort of cellar, so he put a key in that and walked down the creaky stairs.  One of the steps was loose, almost broken, which was really odd for a house in which the Sorcerer’s Apprentice had lived.  Henry had seen him do all kinds of magic, so why would he leave his own stairs like this? 

There was a giant cauldron at the bottom, ringed with ornate carvings and an inscription in a language Henry could not read.  It was bigger than most bathtubs and made of some sort of metal; did the Apprentice do spells here?  Curiously, Henry walked up to the cauldron, peering inside. 

Nothing.

“That’s boring,” he muttered, leaning over the edge to take a closer look at the bottom.  If the Apprentice _did_ do spells in here, maybe he’d left a clue behind.  To do so, Henry let his hands rest on the edge of the cauldron—until a sudden electric shock of power threw him backwards. 

“Whoa!”  Henry landed hard on his back, but by the time he managed to sit up, he’d forgotten all about any aches and pains.  A cloud of blue power and magic had billowed out of the cauldron, full of stars and brilliant lights.

“Who calls?” a deep voice said, sounding strangely empty to Henry’s ears.  “You are not my Apprentice.”

“I’m Henry,” he replied, scrambling to his feet.  “The Apprentice is dead.”

The swirls of power and smoke made a sound that might have been a grunt; Henry was not sure.  His mind was working too quickly to pay attention to that, anyway.

“Wait a minute.  You said ‘your’ apprentice!” he exclaimed.  “Does that mean you’re Merlin?  Are you the sorcerer?”  Stepping forward again, Henry studied the cauldron.  It couldn’t be a portal or a doorway; no one had come through it.  Just power.  “And is this a way to communicate across _worlds_?”

“Who are you to ask so many questions?” the cloud asked instead of answering any of his questions.  _That usually means ‘yes’,_ Henry thought excitedly.  The Apprentice had told them to find Merlin, but he’d never expected it to be so easy.

“My mom’s the new Dark One,” he admitted.  “We’re trying to help her.  The Apprentice said that we have to find Merlin because you’re the only one who can destroy the darkness.”

Another interesting sound; this one was slightly like water swishing back and forth.  Or was that power?  Long moments of silence ticked by, and Henry tried really hard not to get impatient and demand more answers.  He had no idea what the etiquette was for talking to disembodied voices, but he’d long since learned that yelling at someone never got him what he wanted.  Unless it was Emma. Sometimes you had to shout truths at her until they hammered their way in.

Just thinking about his mom hurt, though, so Henry pushed those thoughts aside as resolutely as he could.  _She’ll be okay,_ he thought desperately.  _We’ll help her.  This is the first step.  Everything will be all right in the end._   Emma had taken on the darkness because she was a hero, and Henry was going to help her find her way back.  No matter what it took.  _And she’s my mom.  I’ll love her no matter what._

“You must come to Camelot,” the voice finally said.  “There is a doorway…”

“Where?” he asked eagerly. 

“In the lakeside house, of course.”

Henry crossed his arms.  “But where?  I’ve looked everywhere in that house.”

“This…” the voice was starting to sound tired, but a broom leaning against the wall suddenly stood up and walked over to Henry, its strides choppy and a little unsteady.  “…will take you there.”

“Cool,” Henry breathed, and then looked back up at the swirling blue mist, which seemed to be weakening, somehow.  “Will you be there?”

“You will find…what you seek,” the voice whispered, and then the cloud vanished, as if sucked back into the cauldron by some great force.  Henry stood for several long moments, staring at the now-empty cauldron while the broom waited patiently by his side, and then he squared his shoulders and headed out of the house.

Emma needed saving, and this time _Henry_ was going to do just that.

* * *

 

_Kill them all,_ the voice in her mind whispered seductively, or was that her own thoughts?  Emma couldn’t tell.  She’d fled into the forest, her last act as _Emma_ to leave the dagger behind where someone could keep it safe, but she could no longer tell where she ended and the Dark One began.  _Kill.  Rule.  Power.  Power-power-power-power.  Must have more power._

Words like that had echoed through her head for hours.  Or was it days?  Time bled into itself; Emma had no idea how long had passed.  She’d tried desperately to think of Henry at first, of Killian, of her parents and even of Regina.  Nothing had worked.  Nothing calmed the boiling rage within her; magic roared out of her in bursts, laying waste to the trees around her until Emma sat inside a ring of fire.  But the fire only taunted her, full of the faces of people who would hate her now.  _They won’t understand,_ she thought desperately.  _They_ can’t _understand._   Even her family, who had once loved her so much, would hate what she had become.

But Emma did not.  _Emma_ was stronger than she had ever been.  The power at her fingertips was amazing.  If Savior magic had been strong, the Darkness was even stronger, and she barely even had to _think_ before power leapt to do her bidding.  She could build herself a castle.  She could destroy her enemies.  She could turn those who had hurt her family to dust, all without blinking an eye.  She could make them pay.  She could make sure no one ever hurt her family again, no one ever took away someone she _loved_.  She could save them.  She could save Killian if someone tried to take him away the way Graham and Neal had been taken from her.  She could keep Henry safe—no one would _ever_ dare harm the son of the Dark One .

Except they would.  Wouldn’t they?  _They will try to control you.  Kill them before they can,_ the voice whispered, and Emma felt the rage building.  Common sense told her that she should not give in, so she tried to fight it back, tried to think of everyone she loved and everyone she needed to protect—and then wild purple lightning ripped out of her hands, crashing into a trio of oak trees and bringing them crashing towards the ground.

_Danger._

Instinctively, she lashed out, and all three trees disintegrated, reaching the ground as fine black dust.  Chest heaving, Emma stared at what she had done, not remembering even _thinking_ about doing that. 

“What’s happened to me?” she whispered, looking down at her hands.  There was power there, so much power.  Power to do anything she’d ever _dreamed_ of. 

_There is danger.  Destroy the danger._   She should do that, right?  Emma had always been too worried about doing the right thing, but that was foolish.  Protecting her family was more important.  The darkness inside her was possessive over them, she realized, but she could live with that.  They were _hers_.  She would keep them safe.

Emma would destroy _anyone_ who tried to harm those she loved. 

* * *

 

The broom had stopped in the middle of the back garden at the Sorcerer’s House, and at first, Henry had though that it had just run out of gas.  But it just kept _standing_ there, like there was something to be found, so he started groping around, feeling a little foolish.  Or maybe like a mime.  Mimes did this kind of thing all the time, didn’t they?  Thinking like that didn’t make Henry feel any less silly, though, and he’d almost given up when his left hand suddenly came into contact with wood.  And the moment he touched the outer edge of the frame, the great oak door shimmered into existence. 

“Yes!” Henry hissed in triumph, and then pulled out his cell phone, calling his mom to get everyone over to the Sorcerer’s House.  It didn’t take long, but by the time everyone had arrived, the broom had dropped back to the floor and lost its magic.

Regina and Robin arrived hand in hand; they’d been talking a lot and trying to work through everything that had happened, Henry knew, and Robin was the only reason Regina was able to overcome how guilty she felt that Emma had taken on that darkness to save _her_.  Roland was with them, and Henry didn’t begrudge the little boy a bit of the attention his adopted mother was giving him.  Roland had been through a lot, even if he didn’t remember much of it, and Henry was a lot older than he was.  Henry was old enough to _find_ solutions instead of waiting for some adult to hand them to him.

“What did you find, Henry?” Regina spoke up when everyone was there.  Snow and Charming had followed her in, and Henry’s grandparents looked _terrible_.  Henry was willing to bet that they hadn’t slept a wink in the two days since Emma had disappeared, and the Dark One’s dagger was clutched tightly in Snow’s white-knuckled hand.

Hook, on the other hand, just looked like he was waiting to be woken up from a terrible nightmare.  He didn’t look like he’d slept, either, and wore a glazed over expression that said he was still in utter shock.  Henry hadn’t always been comfortable with his mom’s relationship with the pirate, mostly because he wasn’t sure if Hook was good enough for her, but he did know that Killian really seemed to love her.  What would happen now that Emma was the Dark One was anyone’s guess, but at least Hook seemed to be sticking by her.  _She deserves that._

For a moment, Henry contemplated calling Belle and asking her if she wanted to be there, because she was family, too.  But she had enough to worry about, watching over Grandpa Gold like she was, and there really wasn’t time.  He had no idea how long the door would last.  Instead, he squared his shoulders and pointed at the door to his left.

“I found a door.  I think it leads to Camelot.”

“Camelot?” David spoke up immediately, studying the oak door.  “What makes you think that?”

“Well, King Arthur was Arthur _Pendragon_ , and the door does have a dragon on it.  And a sword that looks like Excalibur,” Henry pointed out.  “And the Apprentice _did_ say to find Merlin, and that he was very far away.  It would only make sense that he’s in Camelot, and that the door would be here.”

“But there’s no way to actually know where the door leads until someone steps through it,” Regina mused, stepping forward to study the door. 

“Well, not exactly,” he admitted, shrugging.  “But I did go to the Apprentice’s house, and I think there’s some kind of communications portal there.  I talked to someone—and I think it was Merlin—and he enchanted this broom.  It found the door.”

His mom and both his grandparents stared at him like he’d done something terribly reckless, and Henry braced himself for a lecture on how he shouldn’t fool with magical objects by himself.  The broom was worthless, now, but they _had_ to believe him.  Didn’t they?

“It leads to Camelot,” Hook spoke up suddenly, making everyone turn to him.

“How do you know?” Robin asked.

“I know.”

“Now’s not a good time for secrets, Killian,” David admonished the pirate, sounding exhausted, and Hook shrugged.

“I’ve… been there before,” he answered slowly.  “I know the royal seal of Camelot, and that’s it.”

“He’s right,” Regina put in, studying the door again.  “I’ve seen that before, too.”

That made Henry turn to look at his mother, curiosity momentarily overriding his worry for Emma.  “You’ve been to Camelot?”

“Oh, no.  One of my early suitors was from there, though,” she replied.  “It was a long time ago, though.”

“That sounds like a heck of a story,” David commented.

“Not really.  I wasn’t what he wanted, and Mother was disappointed.”

No one seemed to know what to say about that, until Snow spoke up, still holding the dagger tightly.  “Should we summon Emma?” she asked softly.  “I mean, no one has seen her in two days, and this _does_ concern her…”

“She needs time,” Regina shook her head.  “She hasn’t hurt anyone, and I think we should give Emma her space.”

“I feel wrong summoning her, but what if she’s hurt?” Henry’s grandmother said worriedly.  “We’re her family, and we should help her.”

“And we don’t know what we’ll find,” Hook pointed out.  “Best not to get her hopes up.”

“We?” Regina questioned the pirate, her eyebrows rising.

“Well, you can’t go, love,” he pointed out, much to Henry’s surprise.  “You’re the only magic user we have, so you pretty much have to stay.  As do David and Snow, because Emma might need them.  That pretty much leaves Henry and I.”

“I’m going,” Henry said before anyone could tell him not to.  He was old enough to cross worlds, old enough that he’d saved everyone in the alternate universe, and Henry was _not_ going to be shut out this time.  “I can help.  I’m gonna go.”

“Henry…” David started to say, but trailed off, exchanging a helpless glance with Snow.  Then he sighed.  “Hook’s right.”

“The hell he is!” Regina snapped, turning to put her hands on his shoulders.  “Henry, I’m not letting you go into danger—”

“Mom, I’m _always_ in danger.  Almost everything in Storybrooke is dangerous, and I’m almost thirteen.  You can’t protect me from everything,” he said as strongly as he could.  “And I can help.  I _need_ to help.”

“Sweetie…”

“I can _do_ this.  Please don’t try to stop me.”

* * *

 

Will had helped Belle bring Rumplestiltskin home hours after the others had left the shop.  None of them had come back, although when Will had dropped by, he’d let her know that Emma had apparently taken the darkness into herself and disappeared.  Belle wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, except for being certain that the Charmings would eventually storm into the shop to demand answers about what being the Dark One meant for Emma.  _I would love to help,_ Belle thought brokenly.  _But I don’t know any more than they do._

That much grew painfully obvious the longer she sat at Rumplestiltskin’s side. Will had helped get her husband into the guest bedroom downstairs—the thought of hauling Rumple up the stairs had just been too exhausting after getting him to the pink mansion—but he’d left Belle alone after that.  In turn, she’d sat by Rumplestiltskin’s side, holding his hand and whispering to him, praying he’d wake up.  But for two days, nothing had happened.  No one had come by the house, and she had stayed with him, her despair growing by the moment.  _The Apprentice had said he will wake up if he has the strength,_ Belle remembered, and that very thought made her want to cry.  Again.

_“You make me stronger,”_ Rumplestiltskin had said to her once, just as he pushed aside centuries of self-loathing and fears to kill himself, saving an entire town full of people who hated him. 

She had always been his _strength_ .  That realization ripped through Belle with the force of a hurricane, almost sending her out of the chair and onto her knees on the floor.  She had sent him away, had banished him without letting him explain, all because she’d assumed _she_ hadn’t been the thing he loved most.  She’d found that gauntlet, and it had led her to the dagger, and Rumplestiltskin’s words had echoed through her mind—but not all of them.  She’d only remembered how he’d said that the gauntlet led to a person’s greatest weakness, the thing they loved most.  _Usually_ had been a word that was lost within her burning pain, and Belle had marched up to that clock tower full of righteous anger.  Oh, she’d also wanted to save the town, but truth be told, Belle’s fury had been rooted in the fact that she’d been convinced that he’d never really loved her.

_“Why wasn't it good enough?” she had whispered._

_“Because I didn't believe it.  Who could ever love me?”_

The memory knocked the wind out of Belle, and made her tears start anew.  _How could I not have seen it?_ She had doubted his love…just as Rumple had wondered who could ever love him.  He had been so broken, and he had lost so much.  How many times had Rumplestiltskin told her that he knew she would leave him eventually?  That night in the shop, Belle had told him that she wasn’t going to leave, and he had said that he pushed her to it.  Yet…Belle knew that things were not that simple.  She had walked out on him before, and she had tried to force him to her will the _one_ time in their marriage that they had disagreed.  _Is that what he thought, even has he forgave me so freely?_ she wondered brokenly.  _That I wanted to control him more than I loved him?_

Her face was wet with tears already.  They really were a pair, weren’t they?  Each doubting one another, him lying and her trying to control him.  Perhaps they deserved one another, after all.  Belle had always thought that if she loved Rumplestiltskin enough, she could help him, and sometimes that even worked.  But he wasn’t the only one who had made mistakes.  She’d made plenty of her own.  They had wrecked their marriage together.

 “I think finally I understand what you were trying to do when you wanted the author to write a different ending.”  She bit her lip, studying the face that hadn’t so much as twitched for two days and trying to _will_ it back to life.  The words came slowly and painfully as everything finally sank in.

“You were trying to save us, weren’t you?  It was the only thing you knew how to do, to have Isaac write the darkness out of the story…”  Belle swallowed, but she’d always been good at putting the pieces together.  “I heard what he said to you in our house, when I was supposed to be getting water.  He gave you a family to fight for, because he knew you’d do his dirty work for him if he gave you people that you loved.  People to fight for.”

Tears streaming down her face, Belle leaned over to brokenly kiss Rumplestiltskin’s hand.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I told you that I wasn’t going to pull back, that I knew what I was getting into, but you weren’t the only one that forced me to push you away.  I did that, too.  I promised you forever, and at the first real test, I let you down.”

Biting back a sob, Belle finally let her head fall to rest on her husband’s chest.  “I love you.  I want you to know that.  I love _you_ , Rumplestiltskin.  Whoever or whatever you are. ”

He smelled _right_.  Closing her eyes, let herself imagine, just for a moment, that they were back before everything went wrong and they were happy.  There had been a few short moments of true happiness, like the day Rumplestiltskin had come back from Neverland, determined to do right by his family and finally having earned the forgiveness of his son.  Back then, she’d been so convinced that they could fight back his darkness, but then he’d died, and _everything_ had changed.  And she would never have the chance to fix things.

“I’ll always love you,” she added quietly, finally just letting herself cry for what she had lost and the mistakes she had made.  “Please don’t leave me.”

“I love you, too,” a scratchy voice whispered.  But it had to be her imagination.  Rumple was in stasis, and might never wake up.  But, because hope was such a brutal thing, Belle had to sit up and look at him, turning her head to focus on his face through her tears.  His eyes were open.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were _open_.

_“Rumple?”_

“Hi,” he whispered, looking exhausted…and so very hesitant.  “Belle, I—”

“I know,” she cut him off, leaning forward to touch his face with her right hand, while still clinging to _his_ right hand with her left.  “I’m sorry, too.”

“How am I awake?” Rumplestiltskin asked, blinking in confusion.  “I should be gone.  The Dark One should be in control.”

She shook her head.  “The Apprentice pulled the darkness from your heart.  He tried to trap it in the Hat, but it escaped.” Sucking in a deep breath, Belle said the rest in a rush: “Emma took it on.  She’s the Dark One, now.”

“That explains why it’s so quiet,” he said softly, blinking something away.

“Quiet?”

“In my head.  For three hundred years, my curse—the darkness—it’s whispered to me, latching on to my emotions and my fears, driving me… Oh, I suppose that doesn’t matter, now.”

“Why not?” Belle asked, squeezing his hand as his eyes drifted away from hers, focusing on the far wall.  She let her hand fall to his shoulder as his head turned, trying to offer support without being overbearing.  There was an emptiness in him like Belle had never seen before.  Was it because the Apprentice had sucked _everything_ out of his heart, not just the darkness?  Belle couldn’t remember if the sole spot of red had still been there or not when the Apprentice had put Rumplestiltskin’s heart back in.  She’d been too terrified of him dying to notice at the time.

“My choices were my own,” Rumplestiltskin whispered raggedly.

But there was something in his face that gave her pause.  “Were they?”

“I’m not trying to make excuses.”  Now Rumplestiltskin bit his lip, still staring at the wall.  His hand was limp in hers, and Belle got the feeling that he was drowning in the emptiness, unsure of what to do or who he was.  “I know I did unforgivable things.”

“Please tell me the truth,” Belle pleaded.  “Please don’t lock me out.”

A long moment passed before he answered, still not looking at her.  But his face was set, as if Rumplestiltskin was bracing himself against the truth.  _Against rejection?_

“I…I don’t know.  It was so hard to tell, towards the end,” he admitted.  “Before I died, I could hold the darkness at bay, could keep it from consuming my heart.  My soul.  But when I was brought back”—his voice cracked, and Belle squeezed his hand tightly—“I couldn’t.  Zelena wouldn’t let me, and by the time I was free, it was too late.  And I couldn’t tell the difference between my thoughts and the darkness.  Not anymore.”

“What about when you gave me the dagger?” Belle had to ask, bracing herself for the truth.  She _needed_ to know.   “Was that real, or was it a fake all along?”

“Oh, no.”  Finally, he turned to look at her, his expression broken.  “That was real.  I…I hoped that your goodness could stop me.  That if you had the dagger, I could stop myself.”

“Why didn’t you _say_ that?” she whispered.

“Because I _couldn’t_.”

Belle wanted to shake him, but again, there was something in Rumplestiltskin’s expression that stopped her.  Something tormented and so utterly broken.  He wasn’t trying to cover up his errors, and he wasn’t trying to make excuses.  _But is he trying to take_ all _the blame when he shouldn’t?_   “Why not?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“I…I tried.  I wanted to make things right, and every time I took the dagger, I wanted to give it back,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  “But I couldn’t.  And I honestly don’t know if that was my own fears or the curse.  There was no way to tell.  I was in too deep.” He cringed, and there were tears in his eyes, too. “I know I can’t make it up to you.  I know I ruined everything.  I just…”

He trailed off, looking helpless, and Belle felt her heart twisting in her chest. 

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle breathed, squeezing his hand again.  Much to her surprise, that made him jump.  “I still love you, you know.  Every part of you.”

“You do?”

Her laugh was watery. “Of course I do. I always will.  None of this would have hurt so much if I didn’t.”

The smile that lit his face was as hesitant as it was real, but Belle could see that her husband felt guilty for any joy her statement had given him.  “It was never a contest between you and power,” Rumplestiltskin whispered quickly.  “I always wanted to choose you.  I just…didn’t know how to live without power.”  _His_ laugh was bitter.  “Now I suppose I’ll find out.”

“Do you regret not being the Dark One?” Belle had to know.  She knew that she shouldn’t ask, that his answer would likely hang over them for the rest of their lives, but she _needed_ to know.

“I don’t regret owning my own soul,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “I just don’t know what I am without magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Two—"A Deal You Did Not Understand", in which Henry and Hook head to Camelot, Rumplestiltskin tries to figure out who he is now, Emma ventures out to face civilization, and something goes terribly you're waiting, please do let me know what you think!
> 
> If you're not already following me on tumblr, check out [toseehowthestoryends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com) for sneak peeks, artwork, and more!


	2. A Deal You Did Not Understand

“Ready?” Henry asked the pirate early the next morning.  It was barely dawn, but it was time to use the door he had found.  They’d spent the previous day preparing to go to Camelot, pouring over every book they could find in the Sorcerer’s House and learning everything they could.  Or… _Henry_ had, anyway.  He wasn’t sure what his mom’s boyfriend had been doing.

Maybe he’d been searching for Emma.  Henry’s other mom was against it, but he knew that his grandparents were torn.  They wanted to help Emma, wanted to make everything right, and although he shared that desire, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Regina knew best.  A large part of him wanted to go hunt Emma down like he had when the Snow Queen had unhinged her powers, but he knew better.  Henry still wanted—more than anything!—to help her, but he knew that would take some planning.  He couldn’t just rush in this time.  Last time, that had only made Emma run away.  He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

“Aye,” Killian replied, but instead of stepping forward, he handed Henry a long object wrapped in cloth.  “But first, you should have this.”

“What is it?” he asked, accepting the object, and immediately realizing that it felt like some sort of sword.  Excited despite his worry for his mom, Henry tore the wrapping aside to reveal a cutlass.  “You’re giving me a sword?”

“Well, you might need it where we’re going,” the pirate answered, looking a little self-conscious.  “And…it belonged to your father.  It’s the same sword your mother used when we were in Neverland to rescue you.  I think they’d both want you to have it.”

Staring at the sword made Henry swallow hard, but the way his throat closed up was almost a good kind of pain. He had so very little that had belonged to his father—just the swan pendant Emma had given him, which he still wore—and this sword was an utterly unexpected gift.  It was by far the nicest thing Hook had ever done for him, and he found a real smile touching his face for the first time in three days.  “Thanks, Killian.”

“You’re welcome, lad,” was the reply, with an equally tired and hesitant smile.  “Now, let’s go find Merlin so he can help your mother, shall we?”

“Definitely,” Henry agreed, and they strode through the doorway together.

* * *

 

Belle was still sleeping, but Rumplestiltskin had been awake for over an hour.  He hadn’t gotten up, yet—he wasn’t sure if he _could_ do so without limping, and he wasn’t sure where his cane actually was.  Besides, getting out of bed would probably disturb his wife, and that was the last thing Rumplestiltskin wanted to do.  Because…while he had no idea who _he_ was now, the only thing he was certain of was that he loved Belle.

Love was an amazing feeling without all that darkness corrupting his soul.  For the first time in centuries, he could _feel_ everything; his love wasn’t twisted and muted and tied into knots.  It was his and it was real, and Rumplestiltskin could feel every thread of it running through his body.  Through his soul.  He’d told Belle that he didn’t regret owning his own soul, and he _didn’t_ …even if he didn’t know what that meant.  Not really.  In truth, he could hardly remember the man he had been before becoming the Dark One.  Oh, he still despised the coward he had been, still hated the memory of having groveled at men’s feet to keep his son safe.  _That_ he could remember.  But everything else was lost in the blur of three centuries of other memories, of becoming a force larger than life, the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest.

He didn’t know what he was, now.  Or even who he was. Belle had told him that his heart had been white, pure and maybe empty, when the Apprentice had put it back in his chest.  She’d told him how the Apprentice had put him into stasis to ‘preserve him’…and yet something in there rang just _wrong_.  Rumplestiltskin vaguely remembered not dreaming, not drifting, but darkness and more darkness, a sticky and overpowering evil that he recognized from somewhere.  But perhaps his memories were playing tricks on him.  Perhaps he was remembering the moments when his heart turned truly black, when he’d been fighting so desperately to hold onto the part of him that loved Belle, because otherwise their entire world might be destroyed by the Dark One wearing his face.

Whatever he was, he was a failure, wasn’t he?  He’d asked Isaac to write a story where he was not the Dark One, where the Dark One did not exist at all.  If that alternate universe had held, the darkness would have been written out…and yet he’d been a fool to trust the author.  Isaac had gone too far, had created a world where everything was upside down.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t wanted to be a hero; he’d just wanted a world where the villains could win, _too_.  Instead, Isaac had given him a life and a family to fight for, and expected Rumplestiltskin to do his dirty work for him.

Part of him admired the author for the cleverness of that plan.  The rest of him was just disgusted that he’d let himself be manipulated like that, that he’d tried to kill his _grandson_ in that world.  Oh, he’d not known who Henry was, but that didn’t matter, did it?  They would all remember.

 _And they’ll hate me.  It doesn’t matter if I’m free of the darkness,_ he knew.  _They’ll hate me anyway, no matter who I am now._ Fear stole up his spine in a shiver.  _And now I can’t defend myself, or Belle._

Stealing a glance at her, he felt his heart clench.  He was back to being a powerless cripple, wasn’t he?  He didn’t deserve Belle, much though he loved her.  He never had.

“Rumple?” her voice whispered, and with a start, he realized she had been watching him.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered as quickly as he could, trying to bury his feelings behind an impassive expression.  But she noticed.  Belle almost always did.

“Please don’t do this,” she begged him, sitting up as Rumplestiltskin looked away, unable to bear the compassion in those beautiful blue eyes.  “You admitted last night that much of the problem came because we couldn’t _talk_ to one another.  Please don’t start that again.”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted heavily, closing his eyes and wondering how long it would be before she left him.  Before he failed her. 

He always did, after all.  Dark One or not, he always failed those he loved.

Rumplestiltskin felt the bed shift as she moved closer to him, but didn’t expect the arm that wrapped around his waist or the kiss that pressed into his shoulder.  “Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That I don’t deserve you,” he answered, figuring that he could at least give her honesty.  He owed her that much, and the truth came more easily without the darkness gnawing at his shredded soul.  “I have nothing to offer you.  I’m just a crippled old man, a broken villain, without even the power to protect you from those who hate me.”

“I don’t love you for your power, you know,” Belle whispered. 

“I know _that_ ,” Rumplestiltskin said, because even in his worst moments, he had known that was true.  Belle had been the only one who ever even saw the man underneath the monster, and somehow, she had loved Rumplestiltskin.  Not the Dark One.

“And love isn’t about deserving.”  She kissed his shoulder again, and despite himself, Rumplestiltskin leaned into her touch.  “If it was, you wouldn’t love me after how badly I hurt you.”

“That was my fault,” he answered automatically.

“And mine.”

They’d gone through this more than once the night before, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to rehash the old arguments.  They’d both apologized; they’d both cried.  They’d shouted and raged at one another a little, needing to uncork the pain of the hurts they had done to one another.  And somehow, they’d made each another a promise of no more secrets and no more lies, of an attempt to trust and restart the marriage he had fouled up so badly.  He didn’t deserve that, and a part of him knew that Belle would someday wise up and walk away…but a part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to fight for her, too.  Even if he’d never really known how.

“Rumple?” Belle said softly, her chin perched on his shoulder and her body pressed into his so warmly and comfortingly.

“Yes?”

“Didn’t you once tell me that anyone can learn magic?” his wife wondered, and the question made him blink.

“More or less,” he said slowly, his heart leaping as he realized where she must be heading with this.  “Most people can.”

 _I can’t,_ a terrified little voice inside him whispered.

“Could you?” Belle asked, echoing his thoughts in reverse.  “I mean, I don’t think you should try yet,” she added in a rush.  “Not until you know who you want to be.  But…couldn’t you?”

“I thought you didn’t like that me,” he objected, his voice almost too quiet for his own ears.

This time the kiss fell on his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin melted into her, needing her terribly.  “I know magic makes you feel safe.”

“Belle, I…”

“Can you just promise me that you’ll wait until you can decide who you want to be?  So that power doesn’t become a wall for you to hide behind?” she begged him.  Hearing the pain in her voice made Rumplestiltskin turn to face her, and he could see the worry etched into her features.

 _She really isn’t going to leave_ , he realized, his heart pounding in his chest.  That truth sank in, really sank in, for the first time since he’d admitted to himself that he loved her, and it seared into his heart like a brand.  _True Love must be fought for_.  And Belle was worth a life without magic, if it came to that.

“I promise,” he said without hesitation. 

After all, once—centuries ago—he had thought he could turn that power to good.  He had been so very wrong, but maybe he actually _could_ do good with his knowledge, now. 

* * *

 

She was hungry.

Emma had spent three days in the woods, never staying the night in the same location twice.  Her body didn’t seem to be as bothered by the elements as it once had been—it was stronger, more resilient, and felt _amazing_ —but hunger still started gnawing at her after the first night.  Instinct told her that this craving wasn’t simply for food, because she thought she could live without _that_ , but Emma refused to feed the growing darkness any of its preferred dishes.  Sure, she’d destroyed trees (and sort of reassembled them afterwards).  And maybe she’d burned the ground a little bit with an uncontrollable temper tantrum.  But that wasn’t the same as destroying homes or people, and Emma wasn’t going to let herself do that.  She was the Savior.  She might be the Dark One, too, but surely she could control that.

 _And now you have the power to save whomever you wish,_ she thought.  Or was that the darkness?  Telling the two apart was almost impossible, but the words were true.  Weren’t they?  She had more power than she’d ever dreamed of, now.  Emma had been fairly confident in her growing powers as a sorceress, but that had been nothing like _this_.  This was easy, this was simple!  All she had to do was _want_ something and it happened.  No complicated spells, no stupidly insane focus on protective feelings or anything else.  She didn’t have to follow Regina’s rules, now.  Now she had enough power to do whatever she wanted.  _I won’t be like Rumplestiltskin,_ she promised herself, vaguely aware of voiceless whispers in the back of her mind.  _I can still be_ good _.  I can do good things with this power._

Couldn’t she?

Teleporting was easy.  Why hadn’t she ever tried this before?  But she never had so much as attempted to teleport before she’d dropped the dagger—a foolish, foolish decision that she could hardly remember her reasons for doing.  _I did it so that they could stop me,_ Emma told herself firmly, appearing in the alley behind Granny’s.  _I was afraid I couldn’t control myself, but I_ can.  She was done feeling overwhelming rage.  She could stop herself now.  Emma knew that, even if she wasn’t ready to face her family just yet.

 _They won’t understand,_ she thought sadly, quietly using magic to unlock the diner’s back door as she conjured a hooded cloak up for herself out of nothing.  _They’ll try to take this away, whereas I know that I can use the power for good.  Telling my parents to find a way to get the darkness out of me again was foolish.  I can use this power for good._   Maybe Killian would understand.  He’d been a villain; he’d embraced his own darkness more than once.  Yet Emma had still avoided him when he’d walked through the woods calling her name, because in her heart, she knew he wouldn’t understand, either.  And she couldn’t face the world if he hated her.

 _Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One.  Rumplestiltskin killed the woman Killian loved, long ago.  What if he hates_ me _for that, too?_   Emma barely caught the surge of temper that rose; it wanted to lash out and destroy the cake cabinet, but she stopped it in time.  _I can do this, no matter what_ they _think,_ she thought angrily, even though she wasn’t sure why she was angry.  But she _did_ know why she was hungry, even if her stomach wasn’t growling as loudly as it should have been after three days without food.  Emma might not have been ready to face any of them, but she did need food, which meant Granny’s was the logical place to go.  The lasagna was frozen, after all, and fully cooked.  All she had to do was grab a chunk, throw it in the microwave in the back, and she’d be out before anyone came in to open the diner.

Walking past the counter and ducking into the kitchen, Emma dropped a handful of money on of the bar.  It was enough to cover anything she stole, and she’d apologize later.  After she had control of everything, after she was ready to see other people.  But not now.  For now, the cash would be enough.

The freezer wasn’t as cold as she would have thought it should be, or was that all the power running through her?  What power could accomplish truly was amazing.  She could do _anything_ now, couldn’t she?  Emma didn’t even need to search the freezer for lasagna; her magic told her right where it was with barely a thought.  Distantly, she felt something—a price?—nagging at the edge of her consciousness, but she could ignore that.  _It’s insignificant,_ she thought.  Or the darkness told her.  She still couldn’t tell where Emma Swan ended and the darkness began, but that didn’t really matter, did it?  She could even cook the lasagna with magic!  Who needed microwaves or modern conveniences? Magic could do _everything._

_Creak._

The sound made her turn her head, made her heart leap.  _Danger,_ a voice inside her whispered, and Emma knew she had to investigate.  Perhaps someone was stealing from Granny.  She was the sheriff, still.  She had to stop that.  _Kill the danger,_ the voice added persuasively, and that did sound like a good idea.  Thieves threatened all the law-abiding citizens of Storybrooke.  She was sure this one had done more than just steal things.  Whoever it was deserved whatever they got.  _No,_ she thought frantically, mentally backpedalling.  That was why Storybrooke had a _jail_.  She didn’t have to kill a thief!  She was the sheriff.  She was supposed to arrest thieves, not kill them.

 _What is_ happening _to me?_ she thought for the hundredth time, battling back the darkness with a deep breath.  She wasn’t a bad person.  She was going to use this power for good.  She was.

Cautiously, Emma made her way back into the dining room, leaving her newly-cooked lasagna on the table in the kitchen.  She could go back for it after she dealt with this thief—but there was no one there.  Blinking slowly, Emma looked around the room, but it was empty.  The door, however, was ajar, and Emma walked over to investigate that, every sense tingling.  She couldn’t see anyone sprinting away from the diner, and no one appeared to be hiding near the tables outside.  

“Hold it right there,” a gravelly voice commanded, and Emma whirled around.   “Emma?” Granny asked in surprise, her eyes wide.  “Are you all right?”

Granny stood behind the counter with a crossbow, her expression one of shock and not murder.  But Emma—and the darkness within her—only zeroed in on the crossbow, on the bolt that was loaded and ready to fire.  She never noticed that the weapon was already being lowered before her hand started moving, almost on its own.  Rage filled her—how _dare_ Granny threaten her?  She here to _help!_   She was the sheriff, and no one got to point a weapon at her!

 _Threat_ , the voice said.  _Destroy the threat._ The crossbow wasn’t pointed at Emma’s heart any longer, but it was still pointed at her, and Emma’s right hand pitched up before she could even _think_ about what she was doing.  Shaking in rage, her fingers tightened as her wrist rotated, and the crossbow jumped out of Granny’s hands before the old woman could even yelp in surprise.  Immediately, it flipped end-over-end, twisting in midair until it was hovering right between Granny’s eyes, only inches away. _Kill her,_ the voice inside Emma crooned, seductive and taunting all at the same time.  _Kill her and feed the bloodlust.  Kill her and have peace!_   Her head was killing her, pounding like an earthquake was happening inside her soul.

“What the hell are you doing?” Granny demanded, all bluff and bluster, as usual.  Her eyes were wide, but the old woman was brave—and that was her downfall.

Had she pleaded or cried, that might have broken through to the human underneath the darkness.  But she hadn’t.

Emma’s fingers twitched.

_Twang._

* * *

 

Will couldn’t believe his bloody eyes.

Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly in the loop about everything that had happened in town, but word had gotten around pretty quickly that the blonde sheriff was now the Dark One.  Rumors had traveled about like crazy, talking about how she’d torn the darkness out of Gold, about how he’d infected her with it, or about how it had just gone wild by itself.  Gold was dead, Gold was laughing, Emma was dead, and Emma was the Dark One.  Belle had set the record straight for him when he’d dropped by to help her take care of her husband—the fact that she’d go back to Gold once the idiot got himself straightened out had never been a question in Will’s mind—but he still hadn’t expected to see Emma-the-bloody-Dark-One-Swan in Granny’s that morning.

 _He’d_ been dropping by to tell the cranky old bat that her back door was open.  Will Scarlet wasn’t exactly a font of good deeds, but Belle had made the point to him some weeks ago that he should probably try to turn over a new leaf with the people of Storybrooke.  Most of them didn’t know him from Alice, and well, it wouldn’t hurt not to be thought of as scum.  So, he’d ducked in the open back door like any concerned citizen, only to see Granny’s crossbow dance out of her hands and then promptly shoot the old woman right between the eyes.

“No!” Swan cried, lunging forward after the bolt slammed into Granny’s skull, as if she hadn’t just done that little bit of insanity.  The sheriff—though Will was willing to bet she wouldn’t hold _that_ title for three seconds past when someone learned of this—didn’t manage to catch Granny before she hit the floor, though she did teleport herself to the other side of the counter after a moment, landing next to Granny.

 _Damn sorcerers.  Nothin’ good comes of ‘em, even when they have to use a flying carpet instead of teleporting,_ Will thought, vaguely wondering if he was in shock.  He had to be, if he was standing here like a blooming moron, just watching Emma Swan bend over Granny’s now _very_ dead body.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Swan wailed, but somehow that became a giggle soon enough despite the tears rolling down her face.  “I shot you with your own crossbow.”  Giggle.  “ _You_ shouldn’t have done that!”

Swan let out a shriek, full of fury and despair, that should have woken half the town, but Will was personally betting that they’d probably go deaf in their sleep, first.  Her eyes were wild, for a moment a little more reptilian than human, and looking at her was enough to send Will high-tailing it the hell out of the diner.  He didn’t want to tangle with that.  No, sir.  Mistress Scarlet hadn’t raised her son to be an idiot, and only a complete and utter fool would stick around right now.

He’d made it outside—and out of the alley, to the right, and three doors down—before Will paused to consider what he should do about this one.  Would anyone believe him?  Swan would undoubtedly be long gone before anyone saw who had done Granny in, and it wasn’t like there would be fingerprints on the crossbow.  The bloody heroes were as likely to pin it on him as on one of their own, and as far as they knew, Swan was still one of their own.

 _Not to mention that the other bleeding sheriff is her father,_ he thought.  They’d never believe him, would they?

* * *

 

The door led them right into a crumbling courtyard, one devoid of human life.  There was a gate set in a wall about a dozen feet away, but it was half torn off its hinges and looked like it had been melted around the edges.  Vines covered the three walls Henry could see, but none of those walls seemed to be in very good shape, and half the vines were dead. One walls had even half fallen down, leaving big stones all over the courtyard, and although he could tell that there had once been a mosaic around the fountain, that seemed to be ruined, too.

“It looks like there was a battle, here,” he said, glancing at Killian.

“There was.  This the old castle, Camulodunum,” was the distracted reply.  “There’s a another castle up on that hill.”  Hook pointed, and Henry followed his gaze to see a gigantic castle towering over the one whose courtyard they were in.  There was a town, very medieval and quaint looking, spread between the two castles, ringed by a high wall that looked to be in far better repair than the one around their courtyard.  “That’s what people call Camelot these days.”

“These days?” Henry echoed, looking at the grand castle.  What he could see of this one was in ruins, half melted and very broken down.  Most of the roof didn’t even seem intact, and even where it was still attached to the walls, it looked…liquefied.  “It looks like a dragon burned up the old castle.”

“Legend says one did,” Killian said, and then shrugged. 

“But King Arthur defeated the dragon, right?” he couldn’t help asking.  Henry had always loved stories of Camelot as a kid, and knowing the place was real was very exciting.  Even if it did look very empty.  _I’m in another world!  I didn’t get a chance to savor that in the Enchanted Forest before Isaac tied me up, but that wasn’t real, anyway.  This is!_

Killian snorted.  “King Arthur was dead, lad.  His son, Mordred, ruled last I was here.”

“Oh.”  So, Camelot was another place where the legends in their world didn’t quite get it right.  Henry burned to ask more—because none of the few books they’d been able to find said much at all—but for now, they had work to do.  “So, should we go inside?  And how do you know so much about Camelot, anyway?  You sound like you did more than visit.”

Was that guilt flashing across Killian’s face?  Henry thought so, but he wasn’t sure.  At any rate, they started picking their way across the rubble, aiming for the single door that seemed to lead out of the courtyard.  After a moment, the pirate answered, almost too quietly for Henry to hear:

“I grew up in that town.”

“You _what_?”  He couldn’t believe his ears.  “You’re from Camelot?  That’s so cool!”

“Not as much as you think.”  A bitter laugh.  “By the time I came of age, the Camelot of dreams and legend had faded.  Mordred _won_ , Henry, and he was no Arthur.”

“I thought they killed each other.  That’s what all the stories say.” 

“Stories are only stories,” Killian replied, jumping lightly over what looked like a statue of a beautiful woman.  “Mordred was a sorcerer.  Hard to kill.”  Blue eyes flicked over to him, clearly thinking something Henry could not follow.  “Arthur…wasn’t.”

Henry wanted to ask more, and he almost did.  But they were there to help Emma, and his curiosity could wait.  Still, he made a mental note to sit Hook down and demand answers; _this_ wasn’t in his book, though maybe there would be a Camelot storybook _somewhere_ in the Sorcerer’s House, if only he looked closely enough.  The Apprentice had told Henry that there were many books, and that Isaac’s had only been the latest.  Surely other magical realms had their own storybooks?  He could find one, and if he couldn’t, Hook could help Henry write one.  He might have broken the magical quill, because _no one_ deserved to have the power to manipulate others’ lives with the stroke of a pen, but Henry was still the Author.  He still felt like someone had to record the stories.

“Right.”  Squaring his shoulders, he peeked through the doorway before stepping through.  After all, heroes were always walking into traps because they didn’t stop to look first, but Henry wasn’t going to do that.  He might have been descended from heroes on _one_ side of his family, but the other side was pretty smart.  Instead, he dug a flashlight out of his bag, clicked it on, and shined it around to make sure there was nothing lurking in the shadows.  When everything was clear, he stepped through the doorway, noticing how Hook’s hand was on his sword.  “So, did you know Merlin?”

“No.”  The answer was immediate and firm, truthful even if Henry had the feeling something was missing.  “By the time I came of age, Merlin was long gone.  Some said dead, others merely sleeping.  I heard one tale about how Mordred had locked him away to ‘save’ Camelot.  They said Merlin was quite insane by the end.”

Frowning, Henry stepped over what looked like a rotted and half-disintegrated tapestry.  There were a set of candlesticks on top of it, and weren’t candlesticks something looters would have taken after the castle fell?  Come to think of it, the tapestries were, too.  Weren’t they?

“This is weird,” he muttered, looking down the hallway.  It was reasonably intact, and the further from the courtyard they got, the less damaged it seemed.  But the next tapestry seemed to have once been hanging from the ceiling, because now it dangled into the walkway, obscuring half of Henry’s view of what lay ahead.  Impatient, he brushed it aside with a hand, glancing over his shoulder to ask:  “Shouldn’t people have taken everything by now?  I mean, if the war happened when you were little, wasn’t that over three hundred years ago?”

“Yes and no,” Killian answered, putting out a hand to yank Henry back as a pair of giant birds burst out from behind the tapestry, cawing and screeching.  Wide-eyed, Henry stared at their nest for a moment, not wanting to admit he was shaken but pretty sure that Killian had seen that, anyway.  It took a gigantic effort to make his left hand let go of the sword hilt at his side, but Henry managed, straightening his shoulders and trying to pretend like nothing was wrong . Fortunately, the pirate was polite enough not to mention it.  “My mother used to tell me that Mordred pulled Camelot out of time with his magic,” he said quietly.  “That the reason we could no longer travel to other realms by normal means.  We were…out of step.”

“Is that why you needed a sail made of Pegasus feathers to travel to Neverland with the _Jolly Roger_?”

“Aye.  Though she was the _Jewel of the Realm_ back then,” Killian replied, looking away as the hallway turned to the left.  They _could_ have gone right, but the way seemed blocked, so Henry went left, glancing back at Killian when the pirate remained quiet.  He’d lost his brother on that trip, Henry remembered, and anger at his king—had that been _Mordred?_ —made him turn pirate.  Henry had always thought that it was a pretty flimsy excuse to decide to become a pirate, but if it _had_ been Mordred, maybe Killian defying him had been more noble than not.  After all, everyone knew that Mordred was a villain.

“So, was Merlin still locked up when you left?”

“That’s the mystery about it,” Killian, moving slightly in front of Henry and leading him to the left when a new corridor broke off from the one they were in.  This hallway was even less damaged than the last; it was dusty, but seemed to be pretty much intact.  _Weider and weirder.  Why would everyone avoid a hallway in a burned and broken down castle?_ Henry wondered.  He had the feeling that Killian wasn’t saying everything he knew, however, so he pressed:

“Was Mordred a Dark One?”

It would make sense, after all.  If Mordred had been one of the early Dark Ones, that could explain how much power he had—and why he wouldn’t like Merlin.  The Apprentice had said that the Sorcerer had tied the darkness to a human soul, and while part of Henry automatically questioned the morality of _that_ decision, he definitely understood why any Dark One wouldn’t like the guy who had done it. 

Killian stopped, looking thoughtful.  “I don’t think he was.  He always looked normal enough.  Not that I saw him often.”  The scowl that followed that reminded Henry of how fervently Killian hated his paternal grandfather, however, and he opened his mouth to point out that they’d now learned that the darknesswas _far_ more powerful than any of them had ever suspected—

Until an earthquake erupted, and the ground beneath their feet began to shake.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin forced himself out of bed that afternoon, despite Belle’s objections that he’d been awake for less than twenty-four hours.   He couldn’t shake the terrifyingly empty feeling that not being the Dark One caused, even if the change was—in some ways—an enormous relief.  His mind was strangely quiet, his thoughts were all his own, and the fact that his wonderful wife was going to stand by him was really beginning to sink in.

 _Who could ever love me?_ he had asked in his last torturous moments as the Dark One.  Not all of his doubts had stemmed from the curse, from the darkness eating away his ability to love and _feel_ loved, but enough of it had that even Rumplestiltskin’s fragile self-esteem could wrap itself around the fact that Belle _wasn’t leaving._   She had promised to stand by him, and in turn—although only in the privacy of his own mind, so far—Rumplestiltskin had promised to fight for her.  He had never been good at that, not since Milah had told him time and again how worthless he was, how he _should_ have fought and had been too cowardly to do so, but he vowed to do so, now.  As best he could, anyway.

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked, looking up from her book.  They were in the pink Victorian’s library together, reading like they had done in the few quiet moments they’d been able to share in Storybrooke.  This had been one of their habits in the Dark Castle, although back then Rumplestiltskin had merely ‘happened’ to be reading when his maid was in the library, and would never have admitted he came there to purposefully bask in her company.  And he was enjoying himself now, even if he had hardly read a word on the page of the novel he’d opened.

“A little less like my heart is going to stop at any moment,” he replied honestly, testing out a half smile to see how she would react.  Belle beamed.

“I’m glad,” she replied, and he really could get lost in her blue eyes.  Then she hesitated before asking: “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

There were two old chaise lounges in the library, after all, though they were surprisingly comfortable for antiques.  They’d been sitting separately, just like they used to in the Dark Castle, but Belle looked so uncertain that Rumplestiltskin’s heart clenched.

“Of course, sweetheart—” The familiar endearment rolled off his tongue, and he stopped short, trying not to cringe.

“What is it?” Immediately, Belle was by his side, looking concerned.

“I’m not sure I’ve earned the right to call you that again,” Rumplestiltskin admitted in a whisper, and then cursed himself for being so honest.  Had he been like this before the darkness?  So unguarded, so open?  For a man who had spent three hundred years rarely betraying his true feelings, speaking so candidly was almost physically painful.

“Oh, Rumple.”  A soft hand touched his cheek, and Belle leaned in, pressing her forehead gently against his.  “I told you that I’m staying.  I _love_ you, and I always will.  I wish you’d believe that.”

“I do,” he whispered, letting his eyes slip shut.  Rumplestiltskin could revel in this closeness, because their love felt so much more _real_ without the darkness eating at him.  How had he ever doubted her?  He could no longer understand that, not at all.  Yet he _did_ need to be honest with her, because Belle deserved that.  “I know you love me.  And I”—he swallowed hard—“I love you more than words can express.  But I know I hurt you badly, Belle, and I want to earn your forgiveness.  Not just be given it.”

“I’d say you’re making a very good start,” his wife replied, and he could hear the emotion catch in her voice.  “Besides, I like it when you call me that.  It makes me feel special.”

“You are,” Rumplestiltskin answered immediately, drawing back to look at her.  How had he ever thought that lying to Belle was the right way?  Oh, he knew that had been the darkness and his own fears pulling at him, but all Belle—his beautiful, brave, and strong Belle—had wanted was his trust.  He’d thought she wanted him to give up magic, but she’d never wanted that.  She just wanted him to have the courage to let her in, to trust her more than he leaned on his magical crutch.

 _Fool that I am, I misunderstood when she told me that I didn’t need magic so much as I needed courage.  I thought it had to be one or the other,_ he thought brokenly.  How much could have been different if he had only _listened?_

“Rumple?”

He’d been silent too long, and now Belle was watching him worriedly.

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin shook himself.  “Sorry.  I was…thinking.”

She nestled up next to him, slipping an arm around his waist.  “Anything you’d care to share?”

“Just how foolish I’ve been,” he admitted.  “I always thought that you wanted me to choose between you and magic, but that was never what you wanted, was it?”

“No!  Of course not.”  Belle looked horrified.  “I don’t think I’d recognize you without magic.”

She meant well, but the response made him cringe.  “I think you’re going to have to learn how,” Rumplestiltskin said, looking away.

“Don’t be silly.  If _I_ can do simple spells, you certainly can do a lot more than that,” she replied. “You’ve been doing magic for hundreds of years.”

“Because I was the Dark One.  Not for any other reason.”  Saying the words hurt, but they were true.  As was the gaping chasm within him where a whole set of senses had once been; Rumplestiltskin felt deaf and blind, like he was missing his hands.  The worst thing was that magic _existed_ in this world; he could feel it in the air, could feel it on his skin.  He just couldn’t _touch_ it.  And he was limping again.

“Most people—”

“Most,” he cut her off more harshly than he intended.  “Not all.  I was never anything special before becoming the Dark One, Belle.”  Rumplestiltskin wanted to weep, but he would not let himself.  He had certainly not earned _that_.  “I was just a coward.  Just a man who crippled _myself_ to avoid going to war.”

“You crippled yourself to give your son the father you never had,” she corrected him gently, and Rumplestiltskin felt hands softly cupping his face, bringing his head up so that his eyes met hers when they opened.  “I read the Book, you know.”

“Oh.”  He didn’t know what else to say other than that.

“What were you before that?  What did you want to be?” Belle’s fingers slipped into his hair, and Rumplestiltskin felt his body relax with a shudder.

“I don’t remember,” he whispered raggedy.

“Maybe you can find that,” she suggested, giving him an encouraging smile.  “In that alternate story, you wanted to be a good man.  You _were_ a good man, and a brave one.  I think that’s what you are, what you always were under the darkness.  Not a coward.”

“I’ve always been—”

“No,” Belle cut him off firmly, and Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “You’ve always _believed_ you were a coward because everyone told you that you were.  That doesn’t make it true.”  She smiled again.  “Now you can be whatever you want to be.  This is a fresh start for you, Rumple.  You can be that brave man I know you wanted to be.  You just have to let yourself.”

It couldn’t be that easy, not with his past, but when Belle smiled at him like that, Rumplestiltskin wanted it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all the lovely comments and kudos. I am utterly floored by the reception this story has received so far. You all make me so motivated to write! 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Three—“A Fleeting Wisp of Glory”, where David investigates Granny’s death, Hook confronts his past in Camelot as he and Henry find Merlin’s inner sanctum, Emma goes to her mother for help, and Rumplestiltskin makes a terrifying choice.


	3. A Fleeting Wisp of Glory

Ruby had found the body about an hour after Hook and Henry went through the portal, and the buzz was all over town already.  David had rushed into the sheriff’s station to try to deal with the mess, no matter how much he _wanted_ to be in the Sorcerer’s House, desperately waiting for news.  Snow was there, now, along with baby Neal, waiting for the pair to come back.  Hopefully, they’d bring Merlin with them, and Emma could be pulled back from the edge quickly.  They hadn’t seen her in three days, and worry was beginning to eat at David.  But he had a job to do, so he headed over to Granny’s and took a look around, searching for evidence and trying to send a heartbroken Ruby away.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Ruby whispered, her eyes dead.  David had never seen her so lost, not even back when the entire town had been demanding her blood because they’d been certain she’d killed Billy.

“How about I text Tink and ask her to come over?” he asked quietly, squeezing the waitress’ shoulder.  _Damn.  She probably owns the place now, doesn’t she?_   But Ruby just nodded listlessly, and David pulled out his phone and sent a quick text off to the fairy.  Tink answered immediately, and promised to be there in ten minutes.

Meanwhile, Ruby just stared blankly at Granny’s covered up body.  Stepping away from her, David got Happy to dust for prints—the dwarf had been assigned as the town’s sole police lab technician by the curse—and looked around for physical evidence.  Happy detected one set on the crossbow, but David found nothing aside from some broken tables, money scattered over the floor, and an unlocked back door.  There were no fingerprints there, though, and he felt his shoulders slumping as Grumpy pushed his way through the crowd outside, blithely ducked underneath the yellow tape across the doorway, and marched right in.

“Anything I can do to help?” the dwarf asked, glancing at Happy, who just sighed.

“Not unless you can scare up a witness,” David said quietly, glancing back at the body.  The paramedics were waiting outside to take the body to Whale for an autopsy, but the cause of death was pretty obvious, given the crossbow bolt sticking out of Granny’s forehead.

“No one outside seems to have seen anything, but I’ll ask around if you want.”

“Please do,” he replied, reaching up to rub the back of his very stiff neck.  This was the _last_ thing they needed.  Storybrooke was in enough trouble at the moment, and now they had a murderer on the loose.

“I’ll go run this to the lab,” Happy spoke up.  “Call me if you need anything else.”

He nodded choppily.  “Right.”

Grumpy waited until Happy left before asking, his voice a quiet growl: “Who the hell would want to kill Granny?  Some thief gone wrong?”

“Hell if I know,” David sighed.  “But whoever it is got her own crossbow away from her, so they had to be quick.”

“Nah, the entire town knows where she keeps the thing,” the dwarf pointed out, and then lowered his voice in deference to Ruby, who still sat listlessly in the far corner.  “All they had to do is get to it first.  Good shot, though.”

“Tell me about it.” Looking at the body again made David swallow.  “And at close range, too.”

“You’re gonna get this bastard, right?”

“Yeah.”  David didn’t know much, but he knew that for certain.  Whoever had butchered Granny like this was going to pay.  “Whoever it is going _down_.”

* * *

 

The earthquake was good in one way, at least.  It provided an excellent distraction from the maelstrom of emotions brought about by returning to Camelot for the first time since becoming a pirate…and from the bitter whirlwind of having lost Emma.  Killian had spent those first two days looking for her, trying every spot he could think of that she might be hiding in.  Her parents were, of course, of the mind that they should leave Emma alone until she was ready to be found, but Killian wasn’t ready to abandon her like that.  He still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that the woman he loved with all his heart was now the Dark One—had he not seen the dagger, he had no doubt that he’d still be denying that—but he knew that he still loved her.  And he knew that she had chosen to tell him that she loved _him_ before sacrificing herself to that terrifying darkness.  Emma had not given up on him when he was at his worst.  She _loved_ him.

That, of course, was why he’d dared to come back to this horrible place, the place where his father had abandoned his family to go off on some fool quest and where his mother had died, leaving nine-year-old Killian in the care of his brother Liam, who had only been thirteen.  They’d struggled to survive together, eventually selling themselves as midshipmen because they’d had no other choice.  No, he had no love for the realm that he’d been born in, and even less for the cold-blooded king who had sent them to Neverland.  Killian had never wanted to come back here…until the Apprentice had told them to find Merlin.  Then he’d known that he would _have_ to come.  Not that the knowledge made anything better.

However, after several minutes of shaking, the ground stopped trembling and the earthquake seemed to die down.  Slowly, Killian rose from the crouch he’d been in, gesturing for Henry to do the same.  The lad had been smart enough to get down on his own, and although a bit of the ceiling had caved in down the hallway, neither of them had been struck by debris.  _A minor earthquake?_ the pirate wondered.  But he had little frame of reference.  He’d heard that Camelot had been subject to stranger and stranger weather the longer Mordred’s magic held out, but there had been no reason to go home.  Not with Liam gone.

“Are you all right, lad?” he asked as Henry coughed.

“Yeah.  There’s just a lot of dust in the air.”

“Shall we continue, then?” Killian wanted out of this place.  There was something very _wrong_ here, something dark and heavy, something that made him want to flee.  But they were here to find the one man who could help Emma, and he would endure whatever discomfort he had to.

“How much further is it, do you think?” Henry asked as they began walking again. 

“We shouldn’t be too far from the east wall, so we can’t go too much further,” he answered as best he could.  Killian remembered sneaking into the castle as a child with Liam, but they hadn’t spent much time in the east wing.  Not after that one time.

“Are you sure we’re in the right part of the castle?”

Killian hesitated, not really wanting to share the story, but figuring that at least a little truth was in order.  Besides, it was Henry.  The lad would figure things out eventually, and they’d get out of here faster if Henry was willing to follow his lead.  “My brother and I hid here once.  The stories said Camulodunum was haunted, but we didn’t believe it until we found a giant stone cauldron full of magic that talked to someone.”

Henry’s eyes went wide with excitement.  “Like the one the Apprentice used to talk to the Sorcerer?”

“Aye, it sounds the same,” he agreed.  “But there’s no way to be sure until we find it.”

Part of Killian—the defiantly scared ten year old who had just wanted shelter from a wild magical storm and a safe place to sleep—wanted nothing else to do with this place, but he pressed forward, anyway.  Leading Henry straight when the passageway split off in three directions, however, turned out to be the wrong way, and Killian swore under his breath as they backtracked and headed right this time, instead of left.  He and Liam had come in through a different entryway, one much closer to the city, and it was hard to dig back through three centuries of memories and find the right room.  Finally, however, after two more wrong turns, he found the peculiarly marked door that had so drawn Liam’s attention. 

_“Maybe there’s treasure down here!” his older brother had exclaimed, making ten year old Killian eagerly try the door._

_“We could go home if there was treasure, couldn’t we?” he asked._

_“No, silly, Lord Thrasher took the house, remember?” Liam said, and Killian groaned._

_“I just want to go home,” he whispered._

_Liam squeezed his shoulder.  “I know.  But maybe we can make a new home here,” he said, opening the door.  “What are we waiting for, anyway?  Let’s go!”_

_There was no treasure inside, just a big stone cauldron that Killian thought at first was a well.  There was another doorway behind that, though, so the boys headed in that direction, only to shy back when a giant swirl of sparkling blue smoke erupted out of the cauldron._

_“Who disturbs the rest of Merlin?” a booming voice demanded, and the Jones brothers froze.  Killian might have run, but Liam grabbed his shoulder._

_“My name is Liam Jones,” he said, bold as brass, remembering the last name their mother had told them they had to take as their own.  “We’re looking for treasure.”_

_The magic swirled angrily, and Killian gulped.  “You will find no treasure here,” the voice growled.  “Merely the ruins of glory and the folly of men, tainted by darkness and yet hewing to the light.  Begone.”_

_“But can we—”_

_“BEGONE!”_

_Magic whipped out, gold and white sparks, striking hard enough to push both boys back several feet.  A second wave of power hit them before they’d caught their balance, and Liam fell.  Killian, quicker on his feet, managed not to, but the third blow sent him reeling back.  Their eyes met, and no words needed to be said—Killian and Liam ran._

“It’s through here,” Killian said quietly, pulling himself out of the memory as he stared at the door.  When he was a child, he had not understood the star field carved into the door, nor why a strange pointy hat would be at its center.  Now he knew all too well what that hat was and what the stars meant, and the sight still gave him the chills.

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Henry asked eagerly, pushing the door open before Killian could stop him.  The words echoed back from his past, and for a moment, Killian felt the familiar stab of pain that signified his brother’s loss.  Liam had been his only real family for most of his life, and he’d _died_ because of the bastard who probably _still_ called himself king here.  _Immortal sorcerers have taken more from me than I will ever regain,_ Killian thought, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Be careful,” he warned Emma’s son hoarsely.  “Last I was here, there was significant magic present…and there’s no telling how long has passed in Camelot.”

It could have been three hundred years here; it could have been thirty.  There was no way to know until Killian ran into someone who could say.  For all he knew, the people who lived here in his time might still be alive—and wasn’t that a happy thought?

“Right.  You said that Mordred’s magic slowed time down here.”  At least Henry was quick on the uptake.

“I believe so, but I don’t know how.”

Together, they walked into the room, and sure enough, there was the same rock cauldron.   There was no magic swirling from it now, but there hadn’t been when Killian and Liam had arrived, either.  The room looked eerily similar to how it had when Killian had last been here; in fact, he wasn’t sure that _any_ time had passed at all.  _Well, except for the fifteen years between then and when we sailed for Neverland,_ he reminded himself, shivering.  The heavy and cold feeling was stronger here than anywhere else, and there was _something_ terrifying in the air.

“Do you think we can call Merlin through the cauldron?” Henry asked quietly, inching forward.

“ _Someone_ spoke through it the last time I was here,” he admitted, heading for the thing cautiously.  Henry, however, reached the edge before he did.

“There’s nothing here,” the lad said, looking down into the cauldron.

Joining him, Killian was a little surprised to find that there was no deep chasm, no bottomless pit.  Just a smooth stone bottom, pitted slightly by time and a little worn away.  _Rather disappointing, actually_.  For several moments, all he could do was stare.  They had come all this way, and for what?  Emma _needed_ Merlin, and the bastard wasn’t even here!

“Where the hell are you?” he demanded of the empty air.  “You were quick enough to tell us to leave last time, but now you can’t be bothered to be here because we need your bloody help?  Reveal yourself, Merlin!”

Nothing happened.

* * *

 

The sound of footsteps caught Snow’s attention.  Neal was sleeping—finally—and David had headed out a few minutes earlier when an emergency call had come in to the sheriff’s station.  Snow didn’t know what had happened, just that Regina had headed over immediately to make sure that Zelena was still locked away and without magic, because the last thing they needed was the Wicked Witch running around hurting people.  That left Snow to stand vigil at the doorway to Camelot by herself, trying to read a book and failing to distract herself with anything but worry for her still-missing daughter and the rest of her family.

Until she looked over her shoulder, and there she was.  _Emma._   Her beautiful girl was just standing there in the doorway, wearing the same white sweater and dark pants she had been three days earlier.  Her expression, however, was utterly broken; dirty streaks of dried tears marred her pretty face, and her hair was a mess.  Emma looked lost and confused, looked like she wasn’t even sure what she was doing there, but she was _here_.  She’d come back, just like Snow had known she would.  _We gave her time to come back to herself, and now everything will be all right.  Hook and Henry will bring Merlin back, and we’ll fix this.  If the Apprentice was able to pull Emma’s darkness away from her as a child, surely the_ Sorcerer _himself can take the Dark One away from Emma, too_.  Just seeing Emma, even distraught, restored Snow’s optimism.

“Emma!” she cried, rushing forward.

But Emma flinched, and Snow stumbled to a stop. 

“Emma?”

“Hi,” her daughter whispered, wrapping her arms around herself and staring out the window blankly.

“Are you…are you all right?” Snow asked as gently as she could, wanting to approach, burning to hug her, but afraid Emma might bolt.  _This has to be so hard for her,_ Snow told herself.  _She’s trying to battle back that horrible darkness, but she’s doing so well._

“As well as I can be, I think.”  A bitter little laugh filled the air until Emma cut it off with a shrug.  “It’s…hard.”

“Oh, Emma,” she breathed.  “I can only imagine.  But we’re so proud of you.  We all are.”

Another laugh, though this one sounded almost like a sob.  “You shouldn’t be.”

“Of course we are!  You took on that horrible darkness to save someone else.  You’re a hero, Emma.”

“I’m the _Dark One_ ,” Emma snapped in response, but Snow could see the pain in her eyes.

“At least you are for the right reasons,” she tried to say, reaching out to gently touch Emma’s arm.  Her daughter didn’t pull away, and Snow’s heart leapt.  _She’ll be all right.  I know it._   “You’ll be different.  I know you can fight this, and we’ll help.”

A long moment of silence passed; Neal slept on, and Snow could have heard a pin drop, though none did.  Desperately, she cast about for something to say, something that could ease Emma’s obvious pain, but what _could_ she say?  Maybe Regina could talk to Emma.  They’d become such good friends lately, and seeing that Regina was all right—and willing to help her—would be a good thing.  Wouldn’t it?  She started to open her mouth to say just that when Emma finally spoke up, her voice barely a whisper.

“I hurt someone, Mom.”

“You _what_?” The words tore out of Snow in shock before she could think to stop herself.

“I didn’t mean to!” Emma cried, and now tears were streaming down her face, sudden and heavy.  “I just—I just feel so _trapped_.  Like there’s this demon clawing at my insides, shouting and whispering and invading my thoughts.  And—and—I feel like I can’t fight it.”

Staring at her weeping daughter, Snow squeezed her arm encouragingly.  “Of course you can.  You’re strong, Emma, and we’ll help you—”

“Not like this,” Emma cut her off, and Snow jerked up short.  “I understand now,” she continued raggedly, still crying silently.  “I understand why Gold went off his rocker after Zelena controlled him.  It didn’t make sense then, but now I get it.  When someone else has the dagger…it’s like being in a cage.  I can’t think and I can’t fight it.  I can’t fight the darkness when I can’t control myself.”

“But…but you left it behind,” Snow said slowly, thinking of the dagger tucked inside her coat over on the table.  From what Regina had said, the Dark One couldn’t _take_ the dagger if it was under someone else’s control.  Holding on to it was supposed to be their last ditch way to keep the town safe from Emma if the worst happened—but Emma was better than that, wasn’t she? 

And she was so broken right now.  So lost.  Snow knew what it was like to have someone else hold her heart, and she imagined this had to be far worse for Emma than that could ever have been.

“I thought that was the right thing to do,” her daughter whispered.  “I thought then you could stop me if you needed to, but I can’t stop _myself_ when you have it.”  Finally, green eyes turned to look at Snow, wide and pleading.  “Please help me.  I can’t fight it when you have the dagger.  The darkness just gathers and gathers, and I don’t want to _be_ like that!”

Common sense told Snow that she shouldn’t listen, but she knew that Emma was speaking the truth, too.  Gold had been _much_ better before Zelena had gotten the dagger, hadn’t he? He’d helped them in Neverland, had even died to save them.  Obviously, he’d had the darkness under control before that, and Emma had to be right about Zelena’s control unhinging him.  _There’s so much we need to ask him, but he might never wake up,_ Snow thought worriedly, still watching Emma.  Besides, Emma was so much stronger than Gold.  She was a hero.  She’d taken the darkness on to save someone else, not because she wanted power.  She was _fighting_ it, and Snow had promised to help her with that.

Even if it meant defying common sense, she had to help her daughter.  She had to do what Emma _needed,_ not what Snow might have thought was right.

“Promise me that you’ll tell us if you can’t control it this way.  Your father and I—all of us—we only want to help,” she said softly.

“I promise,” Emma replied immediately, and for a moment, she looked like her old self.  Then the confident façade cracked and Emma swallowed hard, looking ready to cry once more.  “Please, Mom.”

Nodding, Snow walked over to where her jacket laid on a nearby table, drawing the dagger out of an inner pocket.  _Emma Swan_ , the words on the blade read.  She had never thought to see the name of anyone she loved on that dagger, but love meant trust, didn’t it?  Emma had proved herself a hero time and again.  Now it was time to let her do so once more.

“Here,” Snow said quietly, extending the dagger to her daughter.  Emma snatched the dagger away immediately, and her entire face changed the moment she had it in her hands.  The tears vanished, the broken body language eased, and suddenly she was almost the confident Emma that Snow knew and loved.

“Thank you!” she whispered.  “Thank you so much.”

“We love you, Emma.  And we’re here.”

A strained smile touched Emma’s lips.  “Is Henry all right?  Where is he?”

“He went to Camelot, actually.  With Hook.  They’re looking for Merlin, and—”

“You _let him go to Camelot_?” Emma demanded, cutting her off in a snarl.  “Are you insane?  Someone might hurt him there!”

“Emma, Hook is with him.  It’ll be all right,” Snow tried to reassure her as Emma lunged for the door, trying to tug it open.  But it would not budge.

“No!  No, I have to get to him!  I can’t let him go alone.  Someone might take him. Someone might _hurt_ him,” Emma said wildly, and Snow could only stare.  They all knew how resourceful Henry was, and he was almost thirteen.  He’d be all right, and he wouldn’t be gone for long.  But Emma’s cries turned to a wail of fury.  “He’s _my son!_ ”

“Of course he is, but—”

“Why won’t the door open?” Emma demanded, whirling to face her, her green eyes growing dark with fury.  “What did you do?”

Snow had never once feared her daughter, but suddenly she was reminded of the vision she’d had, so many years ago, touching that unicorn’s horn.  _Is this the future that I saw?  Were we wrong to try to take her darkness away_ then _, because it’s the Dark One that makes her like this?_ Snow wondered as she backed up a step.  She did not want to be afraid, but the utter fury in Emma’s eyes sent a chill running down her spine.

“Emma, I didn’t do anything.  I’m just waiting here for them to come back. I don’t know why the door won’t open for you,” she said quickly.

“This is _your_ fault,” her daughter snarled.  “You sent me away because you didn’t want a child, and now you’ve sent _Henry_ away because you don’t want him, either!  Both of you!  You’re frauds and liars.  You say you’re good, but you only care about your own power.”

The pain caused by that sudden attack took Snow’s breath away.  “How can you say that?  You know we love you!”

“You loved me when I was your perfect little Savior,” Emma retorted, stalking forward.  “Now that I’m not, you’re going to hate me.”

“Emma, _no_.”

A terrifying smile crossed Emma’s face.  “‘Emma, no’,” she mocked her mother, wiggling back and forth a little.  “Well, Emma, _yes_.  I am what I am, and now _you_ can’t control me.  I’ll save Henry without your help.”

“He doesn’t need saving—” Snow tried to say, but Emma had already vanished in a cloud of black smoke, leaving Snow to stare blankly at the place where her daughter had been, wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

* * *

 

“I found another door!” Henry called.

He’d gone around the back of the stone cauldron, sick of waiting for it to talk to him.  Maybe Merlin wasn’t watching, or maybe Hook was wrong about what happened last time.  Or maybe things had just changed.  The fact that Hook didn’t know how long it had been here in Camelot just proved that _anything_ could have happened since he’d been here last, but Henry was sure that he’d spoken to Merlin back at the Apprentice’s house.  _And Merlin told me to come here,_ Henry thought determinedly.  _So he’s_ got _to be here.  This might just be a test._

“Careful, lad.  There’s power here, and—”

Ignoring Hook’s warning, Henry pushed the door open.  This one was plain and wood, without any decorations, and led into a chamber chock full of magical objects.  There were no windows, but a part of the roof had caved in.  A tree had mostly grown into the room through the hole, blocking most of the sunlight and bathing the entire chamber in a soft set of shadows.  Still, there was enough light to see by, and what Henry could see was absolutely fascinating.  There was a giant crystal ball against the far right wall, and the workbench was covered in trinkets, bottles, and a few wands.  There was a big staff leaning up against the workbench, too, one that looked like it was straight out of the _Merlin_ television series.  There was a feather-covered cloak near the staff, along with a pair of swords and a shield that looked like it had been made of gold.  There was also a gauntlet of some sort, one that looked a lot like the one Belle had found in the pawnshop a few months earlier, and a half burned candle sat dead center on the work bench, looking recently used.  But none of those were the most interesting items in the room.  Not by far.

No, that would be the man _sleeping_ on a narrow bed, nestled against the wall on the left.  He was dark skinned, dressed in extremely worn robes of some sort, and covered in…dust?

 _That’s not good._ Feeling cold, Henry inched forward, heading for the sleeping—or was he dead?  Maybe a sleeping curse?—man with hesitant footsteps.  Only once he was halfway there did he remember to tell Hook, who was just walking through the doorway, what he was doing.

“There’s someone over here!” he said excitedly, not waiting for Hook to approach before making his way over to the bed.  But by the time Hook joined him, Henry had already realized that they were in trouble.  _Lots_ of trouble.

“He’s dead,” the pirate said without preamble, taking in the same gray-hued skin Henry saw, the way the man’s chest seemed hollow and neither rose nor fell, and the thick layer of dust on top of him. 

“Do you think it’s Merlin?” Henry whispered, not wanting to ask the question aloud but having to.  They _needed_ Merlin.  _Emma_ needed Merlin!  The Apprentice had told them to find Merlin, and shouldn’t he have known if Merlin was dead?  He should have known!

“Aye,” Hook said softly.  “I recognize him from a statue in the old town.”

“But he _can’t_ be,” he objected. “Merlin _can’t_ be dead.  The Apprentice said he’s the only one who can defeat the darkness!”

“I know, Henry.”  The pained whisper suddenly reminded Henry that he wasn’t the only one who loved his mother, but it couldn’t fill the roaring emptiness, the utter feeling of failure, that gripped Henry’s heart.  He’d always found believing so easy, because he’d always had something to believe in.  And he’d clung to the idea of Merlin helping Emma because it seemed so _right_ , and because the Apprentice had said it would work! 

“ _Now_ what are we supposed to do?” the words burst out of him with more force than Henry meant them to, and suddenly he just wanted to kick something.  Hard.

“I don’t know,” Hook admitted softly, looking around the room with an expression on his face that said he hoped to find something, _anything_ useful.  And for once, Henry was in complete accord with the pirate his mom had fallen in love with.  There had to be _something_ here.  Someone? 

“If I didn’t talk to Merlin, then, who _did_ I—wait a minute!” Henry cut himself off.  “What’s that?”

Beneath the body’s folded hands lay a piece of paper, old and crinkled with age.  It was sealed with a swirly silver-colored wax, but Merlin’s hands were in the way and Henry couldn’t make more out.  Or, at least he couldn’t until Hook simply reached out and grabbed the paper, pulling it free carefully.

“I’m not sure you should do that…” Henry trailed off, not sure about the etiquette of grabbing letters off of corpses, but pretty sure that it wasn’t very polite.  “I mean, what if it’s cursed or something?”

“What if it’s what we’re here to find?” Hook countered.  “What did the voice at the Apprentice’s house say to you?”

Shrugging helplessly, Henry found his eyes drawn to the letter once more.  The seal was huge, and it looked like a narrow six pointed star, surrounded by some sort of alchemy symbols or another.  Henry recognized the one for ‘fire’ from his storybook, but not the other five.  “Just that we’d find what we seek,” he answered.

“Well, then this letter sounds more likely to be that than a bloody corpse,” the older man pointed out, and Henry had to agree with that.

Carefully, Hook broke the seal and unfolded the letter.  Leaning in close, Henry peered over Hook’s left arm to read along with him.  The writing was in a fancy script, really old fashioned and hard to read, but after a moment, Henry was able to make the words out.

_My old friend,_

_Here you lie in the stasis in which you have placed yourself, mere moments away from your true death.  Was the darkness such a burden that you sought death, or is this simply some part of your ‘grand’ plan?  Either way, you have left humanity without a champion, my dear Merlin, and that mistake may yet doom them._

_I regret lying to you when I agreed that you might destroy the darkness by killing the Dark One.  I helped to create the monster, so of course, you trusted my judgment.   Yet I knew even then that you would become her replacement, just as I knew that your power, the last of humanity’s original powers, would then be bound to the dagger.  I do not, however, regret using you to further my own ends.   You had the opportunity to help me of your own free will, and you foolish humanity instead._

_I am sure we will see one another again.  Your power is free now, non-corporeal though it is.  How much of your consciousness has survived the transition, I wonder?  I will not tarry here to find out, though I will miss you._

_Until you find yourself once more.  I am, and will always be—_

_Yours,_

_Danns' a'Bhàis_

Confused, Henry glanced at Hook.  “Who’s that?”  He sounded the name out carefully.  “Dann-es-a-bays?”

The pirate was still staring at the letter, but he shrugged, his expression equally mystified.  “I have no idea.”

* * *

 

When he dreamt, Rumplestiltskin saw darkness and felt pain, heard a voice he knew that broke his heart, and he always returned to emptiness afterwards.  His memories of his days in stasis were still hard to grasp; one moment, he felt that he remembered everything, and the next he struggled to recall his own name.  Sometimes, there was a howling vacuum inside his soul, and inside the privacy of his own mind, Rumplestiltskin came to a very firm conclusion: he had not been meant to wake.

But he kept that to himself.  The Apprentice was dead, and whatever plan he had meant to carry out had been derailed by True Love.  By _Belle._   Why she continued to stand by him—he, powerless, uncertain, and nearly devoid of identity—continued to baffle Rumplestiltskin.  But at least he finally understood that she _would_ stay.  Unless he pushed her away like a fool, again, Belle would remain, because she did truly love him.  And the coward inside him desperately yearned to bury himself in her love, to take shelter in her kindness, and hide from the rest of the world.  Storybrooke would not take kindly to him, even as the former Dark One.  No, there were plenty who hated him still, and with good reason.

Oddly enough, he felt the beginnings of regret for his actions, too.   He’d not felt regret of this sort in centuries, and it was a strange feeling to get used to.  Yet there was something else, something that was perhaps an echo of the alternate world they’d so briefly lived in—yet all remembered—or was maybe something that had been a part of him once.  Once, so long ago, there had been a good man who only wanted to do the right thing.  That Rumplestiltskin had crippled himself and endured years of taunts and accusations of cowardice, had listened to the words until he came to believe them himself.  But there had been a time, so very many centuries ago, when he had _wanted_ to be a good man.

Belle had asked him to discover who he was now, and Rumplestiltskin found himself wishing he could be like that man.  The one who had not yet run, who had not yet made a deal he did not understand, and who had not yet been so corrupted by the darkness.  Oh, the stain on his soul would probably never vanish, for all that his heart had been wiped clean.  But perhaps he could be something more.

“I think we should go to the shop today,” he said quietly, startling Belle.  They were eating lunch, though his appetite was somewhat spotty, and her head snapped up to look at him.

“Are you sure, Rumple?”

Belle knew how he felt, after all, how powerless and weak he felt—and _was_.  But a part of Rumplestiltskin screamed to act, to _help_ , and he thought that he should indulge this strange feeling.  “You told me that Emma has become the Dark One,” he said simply.

“Yes…” Belle trailed off, blinking.

Fear made his stomach roll, but Rumplestiltskin forced the words out.  “I can help with that.  I know the darkness.  Rather”—he snorted without humor—“intimately.  She might have had the right intentions of taking it on, but even our stubborn Savior will have no idea how to handle this.”

“You want to help?  You really do?” his wife asked, her eyes wide and a smile tugging at her lips.

 _If having a desire to help will make you look at me like that, I will always do so,_ he didn’t say.  Instead, Rumplestiltskin shrugged, finding that he was able to bury at least some of his feelings the way he used to.  Being honest was one thing; lacking all self-control was another, and perhaps there was still too much of ‘Mr. Gold’ left inside him for that to be a comfortable way to live.  But he was still too emotionally raw to reach his previous level of easy concealment, though he wasn’t sure why he felt everything so _keenly._   Maybe it was a consequence of having had the darkness pulled out of him in such an unnatural manner.  When Belle had told Rumplestiltskin that his heart had been white, at first he had wondered if the Apprentice had meant to leave him a blank slate.  For what, he didn’t know, but ever since Belle’s tearful words of love had woken him, Rumplestiltskin felt everything more deeply than ever before.

“I do,” he replied.  “I think I need to.  If not, that darkness will threaten all of us.  In the beginning…there’s no controlling it.  I remember wondering if I had lost myself completely, if my soul was simply food for the darkness.  Only Bae pulled me back from the edge.”

The last words were a whisper, and pain roared up as an image of his son’s face rolled through his mind.  _I’m so sorry, Bae,_ Rumplestiltskin thought brokenly, closing his eyes tightly.  _I failed you.  You died to save me, and then I only did worse than before._  But then a hand landed on his arm, gentle but firm, squeezing gently and pulling Rumplestiltskin back from the abyss.

“I miss him, too,” Belle said quietly.  Speaking of Bae had been somewhat of a taboo subject between them after they’d married; they’d just wanted to be _happy_ , and to ignore every reason they had not to be.  In hindsight, that had been such a mistake.  “But I know he would be proud of you now.”

“He loved Emma,” Rumplestiltskin said, opening his eyes and not trying to hide the stinging tears gathering there.  “I should help her for that, if nothing else.  And—” his voice cracked—“she’s Henry’s mother.  I tried to kill him, in that alternate world.”

“You didn’t know he was your grandson,” she pointed out, which made Rumplestiltskin shake his head. 

“It doesn’t matter.  I owe him far more than an apology.  Perhaps saving his mother can help even the scales a little.”

Belle’s smile was sad, and maybe even a little proud.  “Then we’ll go to the shop today, and see what we can’t do.”

He didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve this amazing love and support, or the way she squeezed his hands and let him hold on tight until the maelstrom of pain and regret passed.  But maybe, just maybe, Rumplestiltskin _could_ learn to be a better man.  With Belle’s help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback after the last chapter! I’m still on a high. Don’t be too hard on Snow for her thoughts on Emma taking on the curse to save someone, though—Snow doesn’t know anything about Rumplestiltskin’s past. She’ll learn, though.
> 
> Up next: Chapter Four—“The Dying Candle’s Gleam”, in which Emma figure out what she’s going to do with her freedom, Henry and Killian start gathering useful magical objects, Will goes to Robin and Regina with what he knows, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin run into trouble when they head into town.
> 
> While you’re waiting, please let me know what you think! Also, big brownie points to anyone who can figure out the reference in Chapter four’s title—both in story, and where the quote comes from.


	4. The Dying Candle’s Gleam

She was free.

Free, free, _free_.  The dagger was in _her_ hands.   Nothing—and _no one_ —could stop her now!  The pesky Apprentice was dead, and although Emma knew that her family would undoubtedly try to find Merlin to wrest this darkness from her, she also knew that was a foolish quest.  She never should have told them to do that, but then, she hadn’t understood the power she’d taken on at that point.  She could _use_ this power.  It wasn’t easy—she had to fight back that inner voice, had to gain _control_ —but she was winning now that she had the dagger in her possession.  What happened to Granny wouldn’t happen again now that no one was trying to enslave her.

A flicker of guilt reared up, thinking of the old woman who had stood by her family so many times, but the darkness quashed it before Emma could truly begin to feel bad.  Granny had threatened her.  She had pointed a _crossbow_ at her.  Emma wasn’t fully to blame; she’d only been defending herself.  Oh, she hadn’t meant to kill Granny, and she was sorry that she had.  But it wasn’t her fault.  Granny had brought that down upon herself.

A giggle tried to escape; Emma pushed it back.

“No,” she growled aloud.  “I’m not going to be some little dancing imp for you.”

Hearing the words seemed to help; Emma was back on balance now.  And the voice within her had gone still, quiet.  Part of her wondered if it was only biding its time, but that was foolish. Whatever this darkness—this _power_ —was, it wasn’t actually sentient.  It couldn’t be.  It was just a whirlwind of power, of magic.  She’d never felt anything like this before, not even in her most powerful moments, and Emma knew that it was hers.  Forever.  She would shape it and bend it to her will, learn to control it.  She would be able to protect whomever she wanted to, be able to _be_ whatever she wanted to be.  _I’m not going to fail.  Not like Rumplestiltskin did,_ she thought contentedly, running her fingers over the dagger’s blade.  _He couldn’t control it, not in the end.  But I will._

However, Emma knew that she had to learn from her predecessor’s mistakes.  Being controlled would be a nightmare; even thinking of someone grabbing the dagger and _commanding_ her made her shiver.  She could already imagine the feeling of being trapped, of being in a cage without bars, of becoming a slave to someone’s will and someone’s whims.  She’d felt that when her mother—her _mother_ , of all people!—had handled the dagger, and Emma never wanted to feel that blindness, that helplessness, again.  So, she would have to remove the dagger from play.  It was the only way.  Then, she could rule the darkness rather than the other way around.  Otherwise, she would always be in danger, and so would those she loved.  _Someone can make me hurt them if they have the dagger,_ Emma realized, feeling so very cold.  _I can’t let that happen!_

“I need the hat,” Emma decided, and jerked in surprise when she realized that she’d spoken out loud.  Yet it was true.  She _needed_ the Sorcerer’s Hat. 

Killian had told her what Gold had meant to do, how he needed the heart of someone who had known him before he became the Dark One to complete the magic and cleave himself from the dagger.  His options had been limited, but Emma’s would not be.  She’d find someone despicable, someone who none of Storybrooke would miss.  Maybe the thief, Will Scarlet.  Or perhaps someone else, someone who had annoyed her.  Someone who’d done something wrong, who deserved to die.  Filling the hat with power, of course, would be a little more complicated, but she thought Gold might have been on the right track.

_Fairies,_ she thought, feeling a sudden thrill of anticipation roll through her.  _Vile little creatures._ Blinking, Emma stopped to ask herself where that thought came from, but soon enough, the curiosity waned.  Going to the convent would be easy.  She could suck them all in, kill a useless criminal, and then be free forever.  And _no one_ would be able to make her hurt those she loved.

First, however, she needed the Hat.

* * *

 

“Well, that’s rather disappointing,” Killian sighed, glancing down at the letter once more.  But it didn’t say anything useful, didn’t help at all.  They still had a bloody dead sorcerer—covered in dust, no less—and no answers whatsoever.  The corpse was remarkably well preserved, but it was obviously dead, and that meant this entire quest was meaningless.  Utterly worthless.

“Damn it all!” he snarled before he could stop himself, crumbling the note in one tight fist.  To his left, Henry jumped, but Killian couldn’t care.

_Emma is depending on us to save her, and we’re accomplishing nothing!_ he thought, barely resisting the urge to tear the note to pieces.  In fact, he didn’t resist that desire so well, but Henry reached in and stole the note away before Killian could do so.

“We might need that,” the lad pointed out, making Killian turn to look at him.  This was Henry’s _mother_ in danger, yet the boy was still grimly determined, not seeming at all disappointed. 

“How are you so bloody _calm?”_ he demanded.

Henry shrugged.  “We don’t even know if this is Merlin,” he pointed out.  “Just that the, uh, body had a letter to Merlin.  That doesn’t say anything.”

“Either way, Merlin’s not _here_.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious.”  Now Henry scowled.  “But maybe there are some clues to where he is.  There’s a lot of stuff here.”  He pointed at the workbench on the other side of the room, which was indeed covered in objects of some sort.  “Maybe there are clues, or a map.  Or something.”

“You’re right,” Killian forced himself to say, taking a deep breath to rein his temper in.  “We might as well look around and take anything that looks like it could be useful.”

“Then we should look around the rest of the castle, and maybe even the town,” Henry added, which brought Killian up short.

“Lad, your other mother—not to mention your grandparents—will keelhaul me if I keep you away from Storybrooke for too long,” he said bluntly, but was surprised by Henry’s faint smile.

“Tell them you couldn’t make me come back,” the boy shrugged.  “It’s not like they don’t know how difficult I can be.”

_Tell me about it,_ Killian thought, but managed not to say the words aloud.  He liked Emma’s son, he truly did, but there were times when the lad could be just a _little_ strong-willed for his tastes.  Then again, Killian supposed that Henry had to have inherited that trait from both of his parents, because Baelfire had been just like this as a boy.  _There are times Henry reminds me more of Milah than of Emma,_ he thought, remembering his former love with a familiar pang of pain.  _Strong, bold, and always stubborn._ Henry even looked a little like his paternal grandmother, although his desire to fight for his family certainly came via Emma’s bloodlines.

Sighing, Killian followed Henry over to the workbench, looking around until he found a decent sized leather satchel off in one corner.  This he picked up immediately, brushing layer upon layer of dust off it.  The air around him filled with the grime, making Killian cough, until a tinkling _clinking_ noise caught his attention.  Looking down, he found himself blinking as a six-stranded chain finished slipping out of the satchel, coiling on the ground like a multi-colored snake.  The strands glittered in the flickering candlelight: green, maroon, purple, black, and gray, and white, all bound together into one silky whole.

“What’s that?” Henry asked immediately, already curious.

Oddly enough, the six-foot long chain was probably the one magical object that Killian _could_ recognize on sight; after all, he’d spent years searching for the one chain that could bind the Dark One.  “I think it’s Gleipnir,” he replied, picking up the chain carefully.  If legends were right, the chain was far stronger than its thin strands made it appear, but Killian wasn’t going to take any chances.  “Gleipnir is the magic chain that bound the wolf Fenrir.  Tales say that it can bind any magical creature and—”

“Wait a minute,” his companion cut him off urgently.  “Wasn’t that candle out earlier?”

Following Henry’s gaze, Killian studied the single candle.  It was at the exact center of the workbench, nestled in an ancient pool of wax on top of what looked like it had been a silver dish before tarnish started eating away at it.  There was no candlestick, no holder, and no evidence of anything that might have lit it.

“I don’t really recall,” he said after a moment of racking his memory for an answer.

“I don’t think it was lit,” Henry said, sounding a little worried.  The boy glanced at the bench again, obviously trying to decide if they should take anything else.

“Even if it wasn’t, the candle’s only half gone.  That gives us plenty of time to gather things and depart before it goes out,” he said, stuffing Gleipnir into the satchel and squaring his shoulders.

Henry still looked nervous.  “Are you sure we should take anything?”

“You were right, Henry.  Something here might point us to Merlin,” Killian argued as logically as he could, ignoring the chill running up his spine.  “And even if it doesn’t, one of these items might very well help Emma.”

“I don’t think we want to chain her up,” the boy said glumly.  “Even if Grandma Snow didn’t have the dagger.”

“Of course not!  But if one of these books”—Killian gestured at the stack of four books, one of which looked like half of it had been torn out, but was probably still useful—“or other magical…objects might hold the key to freeing her from the darkness.  If we can find the spell, I’m sure Regina can do it.”

He’d hoped that the mention of Henry’s other mother would buck him up, but instead Henry frowned. “I don’t think that it’s as simple as a spell,” Henry said quietly, his eyes running over the various and assorted objects, from the golden apple to a very odd looking mirror and then to the midsized golden harp next to the candle.  “But something might still help.”

“There you have it, then,” Killian managed a smile.  “So, lad, you know this business better than I do.  What do we take?

“You recognized Gleeep…urr, that chain thing.”

“Gleipnir,” he supplied, chuckling. “And that’s only because I spent years searching for that chain.  Had I know it was here, I would never have sought out so many buried treasures.”  The lopsided smile felt funny on his face, and did nothing to banish the terror gathering deep in Killian’s soul.  _I’ll find a way to help you, Emma,_ he promised silently, and then refocused on her son.  “Aside from that, I bow to your superior knowledge.”

“Okay.”  Henry took a deep breath, and then reached for the books.  “We don’t have time to read these, but books have _got_ to be useful.   If we find any others here, we should grab those, too.”

“Good point.”  Carefully, as they looked like they might shatter if handled wrongly, Killian accepted the books from Henry and put them in the satchel, which surprisingly did not seem any heavier despite the addition of four large tomes.  _Magic?_ he wondered, glancing around the room.  Look though Killian did, there seemed to be no other books of any kind in the room.  Had looters taken them, or something more sinister?  If this actually was Merlin’s chamber, Killian could imagine that Mordred had cleaned it out years—if not centuries—earlier, assuming Merlin himself had not.  But then why leave these books?

Meanwhile, Henry continued to study the objects on the bench.  “Um, I’m not sure what we’d need a golden apple for, but it’s small.  We should be able to fit it, right?”

“This bag seems to be magical in nature, so I would say we should take anything that fits,” he agreed.  “You fancy this ring?”

The small blue ring had caught Killian’s eye; he didn’t know what it was, but when he picked it up to show Henry, the ring _felt_ magical.  Or almost like a magical void.  He’d had an uncomfortably large exposure to magic in his life, particularly during the years he’d spent doing Pan’s dirty work in Neverland (and elsewhere), which meant Killian had developed a bit of a feel for that.  Being romantically involved with a budding sorceress only fine-tuned that instinct, and he could feel something strange about this simple silver band.  Its only adornment was a very pale, almost clear, blue stone, but Killian could tell that it was something unique.

“Sure.  I bet Mom can figure out what it does,” Henry replied, barely looking at the ring.

Killian almost opened his mouth to object that _Emma_ might not prove too helpful on that front, until he realized that Henry was talking about Regina.  The boy used ‘Mom’ interchangeably for both women, and seemed to expect that whomever was listening would just figure out which one he meant.  There were times that threw Killian for a very twisty loop, but he chose not to argue and just put the ring in the bag.

It was followed by an orange stone that glowed when touched, that strange looking glass without a frame (which one could see right _through_ at the proper angle), the feather-covered cloak that Killian was fairly certain consisted of swan feathers sewn together, and then finally yet another stone, although this one was almost jet black with strange red highlights throughout.   Henry picked up the staff leaning against the workbench, stuffed all five wands in, and then put the three bottles that were full of liquid in the bag more carefully.  The others were empty, but Killian appropriated one of those, too.  It looked crystal, and even if the bottle itself had no magical properties, it might have proven useful.

Finally, Henry found another trio of books buried on a dust-covered shelf that the swan-feather cloak had been hiding, and together they eased those into the satchel, along with a stack of loose notes that neither of them could read.  The books and the notes were all written in some language even Killian didn’t recognize, but they could figure that out, later.

By the time they were finished, the candle was almost spent.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe she’s dead,” Snow whispered, her knuckles white on the phone and unable to believe the words she was hearing.  Granny was one of her oldest friends; the old woman had helped Snow when she was on the run from Regina and had always, _always_ been there for her and Charming.  Granny had babysat Neal, had provided sorely needed mothering advice, and had always backed them up when they needed a strong voice in their corner.

And now she was dead, shot with her own crossbow.  _Murdered_ by someone in her own diner, left for dead with no evidence that Charming could find.  A traitorous part of Snow had to wonder why this had happened now, why someone had turned murderer in their quiet little town when they had so much else to deal with.  But that did Granny a disservice; no matter what else was going on or how worried Snow was for her daughter, Granny deserved to be properly mourned.  They’d have to hold a funeral, have to look out for Ruby.  Ruby would be grieving terribly, because Granny was the only family she had, and…

Closing her eyes, Snow almost didn’t hear Charming’s heavy reply.  “I know.  Me neither,” her husband said from the other end of the line.  “I’m still looking for witnesses, but no one has stepped forward.  Can you hold down the fort and wait for Henry and Hook to get back without me?”

“Of course I can,” she replied as briskly as she could manage.  “You find Granny’s killer.  I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly.  “See you later.”

Hanging up the phone, though, only made other thoughts bubble up.  Unbidden, the words Emma had spoken earlier ran through Snow’s mind: _“I hurt someone, Mom.”_

Snow felt cold, felt _freezing,_ but Emma _couldn’t_ have hurt Granny.  Snow had had the dagger.  Emma couldn’t have done it, and even if Emma was a killer—which she wasn’t!—Emma wouldn’t have lied about it.  She would have told the truth.  Snow knew her daughter, and Emma was so strong.  She was the Savior, and she was fighting back the darkness, not giving in to it.  Emma wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin.  They all knew that—that was why Emma had taken the darkness on in the first place.  She’d _saved_ everyone from it.

Emma couldn’t have done that.

Snow knew it.

* * *

 

Regina was buried in a book when Robin came in, trying desperately to read up on the Dark One and figure out a way to help Emma.  _This is my fault,_ she’d told herself for the umpteenth time.  _If Emma hadn’t been trying to save me,_ she _wouldn’t be the Dark One, now._ Henry and Hook had headed to Camelot to find Merlin, but Regina wasn’t going to trust some old man to solve their problems.  The Apprentice’s attempt at a solution had turned out to be absolute rubbish, after all, so Regina wasn’t waiting for any mythical sorcerers to show up.  She’d find the answer herself, one way or another.

Of course, that required the right texts, none of which she seemed to have.  Rumplestiltskin’s shop probably had them—or maybe his house did—but the door to the shop had been locked that morning and the last thing Regina needed was to break in there when Belle was undoubtedly angry with her.  She’d called Maleficent to ask if she knew anything, but Maleficent could only pass on some centuries’ old rumors, which had proven useless.  Still, there had to be something, _somewhere_ , and Regina was going to find it.  She owed Emma that much, and even if she hadn’t, Henry needed Emma.  It had taken Regina a long time to accept that fact, though now that she had, she wasn’t going to let her son down.

“Have a moment, love?” Robin asked, making Regina jump.

Sighing, she looked up from the book.  The motion made her neck crack—hard—and Regina grimace.  _How long have I been down here, anyway?_ she wondered, looking around her vault.  There was no clock down there, but the air felt stuffy, like she’d been buried in books for too long.  “Sure,” she answered after a moment.  “It’s not like these are getting me anywhere, anyway.”

Frustrated, she gestured at the waist-high pile of books to the right of the table she was sitting at, and forced herself to lean back in the chair and smile at the man who she had come to love.  Their road together had been bumpy and confusing so far, but Regina _knew_ she loved him.  Robin wasn’t the entirety of her happy ending, but he was an integral part of it, and he’d been right here beside her in her quest to help Emma. 

“Will came to see me,” her lover started, leaning casually on the wall with his hands stuck in his pockets.

“Will Scarlet?” Regina asked, her eyebrows jumping up on their own.  “Belle’s little…boyfriend?”

“I get the impression that’s over, but yes,” Robin replied dryly.  “He said…well, I think you’ll want to hear what he saw.”

“Sure.  So long as he’s not here to whine about something else,” she answered carefully, remembering with a jolt that _Robin_ had no idea about what leverage she’d taken in order to keep Rumplestiltskin from calling Zelena in New York.  He probably wouldn’t like it, and now wasn’t the time to muck things up with Will Scarlet’s morality.  _Assuming he has any._   Regina had far bigger worries on her mind.

“He’s outside,” Robin said without commenting on anything else.  “Shall I go get him?”

“No need.  I could use the fresh air,” Regina said with another sigh, trying to figure out what she would do if Will mentioned her theft of Belle’s heart.  She knew that Scarlet had helped Rumple get it back from Maleficent, and she also knew Robin well enough to know that he wouldn’t approve.  Regina didn’t exactly regret what she’d done—it had been her only option at the time—but she knew that Robin would be angry.  Forgetting that Robin was friends with Belle was easy, but the more Regina thought about it, the more she realized Robin would be furious.  _Best he never knows, then.  It’s not like Rumple’s in any shape to share, anyway,_ she thought decisively.  _And I can certainly bully Will into keeping his mouth shut, if need be._

Stepping outside into the afternoon sunlight made Regina blink, but soon enough she spotted where the former Merry Man was leaning against a tree, adjusting his leather jacket anxiously.  The slender man looked nervous as hell, which at least meant he probably wasn’t going to go ratting her out any time soon.  _Not if he knows what’s good for him, anyway!_

“You have something to tell me?” she asked directly, looking into the thief’s eyes and silently _daring_ him to say a word about her behavior in front of Robin.  Fortunately, Will didn’t.

What he said was even worse.

“I know who killed Granny,” Will said, looking up from the hole he’d dug in the ground with his toe.  “I saw the back door to the diner open an’ went in just in time to see it.”

Regina blinked in confusion.  “Then why are you telling me?  David’s the sheriff, and it’s his problem.”

“That’s, uh, the problem, see?  He’s not gonna want to believe me, an’ I’m not of a mind to get six feet of sword through me belly because he doesn’t like what I have to say.”

“David’s not that sort,” she snorted.  “Besides, most people are more afraid of me than him, and—”

“It was the sheriff,” Will cut her off.  “The _other_ sheriff.  You know, Emma Swan.”

“ _What_?” Regina and Robin yelped at the same time, and while Robin continued, a dark feeling stole up Emma’s spine: “You’ve got to be wrong.  Emma wouldn’t do something like that, even if she’s the Dark One.”

_It’s sucking all the light and hope out of her,_ Regina remembered hearing Emma say.  More importantly, she recalled the way that darkness made her _feel_ : empty and alone and as if she would never, ever, be warm again.  Could Emma feel like that now?  Was the darkness driving her to do terrible things?   Regina knew all about giving into her hatred and letting her resentment and bitterness get the better of her, but that swirling darkness had felt so much worse.  And now it was _inside_ Emma.  Could anyone stand up to that?

“Look, mate, I saw her with me own eyes.  She shot Granny with her own bleeding crossbow.  She was laughin’ and cryin’ and all out of sorts, but Swan tore it right out of Granny’s hands with magic and shot her between the eyes.  I dunno why, and I didn’t stick around to ask questions.”

“Will, are you _sure_?” Robin asked, sounding like he was desperate for any reason not to believe that.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” the thief countered.  “Not exactly in the running for citizen of the year, me, but I know what I saw.”

“It’s not…impossible,” Regina said slowly, getting in before Robin could object again.  “With that much darkness in her, it’s almost a miracle that Emma hasn’t hurt someone else, too.”

Robin twisted to stare at her, his eyes wide.  “But _Granny?_ ”

“None of us know much about that curse—or whatever it is,” she admitted, shrugging helplessly.  “None of us ever so much as suspected there could be _that_ much external darkness inside the Dark One.  Rumple hid it too well.”

“But Emma’s own darkness was taken away,” Robin picked up on where Regina was going quickly enough; she’d filled him in on what had happened with Lily on the road trip back to Storybrooke.   “So, if she’s not prepared to deal with something like that…”

“It could be horrible,” Regina finished for him, feeling cold. 

_This is my fault.  I could have dealt with it better, could have known what to do,_ she thought brokenly.  _And now I have to fix it._

* * *

 

When Rumple parked the Cadillac in the lot behind his shop, Belle really thought they were getting somewhere.  This new version of her husband—emotionally raw, painfully open, and heartbreakingly honest—took some getting used to, but she was so glad to finally see the man beneath the darkness coming out into the open.  Despite what Rumplestiltskin said, he clearly had been a good man underneath the monster, and watching him try now warmed her heart.  Despite being a little shaky on his feet (thanks, in part, to the two heart attacks he’d suffered in New York and had finally told her about that morning), Rumple was determined to help.

_See?_ she wanted to ask him, but stopped herself.  _You don’t need magic to make a difference._   Magic, however, was still something of a sore topic, so she left it alone.  Rumple had promised to figure out who _he_ was before trying to find magic again, and Belle hoped that he’d come to the conclusion that he didn’t really need power after all.  Now that he didn’t have that darkness inside him, demanding more and more power to feed its addiction, perhaps he could break free of that cycle.  It wasn’t that she minded magic; it was useful in its own way, but Belle worried that Rumple might start craving power the way he used to.  She wasn’t sure how much of the desire for power had been him and how much had been the Dark One, and part of Belle was terribly afraid to find out.

Those thoughts occupied her mind as she climbed out of the car, flashing Rumple a smile as she swung her legs out of the passenger seat without bothering to look where she was going.  Because of that, she never saw the pair of hands that suddenly reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking Belle away from the car and making her yelp.  Instinctively, she fought against the grip, but the man holding her was _much_ taller than her and far stronger.

“Quit that,” Keith Nottingham snapped, and then howled as Belle jammed one of her high-heeled shoes down right on his toe.  But he didn’t let go of her, no matter how hard she fought, wrapping an arm around her neck and the other around her waist, pinning her against his body and trapping her arms at her sides.  “I don’t want to hurt you, pretty, so just quit fighting.”

Belle froze.  Not because of what Keith had said, but because of what his companion—a man with ash blond hair and a stocky build—was doing.  Belle didn’t recognize the other man, but _he_ had yanked Rumple out of the car with the same amount of force, although Rumple had managed to stagger a few steps away from him.  But Rumple’s cane lay on the ground between the pair, clearly caught in the car door when Rumplestiltskin had been climbing out.  Her husband stood uneasily, with one hand on the Cadillac’s hood for balance, but his eyes were cold while he looked at their attackers.

“Are you sure you want to try this, dearies?” he snarled, sounding almost like his old self for a moment.

The blond grinned nastily.  “Word’s gotten around town that you don’t have a bit of magic left to you,” he said, reaching down and picking up the cane.  “So, yeah, I think we do.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t come up with a thousand and one ways to make you miserable,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.

“That’ll be hard to do if you’re dead,” the blond replied, and Belle felt Keith laugh.

“You’ll have to kill us both,” Belle interjected as strongly as she could.  Keith liked her, she knew.  Lacey had come onto him like a freight train, and Keith had asked her out the day after she’d banished Rumplestiltskin.  _Keith_ wanted a lot of things from her, but death wasn’t one of them.  So, is she could distract him with his own lecherous interests, so much the better.

“Belle, no—” Rumplestiltskin started to protest, turning panicked eyes on her, but the blond cut in with a laugh.

“Doesn’t bother me one bit.  Maybe Keith can have a bit of fun with your pretty wife, first,” he said. “You can watch.”

“If you touch her—”

“You’ll what?  Cry?”  He swung the cane, and Rumplestiltskin stumbled back, away from the car.  Unfortunately, the Cadillac was parked near the wall, in the closest spot to the shop, which meant Rumple was now trapped between the wall and the car, with nowhere to go.  The blond slammed the car door shut, sneering.  “You don’t even know who I am, do you?”

“Oh, I imagine you’re someone who feels wronged by a deal you did with me,” Rumple snorted, but Belle could see the fear beneath the bravado, and she started struggling against Keith again.  But the Sheriff of Nottingham was too big for her to get away, so Belle opened her mouth to cry for help, only to find a meaty hand clamping down on her face.

“Hel—” was all she got out before Keith slammed her head back into his body with her hand, and even when Belle tried to bite him, she found his hand was too close.

“My name is Samuel Boucher,” the blond spat in response to Rumplestiltskin’s comment.  “You turned my father into a pig!”

“Ah, you’re the butcher’s boy,” her husband replied tightly, obviously trying for casual but not quite managing.  “You do realize that your father _broke_ our deal, don’t you?”

“And why should I care about that?” Samuel demanded, taking a few steps forward.  He was almost in range now, and Rumplestiltskin had nowhere to go.  A limber man might have jumped over the Cadillac’s hood or squeezed through the narrow gap between the front bumper and the wall, but Belle knew how badly his mobility was limited when his ankle was like this.  He didn’t have a chance.

She had to help.  Again, she tried to bite Keith, pulling her head back as far as it could go and then driving her teeth forward into his smelly palm.  This time, she managed to get skin, and Keith cried out and swore.

“Help!  Somebody help!” Belle managed to shout.  “He—”  The next word cut off as Keith swung and hit her hard in the face, and Belle saw stars.  By the time she managed to draw a breath, the hand was clamped over her mouth again, this time almost up to her nose and making breathing hard. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Samuel demanded, twisting to look at Keith.  “She’s half your size!”

“The bitch bit me!” Keith protested.

“Well, hit her harder if she tries again.”

“I’m warning you, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin suddenly cut in, his voice hard and dangerous.  “If you hurt her, you had better kill me, because— _oof!_ ”

Samuel swung the cane and hit Rumplestiltskin right in the midsection, cutting him off and making him stagger backwards.  Belle tried to cry out, but her scream was lost in Keith’s hand, which tightened down on her face until she could only wheeze.  She fought him madly as Samuel stepped forward, using the cane to rain down blows on Rumplestiltskin, who staggered and tried all too obviously not to cry out.  But he concentrated on Rumple’s midsection, using the hard golden handle of the cane, and soon enough, Rumplestiltskin went down amidst the flurry of blows, curling up in a way that told Belle he’d tried to defend himself from something like this before, and finally crying out as Samuel continued to beat him.

A few blows were aimed at his legs, and one or two at his shoulders or back, but most went for Rumplestiltskin’s ribcage as he wheezed and cried out weakly.  Desperately, Belle fought wildly against Keith’s grip, kicking him once, and then twice, and then earning herself a second blow to the face in retaliation.  When that didn’t stop her, Keith tried hitting _her_ in the stomach, and Belle bit him again.  This time, however, he didn’t let go, no matter how hard she fought.

“You’ll pay for this, little girl,” Keith hissed in her ear, but Belle barely noticed.  She wasn’t afraid for herself, but she was terrified for Rumplestiltskin, who was still trying to shield himself from the never-ending beating.  Samuel was laughing.

“This is for my father!” he snarled.  “You turned him into a pig like he was nothing!”

“He made a—”

“ _I_ _don’t care!”_ the butcher’s son shouted.

_Crack._

This time the cane hit something just right— _wrong_ —and Rumplestiltskin let out a strangled cry of pain, followed by a hacking cough that sent frothy blood spilling out of the corners of his mouth.  Samuel kicked him next, just for good measure, and then Belle didn’t see what came after that, because she was too busy trying to twist away from Keith.  But she heard Rumple’s choked-off gasp fill the alleyway, and her heart threatened to pound to a stop in her chest.  Tears were rolling down her face already, and try as Belle did, she couldn’t get free.

She’d come so close to losing him.  She couldn’t lose him now, not like this.  Didn’t these people understand that he wasn’t the Dark One any longer? Hadn’t they heard about the swirling mass of darkness that had been pulled from him?  Yes, Rumplestiltskin had made some terrible choices, but he’d been under the influence of that darkness, that curse, and—

Another strangled cry cut her thoughts off, and Belle tried one last time to bite Keith.  He swore again, drawing back to hit her with the arm that had been around her waist.

“Stop right there!” a new voice commanded, and suddenly Belle was free as Keith backed away from her, his hands held high in the air.

Whirling, she turned wide eyes on David Nolan, who stood in the mouth of the small parking lot with his gun drawn and trained on their two assailants. 

“Back away, Samuel,” the prince ordered, his voice hard.

But Belle didn’t care.  Squeezing around the front of the car, she rushed to her husband’s side, gasping his name.  “Rumple!”

Her face was on fire and her stomach hurt, but Belle ignored both.  Neither was important enough to care about, not when Rumple was lying on the ground so brokenly.  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes blinked open the moment he heard her voice, but the left one was already starting to swell shut and his breathing was hard and uneven.  He looked terrible, curled up and hurting, his brown eyes swimming with pain and.

“Belle,” he rasped, wincing.  “Get out of here.  Go—”

“Shh, it’s all right,” she cut him off, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder as David grabbed Samuel, shoving him against the wall and handcuffing him.  “David’s here.  He stopped them.”

Something pitiful and furious crossed Rumplestiltskin’s face, and in that moment, Belle could read him all too well.  Her husband had possessed immense power for centuries, and he’d just been beaten brutally by two magic-less thugs.  Belle hated being helpless, too, but Rumple had just gone from someone who could crush Samuel and Keith like bugs into a man who could not walk without his cane and was at their mercy.

“He shouldn’t have to,” Rumplestiltskin whispered raggedly, struggling to sit up.  Quickly, Belle helped him do so, not sure if she should let him or not, but not wanting to argue as he continued, slurring painfully: “I’m so sorry.  I can’t even protect you…”

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered.  “It’s all right.  Everything’s going to be all right.”

His voice was almost too quiet for her to hear.  “No.  It isn’t.”

* * *

 

The candle flickered out the exact moment Henry and Hook walked out of Merlin’s workshop, and at first, that seemed utterly unimportant.

Then the floor beneath their feet began to shake.  Again.

“Does this realm have a lot of earthquakes or something?” Henry asked, carrying Merlin’s staff.  They hadn’t found any maps or anything that could _obviously_ help his mom, but at least they’d found a bunch of books and some notes.  Something in there—or maybe the magical items they’d gathered— _had_ to be useful.

Assuming they could get out of Camelot without the ruined castle shaking itself to pieces first, anyway.  The first earthquake hadn’t been too bad.  It had only made a bit of the ceiling come down and had ended pretty quickly, but this one kept on rumbling, making Hook shout to be heard over the creaking and groaning of the beams overhead.

“Not that I remember!  This is—”

The pirate cut off as they both dove away from a huge chunk of stone as it tore free from the ceiling.

“This is what?” Henry yelped, turning to the stone cauldron.  Could Merlin be doing this?  Was this magic?

“I don’t know!” Hook bellowed, and then a giant splitting noise filled the air.

Wide eyed and horrified, Henry watched as the great cauldron, the twin to the one Merlin had spoken to him through, tore in half.  A howling noise filled the air, making Henry twist to look back at Merlin’s workshop.  Dust—or was it white-ish gold magic?—started rising from the bed Merlin had laid upon, whipping around and filling the air.  It seemed almost to be made of intangible tentacles, slightly see-through and twisting crazily through the air.  They hovered in the doorway for a long moment, and then raced out of the room, slamming into the broken cauldron.

Everything went still.  The shaking stopped, and the very airflow in the room seemed to stop.  For a moment, Henry felt like the entire _world_ was holding its breath.

“What was that?” he whispered, looking back at Hook.

But Hook just stared back at him, blue eyes round and shocked.  Then the realization hit them both at the same time.

“The candle went out,” Henry and Hook said together, both turning to look through the still-open doorway.

Merlin’s body was _gone_ , and there was nothing left of the candle, either.

“We need to get out of here,” Hook said suddenly, leaping up and grabbing Henry by the arm.

The moment they started moving, the earthquake began again.

So they ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I’ll be on vacation next week, so I’ll be posting on Thursday instead of Friday. I probably won’t have time to respond to reviews while I’m gone, but so long as the internet holds up, I’ll get the chapters posted. But please don’t think I’m ignoring you or not grateful! I’ll just be very busy. :)
> 
> Up Next: Chapter Five—“Within an Inch of Sunlight,” where Emma tries to deal with her grief and her darkness, Regina contemplates blaming Granny’s murder on someone else, Belle and Rumplestiltskin deal with the aftermath of the attack, Henry and Hook find the round table, and Emma goes looking for the Sorcerer’s Hat.


	5. Within an Inch of Sunlight

David had not expected to hear Belle shouting for help or to find Samuel Boucher beating Rumplestiltskin half to death, but he supposed that he should not have been surprised.  Now, however, he’d arrested Samuel and Keith both—given the bruises forming on Belle’s face, he figured Keith would wind up going up for assault charges, too—and headed over to talk to the Golds.

Rumplestiltskin was sitting up, speaking too quietly to Belle for David to hear.  His face was starting to bruise, too, already dark purple and nasty looking, and he looked utterly miserable.  _I wonder how many more people are going to come looking for revenge?_ David thought uneasily.  _This could be a real problem, particularly with me as the only sheriff in town, and Emma_ still _missing._   But he’d have to deal with that later.  For now, he needed to help where he could.

“Are you two okay?” he asked quietly, and Belle’s head jerked up to look at him.  Worry flashed through her eyes, and David cursed himself for approaching so quickly; Belle was obviously shaken, and he probably should have been careful not to sneak up on them like this.  But it was Gold who answered hoarsely:

“We’ll be fine,” he said shortly, reaching a hand out.  Clearly understanding the gesture, Belle handed him his cane with a slight frown, and then her husband (?) to his feet as Rumplestiltskin continued coldly: “Assuming you intend to arrest those two.”

David blinked had.  “Of course I do.”

“Good,” Belle replied before Rumplestiltskin could say anything else, and David turned his head to look directly at her.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he pressed, not sure how to ask why she was here with the estranged husband she’d recently banished.  Who had also been in stasis last David knew.  Oh, Belle had come to get everyone’s help when the Dark One was trying to take Rumplestiltskin over, but that was just Belle trying to help the entire town. 

Wasn’t it?

“Yes,” the brunette said, and then her blue eyes narrowed.  “What are you trying to ask?”

Well, if she was going to be that blunt about it, David wasn’t going to beat around the bush.  Glancing back to make sure Keith and Samuel hadn’t tried to stupidly run away, he answered: “I just didn’t expect to see the two of you together.  Or, uh, him awake.”

“Well, now you have, and he is,” Belle said crossly, and David almost took a step back from the fire in her eyes.  Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, merely gave a strained smile that said he was hurting far more than he let on.

“Can I, uh, ask what you two are doing in town?” he asked instead of chasing the previous line of questioning. 

“You can ask, but it’s not your business,” Rumplestiltskin rasped immediately, earning himself a hard look from Belle.

“Rumple,” she chided the former Dark One, but her voice was gentle.  Then again, he _did_ seem to be leaning on her rather heavily.

“What?” was the testy response, but David could tell from the way the word came out that he was hurting.  _He’s never going to tell me how badly, though, is he?_   Still, David really shouldn’t be questioning the man about what he was doing in town right now; he was just so worn out and worried about his daughter.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said before Belle could reply.  “You’re right.  Whatever you’re in town for isn’t my business.  Are you sure you don’t want to head to the hospital?  I can get someone to drive you.”

“Quite sure,” was the immediate response, but Belle still looked worried, so David turned back to her.

“I’ve got to take these two to the station and lock them up, but if you need anything, call me, all right?” he said, meaning it.  Belle had proven time and again that she’d do the right thing, and David had to trust her.  Even if he wasn’t sure he could trust her husband.

“I will,” Belle promised, and David watched as she helped Rumplestiltskin inside the darkened pawn shop. 

_Maybe it’s a good thing they’re back together,_ David thought as he headed over to his two newest criminals.  _She’ll keep an eye on him.  Assuming that’s needed._

* * *

 

The loft was empty, and Emma was glad.

She needed to go somewhere familiar, somewhere to center herself.  Her mind was going wild, and every time she thought she had control of herself, something tiny happened to make her wonder if she didn’t.  The voice had gone quiet, but she was starting to wonder if that was a good sign or not.  Nothing made sense, not anymore, and she’d hoped that coming here, to the small loft she shared with her parents, would help. 

Instead, she wound up staring blankly at her old bed—which she instinctively knew she would not sleep on ever again—and feeling tears roll down her face.  How long had it been?  Emma wasn’t even sure, now; the days blurred together.  She didn’t even know how long ago she’d killed Granny.

She’d killed _Granny_.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered, wishing her old room could answer her.  But this room was nothing like her.  Not anymore.  This room had belonged to the Savior, and the Savior was dead.  Now she was just the Dark One, and even when the power rolling through her felt wonderful, a small corner of her soul mourned for what she’d been.  _I’m better like this_ , she told herself, or something did.  _Stronger.  No one will ever threaten my family again._   Unbidden, the image of Cruella de Vil flashed through her mind, and Emma remembered killing her, too.  But Cruella had been threatening Henry—she deserved to die!  What had Granny done, other than pointed a crossbow at her?

A crossbow bolt wouldn’t kill her.  Emma knew that.  It might have stung a little, but she could have laughed off the wound and healed it right away.  Instead, she’d killed. 

_Kill more,_ the voice whispered, and it sounded so much like her own thoughts that Emma almost missed the darkness gathering in her mind.

_“No!”_ she snarled, whirling around as if she could face off with her inner demon.  Of course there was no one there, but her sudden movement made magic flare, and the mirror shattered.  A few pieces flew at her, cutting her face open, but Emma didn’t bother to move.  She barely had to twitch her fingers to heal the wounds, and there was so much power running through her that the pain hardly registered. 

Taking a deep breath, Emma looked down at the dagger still clutched in her left hand.  Emma Swan, the words read.  Those words weren’t supposed to be there, and yet they felt so right.  But she’d killed Granny!  She was crying. 

What was happening to her? 

Dark Ones didn’t cry. 

Would she ever be the same again?

* * *

 

Regina was tempted to cover this up.  Lord knew, she’d done worse in her time, and letting the news out that Emma had killed Granny would be disastrous.  Emma was something of an icon to this sad little town; she had broken the curse, defeated Regina—the once, anyway, not that it mattered now—and had saved everyone.  That made the little people put Emma on a bit of a pedestal, and once they realized how far she’d fallen, they might just freak out. 

Regina really wasn’t prepared to deal with that.  She was mayor again, and she _really_ didn’t want to cope with riots, lynch mobs, or idiots running around with grand ideas of getting ahold of the dagger and controlling the new Dark One.  Even the worst elements in Storybrooke had all been afraid of Rumple, but they weren’t afraid of Emma, and for every person who demanded she pay for killing Granny, there would be someone else who wanted to control her power.  If they weren’t careful, all the would-be heroes would clash with the would-be controllers, and the free-for-all would engulf all of Storybrooke.  So far, they’d managed to keep a lid on all but the wildest rumors about the Dark One, and Regina wanted to keep things that way.

That meant lying, but, well, she’d lied plenty before.  Regina was working hard to be on team hero, to do better than she had, but that didn’t mean that she had to ascribe to Snow’s do-no-wrong philosophy.  Yes, it had worked for Snow—except when it hadn’t, when Snow and Charming had unthinkably stolen a _child_ from her mother—but Regina wasn’t Snow.  She was at peace with herself enough to accept that, and besides, this world was not some perfect black-and-white, good-and-evil place.  The world needed people who were willing to dip into darkness from time to time, and Regina would always be able to straddle that line.

“We just need to pin it on _someone_ ,” she muttered, and Robin turned to look at her.

“What was that, love?” he asked.

They were still in her vault, having sent Will away with a thank you.  Robin had looked a little askance at her for doing so, but Regina needed to think.  Now, looking at Robin’s open and honest face—and thinking about his sense of honor—Regina tried very hard not to scowl.

“We can’t tell people that Emma did this,” she said bluntly.  “They’ll freak.”

Robin blinked.  “The truth is the truth, Regina.  She might not have meant it, but frankly, none of us know how much that darkness affects someone.  We can’t lie to cover for her.  Granny deserves justice.”

“And this town can’t afford to fall apart, either,” Regina countered.  “Look, I’m not in favor of brushing anything under the rug, either—and if we leave this as some ‘unsolved mystery’, it’ll blow up in our faces right away—but we’ve got to look at the big picture.”

“What ‘big picture’, exactly, is that?” he asked warily, and Regina felt her heart sink.

“Look, if people know that their precious Savior has gone dark, they’re either going to want to kill her or control her.  And that’ll just hurt _all_ of our credibility, and it’ll distract us just when we need to be finding a _solution_ to this mess instead of running around placating the raving hordes.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.  “You haven’t lived here very long.”

“I may not be as familiar with Storybrooke as you are, but I do know that lies eventually come out,” Robin replied firmly.  “And then things get even _worse_ once you’re caught in them.”

Wasn’t _that_ the story of Regina’s life?  Her conscience prickled; but Regina pushed her lingering doubts about her own conduct aside.  They had bigger problems to deal with, and it wasn’t like Belle was going to do anything to her.  Had Rumplestiltskin still been the Dark One—still been _useful_ —well, then maybe Regina would have had to worry.  But he wasn’t, and as far as she knew, he was still in stasis.  So, Belle’s anger would just have to wait.   Emma was a much bigger problem…and she would never have become the Dark One if not for the darkness that still clouded Regina’s soul.  _She saved me.  I have to help her,_ Regina thought, swallowing hard.

Apparently, however, this was not the way.  Not with the implacable way Robin was looking at her.  He was dead set on telling the truth…so tell the truth they would.  Even if Regina would rather pin the entire sordid affair on Zelena.

* * *

 

Her mother was still in the room with the door, but Emma did not think that the Hat would be in there.  If it was, Regina or someone else would have claimed it by now, but the precious artifact was not in Regina’s vault, either.  She had looked there while Regina and her precious outlaw spoke to Belle’s sometime boyfriend, a thief whose name no longer seemed important.  That left this house, the place she understood the Hat had appeared in this world.  _It would go home,_ she reasoned, walking through bedrooms silently.  Emma did not want to see her mother—she didn’t want to see _anyone_ , not until she was certain that she wouldn’t do what she’d done to Granny to someone else—but she had to find the Hat.

The Sorcerer’s Hat was the key to her freedom.  With that, she could strip the control of the dagger away from her soul, and probably even remove some of the darkness as well.  Of course, the power would remain, but what sane person would give up this immense magical strength once they’d gained it?  There was enough of Emma Swan left to want to be free of the worst of the darkness, but she’d always been a practical sort.  Her parents had stripped her own darkness away; surely that meant she could retain some of _this_ darkness without being the Dark One?

_Gold knew what he was doing,_ she mused, looking in a giant oak wardrobe that seemed to go on forever and ever.  _Even if we couldn’t let him kill Killian._ Killian was _hers;_ Emma would permit no harm to come to him, and a shiver of fury raced through her as she thought of how close she had come to losing him.  _It was his bad luck that the only one who knew him before he became the Dark One was someone I love._

Love.  Yes, she could still love.  The darkness inside her did not _like_ it, but Emma could still feel love.  She was certain of that, even if the _possessiveness_ she felt almost frightened her.

_I don’t have to be afraid of anything,_ she told herself, pushing that worry aside.  The dagger was gripped tightly in her white-knuckled hand, but that wasn’t fear.  That was prudence. 

Wasn’t it?

She had to find the Hat.  Only then could Emma be free.

* * *

 

Back in the room that the Truest Believer and the child of Camelot had abandoned, white-gold power continued to swirl.  Concentrating on the cauldron at first, it whipped in faster and faster circles, forming a blinding tornado of magic and light.  Glowing ever more fiercely, the power spun itself into a frenzy, looking, seeking, _searching_ for the host it was meant to find.  There remained a sentience to the power that had once frightened young Killian and Liam Jones, but the once-human memories faded over time, and it had been a _long_ time.  Time did not move properly in Camelot, and had not since his death, but the years before that stretched out almost endlessly.

And his own actions had served to unravel his sanity still further than Merlin had ever intended.  But that did not matter now.  He had prepared for such a moment, had left enough of his soul behind to do what had to be done.  Ironically, he had tethered his soul to his own power, much like he had once tethered elemental darkness to another human soul…and that had saved him when his own body had failed.  Been killed. 

_“I think we both know how this works, now,” Danns had said to him, her voice heavy.  “But you resist the control far too well, don’t you?”_

_“I am what I am,” he had snarled at her, his hands still scaly despite his best efforts to free himself._ This _had not been what he intended.  He had meant to_ kill _the Dark One!_

_“It is almost a pity,” she said with one of her enigmatic smiles, glancing down at the dagger in her hands.  “But you will still be useful, and eventually, we will see one another again, won’t we?”_

_A gesture at the cauldron with one long, white-fingered hand said volumes of what she meant.  So she knew.  She knew what he had planned, the safety measures he had put into place.  The bulk of his soul resided with his power, now, power that he would_ not _let the darkness claim.  The Sorcerer would survive, even if Merlin died._

But souls were fragile entities.  As souls were wont to do, his sought his body again, lifeless husk though it was, hoping for shelter or completeness or perhaps a little peace.  Either way, the power had been trapped here, in Camelot, a world where time and magic collided.  Now it was free, free to swirl and to search, erupting into a brilliant light show no one was there to witness.  It needed a doorway.  A portal.  So the power swirled and searched, mad and seeking, desperate and patient.  There was no door.

Yet.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin hissed in pain as Belle lowered him onto the cot in the back of the shop; his face looked terrible, and she could tell by the way he was breathing that he was hurting.  But her husband had ignored Belle’s insistence that they go to the hospital just as he’d refused David’s.  He was unsteady on his feet and in obvious pain, though he seemed coherent enough that Belle wasn’t terribly worried about head injuries and the like.  Truthfully, she was far more concerned about the way Rumplestiltskin had immediately drawn into himself, as if by doing so he could shield his heart and soul from worse damage than had been done to his body.  Once, he would have reacted with rage or with cold aloofness to _any_ attempt to hurt him, but now Belle could see that even the anger he had directed at David had been an act. 

Rumplestiltskin was frightened, and rightfully so.  And Belle didn’t know how to fix that.

_“It’s all right.  Everything’s going to be all right,” she had told him._

_His voice had been almost too quiet for her to hear.  “No.  It isn’t.”_

“Rumple?” she said softly, sitting down beside him as her husband stared blankly at the floor, his expression both empty and broken.  For a moment, Belle was worried that he hadn’t heard her, but he answered once she put a gentle hand on his hunched left shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he whispered raggedly.

“You aren’t fine,” Belle answered as gently as she could.  “And you shouldn’t be.  That was barbaric and you’re in pain, and—”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “I’ve faced worse.”

Even as Belle blinked in surprise, he levered himself to his feet and limped into the front room, leaving her to follow in confusion.  “What—what do you mean?”

“Zelena.  My past.  It doesn’t matter,” he said without looking at her, the words short and clipped as if he was trying to hide behind the old sarcasm and self-control, but the raw truth kept leaking out.  Rising, he limped towards the front of the shop.  “This is hardly the worst beating I’ve endured.”

Gaping, Belle could only stare, following Rumplestiltskin on rubbery legs and watching with wide eyes as he opened the safe.  It had been keyed with blood magic, she remembered, but apparently he could still work that, because Rumplestiltskin pulled the door open and then withdrew two vials.  Both were full to their corks with a dark blue liquid, one that looked almost like mouthwash but twice as thick.  He closed the safe without a word, spinning the dial and then limping two steps back to the counter, a ragged wheeze escaping as he did so.  Finally, he turned back towards her.

“Here,” Rumplestiltskin said, extending one of the vials.  “It’s the most powerful healing potion ever created.  It’ll take care of what that bastard did to you.”  A bitter smile crossed his face, making him look truly grotesque with the cuts and growing bruises there.  “Here’s hoping we don’t need it too often, though, because my supply is rather limited.”

“Rumple, I can…”

“Please, Belle,” he cut in quietly when she trailed off, the bitterness vanishing beneath uncertainty and shame.  “Let me at least do this for you.  Those men—they hurt you because of _me_.  And I can’t even protect you now.”

“It’s not your fault,” Belle objected automatically, because even if Samuel _had_ been wronged by Rumplestiltskin—who meticulously kept his deals, as she well knew—it had been Samuel’s choice to attack them, to hurt them.  There were better ways to deal with your grievances than violence.

He snorted brokenly.  “I know what I was.  And I know what I am.”  A one shouldered shrug, full of self-loathing.  “I don’t specifically remember turning a butcher into a pig, but I’m certain I must have.   And now I’m a useless cripple.”

“You’re not useless!” Stepping forward, Belle reached up to touch the unmarred side of his face, and felt Rumplestiltskin twitch as if he was going to pull away before he relaxed into her touch.  “I’ll take the potion if you will.”

“I’m not brave enough not to,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, looking away.

“Will you stop that?” she asked, leaning in to get her face to where she could look him in the eye.  Moving like that made her side ache, but she didn’t care.  “You’re not a coward.  A coward wouldn’t have sacrificed himself to save this entire town.  A coward wouldn’t have tried to give me that dagger when you _knew_ the Dark One was taking you over.  A coward wouldn’t have tried to stop it.”

“I failed.”  His voice cracked.

“So did I,” Belle countered.  “I told you that I lost myself trying to help you, but I was wrong, because I didn’t want to see what was right in front of me.  I wanted the monster to be gone so badly that I never thought to ask what it was like, how it influenced you.  We’ve both failed, Rumple, and we’ve both been afraid.  I was too scared to accept that you might not be _able_ to fight the darkness back, so I tried to wish it away.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

Belle blinked back her own tears.  “I’m not sure it isn’t worse,” she answered, and then tried to smile.  “Shall we drink these potions before we keep arguing?  I don’t know about you, but I’d rather fight when we both feel better.”

Her gallows humor had the desired effect, even if what Belle had said wasn’t really that funny.  Rumplestiltskin snorted in faint amusement, and then nodded.  They both drank the potions, which turned out to be almost the consistency of jello.  The liquid was almost thick enough to chew, and Belle had a hard time gulping it down, but she the warm tingling hit right away.  Immediately, the pain in her stomach started to ease, and Belle could actually feel the swelling in her cheek decreasing.  Eyes shining in wonder, she watched the potion have the same effect on Rumplestiltskin; his posture straightened out of the self-protective slouch, and the cuts on the side of his face began to close.  After a few silent minutes ticked by, Rumplestiltskin was clearly in less pain, even if haunted shadows filled his brown eyes.

_“This is hardly the worst beating I’ve endured,”_ he’d said.  And he’d said it in reference to his past—which Belle knew very little of, but enough to know that he’d been mistreated for much of his life, including by Hook’s precious Milah—and in reference to _Zelena_.  Thinking of that in the silence made Belle’s stomach drop out.

“Can I ask you something, Rumple?” she whispered, reaching out to take his left hand once he put the now-empty vial down.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answered immediately, and Belle saw Rumplestiltskin trying to smile for her sake. 

_He was like this in the other world.  The other timeline,_ Belle realized with a start.  _Is this what he was like before being the Dark One, always trying to put a smile on for someone else’s sake, and always putting himself last?_   Then again, how different had he been during their marriage, even as the Dark One?  Even when Rumplestiltskin had lied to her, he’d still been trying to make her happy.  She’d tried to control him—tried to _command_ his very soul with what she thought was the real dagger—and he’d forgiven her immediately.  He had asked her, brutally honestly, who could ever love him, and even with all they’d talked and come closer since she’d woken him, Belle wondered if Rumplestiltskin still felt that way.

Still, she had to face the facts, had to ask this.  She had to be brave.  “You never told me that Zelena hurt you,” Belle said, her voice tiny.  “You hid it from me, even in the beginning.”

Rumplestiltskin looked away, and Belle saw his eyes shut as she squeezed his hand.

“I didn’t want you to know how weak I was,” he whispered after a moment.  “That she could hurt me and I couldn’t fight her, even when she…”

He cut off, but Belle didn’t need to hear her husband finish that sentence.  She knew what Zelena had done to Robin; how much worse would the witch have been when she had the dagger, had Rumplestiltskin fully at her mercy?  Belle had spent every moment Rumple was gone wondering about that, wondering if he had hidden those traumas from her, and hating herself for the certainty that he had.  Oh, it wasn’t her fault that Rumple had buried his demons like that, but Belle could have done more to draw him out.  She could have called him on it, instead of desperately believing that everything would be all right so long as they were together.

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered now, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him.  “I love you.  No matter what.”

A moment passed before he embraced her in return, but at least his arms were neither hesitant nor frightened.  “And I love you, Belle,” her husband replied softly.  “Always.”

 

* * *

_Crash._

Killian and Henry had rounded a corner, racing towards the doorway that led back to the Sorcerer’s House with their ill-begotten bag of goodies, when an entire _wall_ collapsed in front of them, cutting the pair off from their escape route.  Barely skidding to a stop in time, Killian dodged right when a good portion of the ceiling promptly started raining down on their heads, grabbing Henry and retreating back down the hallway that led towards Merlin’s rooms as the castle shook apart around them.

Henry, however, yanked away after a half dozen strides.  “The staff!”

“Leave it!” Killian snapped, feeling the ground trembling ominously under his feet.  _What the hell is going on here?_ he wondered frantically.  _Camelot grew less stable as I aged, but_ this _is unbelievable._

“But it’s Merlin’s!” Henry objected, twisting out of Killian’s grip and darting forward.

“Henry—!” He grabbed for the lad and missed, cursing under his breath as Henry dodged one falling rock and then another.  But the boy must have led some sort of charmed life, because he reached Merlin’s staff, snatching it up off the ground and running back to Killian’s side.

“We might need it to help Mom,” Henry said, not quite apologetically.

Killian just wanted to wring his neck, but there wasn’t time for that.  “Come on.  There’s another way out of the castle.”

He only hoped that three hundred years of other memories hadn’t made him forget the way he and Liam had once snuck in.  Of course, nothing more frightening than a booming, disembodied voice had chased them, then, not this wave of destruction that seemed bent on shaking the entire castle apart.  Killian had no idea what to make of that, or if they had somehow caused this catastrophe.  All he knew was that they had to get out of there, and fast—before the castle shook itself to pieces and left them lying on the bottom of a very large and heavy pile of rubble.  So, he grabbed Henry by the arm, pulling him back along the corridor from whence they’d come, knowing that they’d skipped past a right turn that _should_ take them towards the outer walls.

“But we have to get to the courtyard—”

“There’s no way through that mess, lad,” Hook cut in.  “But we _should_ be able to get outside the walls and go the long way.”

“Through the town?” Henry asked eagerly, clearly excited about the idea of encountering people who lived in Camelot.

“Aye,” Killian answered heavily, not wanting to think about what horrors waited in that city.  There had been a _reason_ he and Liam had been so willing to leave, after all, and it wasn’t just because they were orphans looking for a better life on the sea.

The town had grown stranger and stranger as Killian grew older, full of magical creatures—both vicious and kind—and people who were ‘out of joint’.  The land he remembered from when his mother was alive slowly degraded over time, which the old timers blamed on too much magic and not enough substance.  Fewer and fewer children were born—the fact that Ragnelle ‘Jones’ had been able to bear two strong sons had been terribly uncommon, and spoken of by many.  Many of the children who _had_ survived infancy were increasingly deformed and inhuman; some of them were part creature and others simply _tainted_ as Camelot grew darker and darker.  Some said the land grew to be a reflection of Mordred himself, and yet the one time Killian had met their king, he had seemed to be anything but.

_I believed he was a good man, worthy of loyalty and service,_ he thought, a sardonic smile twisting up his face.  _What a fool I was._

Hopefully, Mordred was gone, and this crumbling castle was simply suffering from the ravages of time.  Or perhaps he and Henry had taken too much—or just the wrong thing.  There was no way to know.  All Killian knew was that he had to get Henry to safety.  The boy was as brash as both of his mothers, and as fearless, too.  Left to his own devices, Henry might try any number of ridiculously brave things.  _It wouldn’t be the first time!_ he thought, remembering the lad who had been dumped in Isaac’s world with no one to depend upon, who had saved them all by believing in his mothers.

_I’ll bring him back to you, Emma,_ he promised silently, tugging Henry around that right turn, glad that the satchel he carried in his other hand was lightweight.  Once they made the turn, the worst of the crumbling seemed to be behind them; was it concentrated between Merlin’s rooms and the courtyard?  _If so, that’s a bad sign,_ he thought warily. 

“It seems better, now,” Henry echoed his thoughts cautiously as they slackened their pace.

“Aye, but let’s not count on it being over, shall we?” Killian asked, and then stopped when they reached a ‘T’ in the corridor. 

“Which way do we go?”

Racking his memory, thinking back more than three hundred years, Killian ducked his head to stare at the floor as he remembered.

_“This way!” Liam grinned, leading him forward._

_“How do you know?” he asked, ever the smart alec._

_“Cause I’m older, stupid.  Let’s go!”_

With an effort, Killian shook his way free of the memory.  “Left, I think.”

“Okay,” Henry said brightly, still holding Merlin’s staff in his hand.  “Left it is.”

A dozen steps down the hallway brought the pair to a door.  The door itself was rotting, hanging by the hinges and half falling out of the frame.  Together, Killian and Henry stepped forward, finding places on the disintegrating door to grab ahold of it and pull it out of the way.  Just as they did, however, another giant tremor shook the castle, making the wall around the door shake ominously.  Nothing fell, but it was obviously only a matter of time.

“I think I spoke too soon,” Henry said, a little wide-eyed.

“That’s hardly your fault,” he replied.  “Camelot has always been…different.  And Camulodunum has always been dangerous.  There’s a reason no one comes here, lad.”

“We were doing okay until the candle burned out,” Henry countered.

“Yes, but the real question is why that candle lit in the first place,” Killian said, pushing the broken door out of the way and stepping over the pieces that broke off at the bottom.

“And what it meant, yeah,” Emma’s son agreed.  “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back and ask,” he added, glancing back towards the door they’d just ducked through. 

“Probably not,” he snorted in amusement, heading further left, towards where he thought the outer wall was.  Depending upon three centuries’ old memories was foolish, but what else could they do?  There was no way to go onwards in the direction they’d intended, and that meant going towards the town was the only option.

The pair passed through another door, and then a third.  The fourth, however, wasn’t rotted or falling down; it had been bashed straight off its now-broken hinges many years earlier.  The door looked like a battering ram had taken it out, and after a moment, Killian realized why.

“…Wow,” Henry breathed from his right, and Killian had to agree as they both stopped to stare.

He’d never been in this room, not even as a child.  Liam had bragged about coming here, once, but he’d always said that Killian was too little to tag along.   Now…well, now he could understand why.  The throne room of Camulodunum, of the original Camelot, was no sight to be seen.  Not now.  Now it was terrible, brutal, and burned so badly that Killian imagined he could _still_ smell the embers smoking more than three and a quarter centuries after the fires had gone out.  The banners hanging from the rafters were naught but ash, holding on by a few gold threads here and there.  The walls were even scorched, rotted paint peeling and mosaics ruined.  Even the marble floors were melted, and maybe that was what made the smell stick around for so long.  Except—

“How are the fires still burning?” Henry whispered, and Killian whirled to look at what must have been the front of the room, once upon a time. 

Sure enough, there was the royal dais, where the melted out shell of two thrones still overlooked the rest of the room.  Fires flickered around both, licking at what little remained of their luxury, but that was not what _really_ got the pirate’s attention.  No, the Round Table managed that quite nicely.

Somehow—purposefully?—the legendary Round Table had escaped destruction, save for a few places where its edges were burned black or sprinkled with ash.  The chairs, however, had not.  Once, they might have matched the thrones, for they looked approximately the right size, but each was charred far too badly to tell.  As were the bodies within them: burned and armored bodies, roasted in their blackened armor and yet sitting in their assigned seats.  Killian had heard tales of this as a child, of how Arthur’s surviving knights had been murdered by Mordred in this very place.  Even the bodies of those already dead had been brought back by their vengeful conqueror, burned like their comrades and left as a message to anyone who would dare come to what had once been the heart and soul of Camelot.

Only the two knights away on grail quests and Arthur himself—spirited away by his sister despite being mortally wounded—had escaped the carnage, as evidenced by the two empty chairs at the Round Table and the vacant thrones.  _I thought the queen died here, as well,_ Killian thought distantly, his wide eyes taking in the age-old butchery.  He remembered hearing hundreds of different stories about Guinevere’s fate: she had run off with Lancelot, she was a Faerie in disguise, she had become Mordred’s pet—

“Henry, what are you doing?”  The words tore out of him as Henry darted forward.

“There’s writing on the table!” the boy replied excitedly.  “And it’s the _Round Table_!”

“Yes, and the fires still burn because of spells left by Mordred.  Be _careful!_ ” Killian snapped, rushing to catch up with him. 

Fortunately, Henry stopped a few feet from the table, near one of the chairs that fortunately _lacked_ a corpse.  Killian halted behind him, ready to grab the boy if the now-constant tremors grew any worse.

“Lancelot and Gwaine’s chairs are empty,” Henry said quietly, staring at the Round Table.  “Lancelot is in my book, but where’s Gwaine?”

Anger surged up at the question, hot and fast, roaring out of a part of Killian’s soul that he thought had been long dead and buried.  He wouldn’t speak of this.  He _wouldn’t_ —

Fortunately, Henry continued after asking what the lad clearly thought was a rhetorical question, reading the names off of the table, as the sound of thunder rumbled in the air:

“Sir Tristian, Sir Gareth, Sir Bedivere, Sir Galahad, Sir Kay, Sir Bors, Sir—”

_Crash!_

That was no thunder; that was the sound of the floor cracking open!  Frantically, Killian shook himself out of his stupor and grabbed Henry by the arm, but the youth was already sprinting for the doorway with him.  Distantly, it occurred to Killian that they ought not have stayed so long in a room said to be cursed, for if the castle was determined to come down around them, surely it would happen here.  Dust was already filling the room as pieces of the walls crumbled and burnt tapestries fell, making the air thick and hard to breathe.  Almost blindly, he and Henry rushed for the door on the other side of the room, the one that _had_ to lead outwards. 

They almost made it.

Just five steps away from the already open door, the ceiling caved in, sending rocks, marbles, and ancient ruined banners crashing down on their heads.  Something hard hit Killian, knocking his legs out from under him, and the last thing he was able to do was reach out and desperately shove Henry towards the doorway.  Then he bounced off the floor _hard_ , unable to even shield himself as stones continued to fall.  The avalanche continued for what felt like an eternity, while he tried desperately to crawl away from it, groping for Henry and finding his hands closing on empty air.  _Maybe he made it.  Maybe I was fast enough._ Killian could barely see, and then something hard hit him in the head.  Just before his vision went black, he distantly heard Henry’s voice calling:

“Hook?  _Hook!_ ”

* * *

 

Regina sighed.  This was _not_ the way she would have done things, but Robin’s expectant look had almost the same effect on her that Henry could.  So, she picked up the phone, and dialed a number that had become depressingly familiar.

“Snow?” she asked when her stepdaughter picked up on the other end.  “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Chapter Six—“Never Another Camelot,” in which Henry tries to dig Hook out, Rumplestiltskin realizes that Emma must be after the Hat, Regina tells Snow and Charming what she knows, something _snaps_ in Camelot, and Emma runs into two people who mean more to her than anything.


	6. Never Another Camelot

Digging Hook out took _forever_.  Henry’s hands were sore and bleeding by the time he unearthed the pirate, but he didn’t care.  Hook had managed to shove him through the doorway before the rocks could get him, and Henry knew that his mom’s boyfriend hadn’t done that by accident.  He might not have always _liked_ the pirate, but Hook made Emma happy—and he’d just saved Henry’s life.  _Or at least saved me a lot of bruises,_ the boy thought, finally shoving a large piece of slate—or was it marble?—off of the prone figure.  Hook groaned.

“You awake?” Henry asked, mindful of the way the ground was still shaking.  It hadn’t stopped, even if the rumble had grown a little less violent.  The walls of the throne room were still falling to pieces, and there wasn’t any time to waste, but he certainly wasn’t going to leave Hook behind!  When the pirate didn’t answer, Henry got up out of his crouch, grabbed ahold of both of the tall man’s arms, and slowly dragged him through the doorway.  Then he went back to pick up Merlin’s staff and the satchel of magical items; there was no way he was going to leave them behind.  They would need them to help Emma, particularly since Merlin seemed to be dead.

By the time he got back to Hook’s side, the pirate was finally waking up, blinking groggily and coughing out dust and who-knew-what-else.

“Henry?” Hook asked, squinting at him.

“Yeah.  I’m fine,” he answered the unspoken question impatiently.  “Can you walk?  We’ve got to get out of here before the entire castle comes down.”

Hook hesitated, wiggling body parts experimentally.  “I think so,” he said slowly, and Henry reached down to help him up.  “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up and let me help you, okay?” Henry cut him off.  “You just saved me from that collapsing ceiling.  Let me help you in return.”

“Is that a thank you?” the pirate laughed hoarsely.

“Probably,” he retorted mulishly, getting Hook—who was a lot heavier than he looked—to his feet.  He extended the satchel to his obviously dizzy companion.  “Hold onto this?”

“Like it’s priceless treasure.”

“You know,” Henry said, panting a little as they started walking with Hook kept leaning on him, “I’m not sure if you ever made a really good pirate.”

That made Hook miss a step in shock.  “ _What?_   I’m offended, lad.  How could you ever say that?”

_Because it gets you to focus on anything but feeling like crap,_ he didn’t answer, and shrugged instead.  “Well, you gave up your ship to get to the Land Without Magic before the second curse,” he pointed out.  “And then you kept on helping even when you didn’t have to.”

“I think I’m hearing a compliment in there,” Hook half-grumbled, and Henry finally smiled.

“Maybe,” he shrugged again, hauling Hook around a corner, which only led to another door.  “You think this one will fall on us?”

“I bloody well hope not,” was the feeling response.  “I’ve had quite enough of that, thank you.”

“Me, too,” Henry admitted, just as another great _crunching_ noise came from somewhere deep inside the castle.  The rumble was growing louder, and closer.  “I guess we don’t have time to hesitate, do we?”

“It appears not.”

Together, they pushed the door open, emerging into sunlight on the edges of a town that was crumbling just as badly as the castle around it.

“Bloody hell,” Hook swore, and Henry definitely agreed.

Behind them, something _snapped._

* * *

 

He needed power of some sort.  The magic coursing through his body could heal him—and was already almost finished doing so—but that was a potion that Rumplestiltskin would not be able to make again.  Regina wouldn’t be able to, either; potion making was _not_ one of the former Evil Queen’s strengths, because she lacked the patience to do so properly.  She was capable of doing whatever type of magic she wished, but Regina had always been big on blunt force and power, not finesse.  And it wasn’t as though he could depend on her, anyway.  Regina had proven that more than once.

_And there’s nothing that will stop her from ripping whatever heart out that she pleases, now that I don’t have magic,_ Rumplestiltskin thought to himself, glancing around the shop.  Belle had headed into the back after their heart-to-heart, during which he’d admitted far more to her than he wanted to.  But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.  He was so damn emotionally open—it was like an open and raw wound that he couldn’t seem to shut.  Not for the first time, Rumplestiltskin wondered if he really _had_ been this open and trusting before, but he really couldn’t remember.  And now wasn’t the time to worry about that, either.  Now he had to find power of some sort, lest his many enemies decide to go after him again.  Or, worse yet, Belle.

The realization that she really, _truly_ loved him—even him like _this_ , without power!—still had the power to rock Rumplestiltskin to the core.  Belle really wasn’t going to leave, not unless he drove her away again (which he had no intention of ever doing), and that very thought warmed Rumplestiltskin more than words could express.  It could almost compensate for the aching emptiness his lack of magic caused, could almost soothe his fears. 

_There’s nothing wrong with the power_ , he’d told her once.  _I just wanted to be chosen,_ Belle had told him, and now everything finally made sense.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin needed magic, but this time he wouldn’t do it behind Belle’s back.  And he certainly wasn’t going to allow that toxic darkness anywhere near his soul again, either.  Rumplestiltskin was no fool; he’d been granted a second chance.  Perhaps more importantly, Isaac’s little world had shown him a life where he could have magic, be a decent (if not good) man, and not have to let that curse own his soul.  _That_ was what he wanted now.  That was why he started looking around the shop, casting his eyes over this magical object and that, wondering which ones he could use as a power source to augment whatever magic he could learn.

Not that he’d tried magic, yet.  He was still too afraid to try and come up empty.

Then his eyes fell upon the one magical object that _never_ should have been left sitting on a pawnshop floor.  “Hello, there, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, limping forward.

“What was that?” Belle’s head poked in from the back, where she’d been looking for some book or another.  “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he replied, bending to pick up the Sorcerer’s Hat.  It felt strange in his hands, now, less like limitless possibilities and more like danger.  Potential.  Responsibility?

“The Hat’s still here?” Belle came forward, staring at the small box in his hand, and Rumplestiltskin nodded, noticing the slight frown of concern on her face.

“Emma’s going to be looking for it,” he said before she could ask any more.  “Sooner or later.  Every Dark One does.”

“Because it can free her from the dagger.”

“Because they _think_ it can,” Rumplestiltskin corrected her, thinking back on his own experiences, his own knowledge.  How had he known about the Hat?  The darkness, his curse, had whispered about it, of course.   Whispers of a promise of freedom, of being unchained from the dagger _forever_.  Back then, his mind had been too clouded—and he had been too desperate, particularly after his time with Zelena—to recognize what had to be the truth.  “But I think that the Hat would actually free the darkness and consume the human soul, rather than freeing the human from the dagger.”  His smile twisted ironically as he stared at the Hat for which he had destroyed his own life.  “Not that any Dark One _can_ understand that.”

Belle cocked her head curiously, her frown gone.  “Why not?”

“Because of the way the darkness merges with your mind,” he said, holding the round hat box and realizing that the Hat was far too dangerous to be used as a power source.  “Sometimes, particularly in the beginning, or when you’ve been…traumatized, it’s impossible to tell its whispers apart from your own thoughts.  And it’s sneaky.  Sometimes it gets around you, tells you things you _believe_ you are thinking, until it gets its way.  I used to be very good at differentiating between the two.  Until I spent time in the Vault, anyway.”

A hand landed on his arm, gentle and soft.  “That changed everything, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”  Swallowing hard, Rumplestiltskin managed to keep back the words that so desperately wanted to rise: _You shouldn’t have brought me back_.  Had he stayed dead, Baelfire would still be alive, Rumplestiltskin could never have hurt Belle so badly, and the Dark One would be forever trapped in the Vault.

Murky memories surfaced, bubbling up like the oozing blackness he had spent months entrapped in.  And then again?  Had he _returned_ to the Vault when the Apprentice had put him in stasis?  There was a wisp of memory on the edges of Rumplestiltskin’s consciousness, one he couldn’t quite reach, and yet he _knew_ it was important.  Yes, he’d been there.  _Though putting me in stasis should never have sent me to the Vault,_ he knew instinctively.  There was still no one alive who knew his former curse better than he did, and Rumplestiltskin’s soul should have simply slumbered in his body when stripped of the darkness, not returned to the place where the Dark One had been born.  Yet…he had seen someone there.  Someone important.

He just couldn’t grasp who. 

“Rumple?” Belle’s gentle prodding interrupted his thoughts, and if she’d seen the distant emptiness in his expression, she was kind enough not to mention it.  “What are we going to do about the Hat?”

“Well, we certainly have to keep it out of Emma’s hands,” he replied, fully appreciating the irony of those words.  He had gone from trying to use the Hat to seeking to protect it.  _Oh, how the fates must be weeping now.  Or laughing._   “She’ll want it,” he repeated.

“How do we do that?”

“I’ll put it in the safe for now,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  Once, he’d had much more clever places to store items, but all of those required access to his magic.  “The blood magic guarding it still works.  Powerful or not, Emma can’t break that.”

“Henry could get in,” his wife pointed out.

“I don’t think he’s interested in helping his mother kill someone.”  Just thinking of his grandson made Rumplestiltskin feel guilty.  “However, it would probably be wise if you put a word in his ear when he gets back: tell him that he might lose her forever if she successfully uses the Hat.”

“You could do that,” Belle suggested.

“It’ll probably work better coming from—”

_Snap._

Something, somewhere very far away _changed_.  Rumplestiltskin felt it in his bones, felt distant power gathering and worlds shifting.  For a moment, keeping his balance was hard—Belle actually had to catch him as he swayed—and he felt like the world was spinning in violent circles.  Instinctively trying to reach out with senses he no longer had, Rumplestiltskin blinked the nausea back, every cell in his body tingling.  Whatever had just happened, he had never felt its like before. 

And that was terrifying.

* * *

 

What was left of the town was full of even stranger creatures than it had been when Killian was there last.  Off to the right—and not nearly far enough away—was a giant monstrosity that looked like a cross between an ogre and a tiger, lumbering between crumbling houses as a man with the head of a horse tried to kill it.  People rushed away from the _disintegrating_ buildings, but only one in four of them looked anywhere approaching normal. Some were a tad scaly, almost like the Dark One back in the Enchanted Forest, and others were leopard-patched with no ears and strange claw-like hands.  Still more looked basically human but like their features were melting away; this, at least, was a deformity that Killian recognized.

_Mother used to say they were worn thin,_ he remembered, walking as quickly as he could and sticking close to the wall.  Henry half-walked, half-jogged to his right, between Killian and the still sometimes shaking outer wall of Camulodunum.  If Killian’s memories were anything to go by, the people of Camelot might very well be more dangerous than the possibility of the castle collapsing on top of them.  _She said they were kept alive by magic, that the way Camelot had been pulled out of time kept them from dying.  No one knew_ why _Mordred did it, but it hurt everyone._

Some had said Mordred purposefully wanted to destroy the city his father had loved.  Others, that Mordred served a higher purpose, and that he kept time frozen until he could find the little girl for whom he searched.  Killian had never cared, though _Jewel of the Realm_ had been sent to more than one realm, seeking a chestnut haired child of indeterminate age, but who was guaranteed to be linked to magic.  Now, however, it did not matter.  Whatever Mordred had done, Camelot was now paying the price.  _But did_ we _cause it?_ Killian wondered.  There was no way to know, but that candle burning out could not have been a coincidence. 

“Camelot’s dying, isn’t it?” Henry asked as they hurried along, gripping the staff tightly in one hand and the hilt of his father’s cutlass in the other. 

“Aye,” Killian said heavily.  He’d never wanted to come back to the place, but he’d never wanted to see the land destroyed, either.  His mother’s grave was here.  “I fear it is.”

“Did we do this?” Henry asked, dodging around a fallen tree and a broken piece of wall. 

“I wish I knew.”

There were two knights jousting up ahead, one dressed in black armor and the other green, smashing holes in one another with their lances in the streets as people ran and screamed.  Everything around them was chaos, and Killian wished he had not brought Henry here.  This was not the way even the wisest of young men should experience a land of legend.

_Rumble—_ Snap.

Something changed; the very air seemed to shake.  Startled, Killian turned to stare at Henry, only to find wide brown eyes staring right back.

“Let’s go!” Henry shouted, and they sprinted forward together.

* * *

_Snap._

Two steps from the top of the stairs to the Charming family loft, Regina stumbled.  Luckily, Robin had lightning fast reflexes, and he caught her arm as the world heaved madly.  For a moment, Regina thought she might vomit, because _everything_ was spinning and changing and _nothing_ was right—but then the feeling subsided a little bit, and she managed to straighten.  Of course, that didn’t mean she had any idea what had happened, because she didn’t. 

“You all right, Regina?” Robin asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she snapped reflexively, and then forced herself to relent.  _Robin’s not an enemy,_ she reminded herself. _He won’t use your weaknesses against you._ Yet remembering that against the backdrop of so many years without trusting was hard.  Regina sighed.  “Something just…changed.  Magically, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted, and then tried to force the thoughts aside.  There was no use worrying over whatever had happened that she couldn’t identify; she had much bigger concerns right now.  Squaring her shoulders, Regina knocked on the door.  David opened it almost immediately.

“Hey,” Storybrooke’s very tired looking sheriff greeted the pair.  “Come on in.  Snow’s on her way; she should be here in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” Regina said quietly, still inwardly puzzling over what that odd _snap_ had been despite her best efforts to focus on the terrible subject at hand.  Something magical had happened; something had changed.  But she had no idea what, and now she had no one to turn to.  Maybe it was time to dig into Rumplestiltskin’s book collection; it wasn’t like he had any use for them while he was in stasis.  _Or whatever the Apprentice did to him,_ she thought testily.  They were at odds more often than not these days, but right now, Regina would really have liked to ask her old teacher a few questions.

“You said you needed to talk?” David prompted.

“Will’s on his way,” Robin answered as Regina continued to think about the odd feeling in the air.  Something was…tight.  Like a rubber band that had been pulled too hard.  It had already snapped back once, but next time it was likely to break.  _Shatter?_   There was an odd sort of pressure in the air that was terrifying.

“Will?  Will Scarlet?”

“Yeah.”  Robin glanced Regina’s way, and she nodded, forcing her mind back to business.  “He saw something you and Snow are going to want to hear about.”

David nodded slowly.  “Right.  Guess we’ll wait for him and Snow, then.”

_I’m not sure we have time,_ Regina thought suddenly.

* * *

 

Her mother had left, freeing Emma to explore the room with the new door, the one that her idiot parents had let Henry and Killian go through.  What were they _thinking_ , letting the two most important people in Emma’s life run away like that?  For all Emma knew, either could be in danger, could be hurt, and she should have been there for them!  But even when she tried the door again—and again, and again—it would not open for her, and a part of the power whispering within her recognized the magic behind that portal.  _The Sorcerer’s magic,_ the quiet voice informed her.  _He is against you.  He always will be.  He does not want you using his things._   Snarling, Emma stepped away from the doorway, resisting the urge to slash at it with the dagger.

The dagger was the problem.  So long as she was tied to it, she was the Dark One, and thus subject to the Sorcerer’s rules.  But once she was free of it, she would be able to go wherever she wanted.  She could use that damn doorway, could rescue Henry and Killian.  She could do _anything_.  She could use her power for good—and never again would she make a mistake like she had with Granny.

_Don’t think about that,_ she told herself firmly, regret and pain welling up and making her throat tight.  _Regrets will only slow you down.  Find the Hat.  Then you can be free._

She felt more in control when she had the dagger, but Emma knew she would be better without it.  The Hat would allow her to free herself, to _be_ herself again.  Once she was free, she would never kill an innocent again.  She could promise herself that, couldn’t she?  _It’s better for everyone if I’m free.  Gold should have explained that, and then we would have helped him find a way,_ she thought, pulling drawers open and continuing her search.  _Emma_ was not going to become some madwoman’s slave.   No witch would lock her in a cage for the better part of a year, pawing at her and using her.  She would have her freedom, whatever it cost.

In the end, detaching the power from the dagger would be safer for Storybrooke.  There would be no Dark One to lose control, and no fairies to foist their stifling little morality off on everyone.  Things would be _better_.

* * *

 

They barely made it through the doorway before Camelot went to pieces behind them.  The last few minutes of their journey back to the courtyard had become an all-out sprint, and Henry was really glad that Hook had been carrying their bag of goodies, because he wasn’t sure he could have held onto it and run like that, particularly with the way his hands were cut and bruised after digging Hook out.  But the rumbling and shaking ground had turned into full-fledged earthquakes, with the earth opening up almost underneath their feet and trying to swallow them whole.  Debris had been _everywhere_ , and the dust-filled wind had whipped so hard against them that it had torn skin straight off their faces, making both of them look like they had rug burn on their cheeks.

But that didn’t matter.  Sprinting forward, Henry threw all of his weight against the door, and it popped open obligingly.  Hook was only a half step behind him, and the two burst into the Sorcerer’s House at a dead run, skidding to a stop before they could crash into the far wall.

“Well,” Hook said, clearly out of breath.  “Let’s not have that adventure again, eh, mate?”

“No kidding,” Henry agreed feelingly, glancing over to make sure that the satchel was still in Hook’s hands.  But it was, which at least meant their mission hadn’t been for nothing.  They might not have found Merlin himself, but surely his books had to have answers, didn’t they?  “But at least we brought back some useful stuff, right?”

“I bloody well hope”—Hook cut off, and his eyes went wide as he noticed something beyond Henry’s right shoulder—“ _Emma_?”

Spinning around, Henry turned to see his mother standing there, staring back at the pair with a slightly open mouthed look of shock. 

“Mom!”  _I knew she’d come back on her own,_ Henry thought exultantly.  _I knew everything would be all right.  She’ll need help, but she can fight this!  I know she can._

“What happened to your hands, Henry?  And your face?” Emma interrupted his thoughts, darting forward.  Henry let her grab his right wrist, finding her touch extremely gentle, even more so than usual.  Emma’s other hand, however, gripped the Dark One’s dagger, and Henry couldn’t help it when his eyes flicked to that.  Soon enough, however, he looked back at her pale and drawn face; Emma looked exhausted and _old_ , stressed and uncomfortable.

“I, uh, cut them pulling some rocks off of Hook,” he answered without thinking.

Immediately, his mother swung to face the pirate.  “You let this happen?” she demanded harshly, her eyes narrowing dangerously, and Hook flinched.

“I—I hardly meant to,” Hook stuttered in shock.  “A wall collapsed.  The lad saved my life.”

“You shouldn’t have brought him there!  What if something had happened?  What if—”

“Mom!” Henry cut in hurriedly, not liking where this uber-paranoid, somewhat crazed version of Emma was going.  She reminded him of Regina during her worst and most protective moments, like during the curse when Regina had hardly wanted to let him out of her sight.  “Nothing happened!  I’m fine.”

Well, truthfully, a _lot_ had happened, but Henry sensed that now wasn’t the time to tell Emma that.

“You’re hurt,” Emma objected, returning to staring at his hands, which were definitely bleeding far worse than his face.  They even hurt quite a bit.  “I can fix that.”

“You can heal now?”  Now that was an interested development; Henry hadn’t thought Emma had learned how.

For a moment, she smiled, and it was _Emma_ behind those green eyes, not this manic woman he didn’t recognize.  “I can do a lot of things now.”

Without a further word, Emma released Henry’s wrist, and her fingers glowed as she brushed her left hand over his.  Immediately, the wounds closed up, prickling slightly but not terribly uncomfortable.  Then her fingers flicked towards his face, and Henry could feel the wind burns there healing, too.  The pain from both vanished, replaced by a vaguely disquieting warmth, like something odd had been taken away in exchange for the healing.  But the wounds were gone, and everything felt so much better.  Hesitantly, he smiled at her, not quite sure how to deal with the woman his mother was now.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Henry.”  Now her eyes _burned_ with power, and a shiver ran down Henry’s spine.  “Not ever.  _No one_ is ever going to hurt you again.  No matter what _._ ”

“I’m okay,” he repeated, and then figured he should throw his mom’s boyfriend a bone, given how Emma seemed to be ignoring him.  “Killian took pretty good care of me, actually.  Even if he couldn’t stop me from going.”

Suddenly uncertain, Emma looked Hook’s way.  Her voice went very small.   “You kept him safe?”

“Aye.  I’d never let anything happen to him, love.  You know that,” the pirate replied hoarsely, taking a tentative step forward.  Seeing that, Henry made to step out of the way, but Emma’s free hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist again, holding him in place.

“Do I?” she asked, and Henry could feel the tension radiating off her.

“Of course you do.  Emma, nothing’s changed—”

“ _Everything’s_ changed,” she cut him off.  “ _I’ve_ changed.  I’m more powerful now.”  Emma cocked her head, reminding Henry of a vulture sighting its prey.  “And I’m everything you hate.”

“ _You’re_ not who I hate,” Hook said quickly.  “How I feel hasn’t changed, and it won’t.  You know how I feel.”

“Do I?” Emma countered.  “You spent centuries trying to kill the Dark One.  Now I am the Dark One.  Doesn’t that bother you a little, Killian?”

“You took that darkness on to save everyone,” he replied stubbornly.  “That’s different.  You’re a hero; being the Dark One doesn’t define you.  And we’ll help you.  All of us will.”

“What if I don’t want your help?” she asked, and Henry’s head snapped around to stare at her so quickly that his neck hurt.  “I don’t need _help,_ Killian.  I know what I need to do.”

_The Hat,_ Henry realized with a sinking heart.  _She thinks the_ Hat _is the answer?_   There was no way his mom thought that—not unless the darkness was corrupting her already.  How fast could it work?  This was too fast.  This wasn’t _Emma_.  Oh, pieces of her were; Henry could see how his mom was buried deep inside this new and suddenly warily dangerous woman beside him.  But right now, she was more the Dark One than she was his mother, and that was _terrifying._

“Emma, please,” Hook tried.  “That’s the darkness talking, not you.  You said that you wanted us to find a way to remove the darkness from you again, and that’s why Henry and I went to Camelot.  We went to find Merlin—”

“And did you?” she demanded.

“Sort of,” Henry answered before Hook could, not liking the half-seductive, half-hostile way his mother was sizing Hook up.  “He’s dead.”

A laugh ripped out of Emma, unsteady and gleeful all at once.  “Is he?” Shining eyes turned on Henry before she sobered up.  “Truly?  The Sorcerer is dead?”

“We found his body,” Hook spoke up gruffly.

“Good.”

“Good?”  Henry echoed incredulously before he could stop himself.  “Mom, that isn’t good!  That means he can’t help us!”

Henry caught himself just in time, barely managing _not_ to say that Merlin could have removed the darkness from her.  Emma clearly didn’t want that, or at least she _thought_ she didn’t, and it was obvious that they’d have to go behind her back to get this done.  _We can save her,_ he told himself firmly.  _Even if she doesn’t know she needs saving._

“I don’t need help,” Emma said stubbornly, looking at Henry like he had no idea what he was talking about.  Then she smiled at him, a desperate and needy smile that broke Henry’s heart.  “But I do need you.  I need you to trust me, Henry.  I know what I’m doing.  I’m in control, not the darkness.  I promise.”

“Mom…”

“Trust me.  Please?”  She squeezed his wrist, and it was _Emma_ again.  “I was the Savior, remember?  I have light and dark magic both, now.  Maybe the answer isn’t taking it away—it’s finding a balance.  I can do that, but I need your help.”

Henry wanted so terribly to believe her, even if he remembered his book, remembered that Rumplestiltskin had originally thought he could turn this to good, too.  Suddenly, he wished he’d asked his dad more questions about what it had been like to have the Dark One for a parent, about how Rumplestiltskin had changed after becoming the Dark One.  But it hadn’t seemed important.  Not then.  _And now Dad’s dead, and I’ll never have a chance to ask him,_ he thought, swallowing hard. 

“I love you no matter what, Mom,” he told her instead of promising to trust her, hoping that was enough.

“You can’t,” Hook cut in passionately, and Emma whirled to face him.  “You can’t control this.  Believe me, I’ve seen what it does to someone.  _Please_ , Emma.  You can’t trust this power.  It will corrupt you, and destroy everything you truly are inside.”

“Maybe it simply lets me be who I should have been all along,” Emma countered, her eyes narrowed.  “Light and dark both.  Not some ‘Savior’ who gets roped into saving everyone, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Hook tried again: “You’re better than this—”

“No,” she cut him off.  “I’m not.”

“This isn’t you!”

“It _is_ me!” Emma snarled, and Henry had to speak up.

“Mom, he’s right.  You’re not yourself,” he said quietly, hoping that he could get through to her even if Hook couldn’t.  But Emma jerked back, letting go of him as if touching him burned.

“You’re against me, too,” she said, her eyes wide and hurt.

“No, I’m not!  I just want you back.  I want my mom,” he argued, feeling a little dirty for the way his voice cracked.  But if a child’s simple plea could get Emma to listen, then a child Henry would be.

“You’ll always have me,” Emma promised, but her eyes were hard.  Meanwhile, Hook had closed the distance between them, and reached out to touch Emma’s right arm.

“Emma, let us help you,” he whispered, sounding broken.  “Let us help you fight this.  Give me the dagger, and—”

_“No!”_ She jumped back so fast Henry thought she had teleported away.  “I won’t be your slave!”

Hook looked horrified.  “I would never want—”

“Yes, you do.  You all do,” Emma snapped, and before either of them could argue, she vanished in a swirl of black smoke.

* * *

 

Poor Ruby was walking around like she was in a daze, but the girl sure was determined to keep the diner going.  A lot of the town had gathered outside to offer Ruby support and condolences, and even now that the body had been taken away by the morgue and the police lines were down, most people stuck around.  The dwarves—except for Happy, who was still in the lab—had volunteered to help clean things up, and Tink was keeping Ruby company.  Leroy had always liked her (half because Astrid did, and half because Tink didn’t take crap from anybody), and he was really glad to see the fairy sticking close.

Lord knew that _someone_ had to help Ruby right now, because he wasn’t sure that the girl had even let herself start to grieve yet.  It wasn’t even dinner time yet, and yet here she was, making sure the diner was ready for business.

“No way are we letting you open today, sister,” Leroy told her firmly, crossing his arms and daring Ruby to say something. 

“But—”

“He’s right, Ruby,” Tink cut in gently.  “You need a night off.  And not to spend it here.  You can come to my place, if you want.”

“I can go home,” Ruby mumbled, looking away.

“The hell you can,” Leroy snorted.  “Take Tink up on her offer, okay?  We’ll be here in the morning to help, too.  Or at least Doc, Dopey, Happy and I will.   Happy’s never busy, Dopey can cook, and Doc will make sure no one gets poisoned.  We’ll be here bright and early, so don’t you worry at all.”

He understood why Ruby wanted to keep the diner open, after all.  Granny had loved the place, and Ruby viewed it as her responsibility to her grandmother to keep going.  But that didn’t mean she had to do it by herself.  Thankfully, the other dwarves backed him up, and Doc stepped forward, speaking more kindly than Leroy would ever have managed.

“Grief is important, you know,” he said softly, pushing his glasses up his nose.  “You have to let yourself feel.”

“I don’t want to feel,” Ruby snapped petulantly.  “I want whoever did this found.”

“I hear you on that one,” Leroy agreed, and heard several other voices murmur in agreement.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed, as full of anger as they were of pain.  “Does Happy know yet?”

Leroy could have told her that Happy _shouldn’t_ share that information, given that he worked for the sheriff and all, but Leroy wasn’t that type.  Besides, he’d talked to Happy on the phone a few minutes earlier, and Ruby knew that.  Still, he had to shake his head.

“The only fingerprints on the bow are Granny’s,” he answered regretfully.  “So it had to be magic.  Regina claims that Ms. Crazy-pants is still down in the asylum, so that takes Zelena right now of the running.  But there are others it could be.”

“What about Gold?” Clark spoke up, sneezing.  “I heard he’s awake and back in town.”

Oh, Leroy would have _loved_ to pin it on that old bastard, seeing as how he’d sucked the fairies into the Hat—including Astrid!—and generally did his best to ruin everyone’s lives.  But he wasn’t going to lie.  “Not a chance.  The Prince arrested Samuel Boucher and Keith Nottingham for beating Gold up earlier.  Looks like there’s no magic left there.  And good riddance to him, I say.”

“Then _who_?” Ruby demanded, cutting back into the conversation. 

“We don’t know yet,” Leroy admitted.  “But we’ll find out.  You’re not gonna be the only one who fights for Granny.  I promise.”

* * *

 

They were all going to hate her.  She had killed Granny, and everyone was going to hate her for it.  Even if she hadn’t meant to, they’d never understand.

Emma had slipped in through the back of the diner again, needing to know what was being said and to know if people _knew_.  If they didn’t know who killed Granny, she would be all right.  She could find someone else to blame it on, and she could rebuild her life from there.  Oh, the fact that Killian had asked her for the dagger—that the man she _loved_ had wanted to _enslave_ her!—burned like a brand on her soul, but she could tell herself that he hadn’t meant it that way.  Part of Emma was even certain that Killian had only wanted to help.  She even regretted having left like she did.  Henry certainly hadn’t meant any harm, even if his naive world view meant he saw her darkness as a problem that needed fixing.

But Henry would come around.  And Killian would, too, if he loved her like he said he did.  _But he won’t,_ the voice inside her whispered.  _The more he sees, the less he will love you.  Unless he decides to embrace the darkness, too._ That was a point.  Killian had been a villain; he should understand!  Maybe they had more in common now than Emma had thought.  That could be a good thing.

Killian was _hers_.  She wanted him back.

“The only fingerprints on the bow are Granny’s,” Leroy told Ruby, making Emma freeze.  _Do they know?_ she wondered, leaning closer to the wall to listen.  “So it had to be magic.  Regina claims that Ms. Crazy-pants is still down in the asylum, so that takes Zelena right now of the running.  But there are others it could be.”

“What about Gold?” Clark spoke up, sneezing as annoyingly as usual.  “I heard he’s awake and back in town.”

“Not a chance.  The Prince arrested Samuel Boucher and Keith Nottingham for beating Gold up earlier.  Looks like there’s no magic left there.  And good riddance to him, I say,” the dwarf replied, and that made Emma perk up.

Rumplestiltskin was awake.  The darkness inside her had mixed feelings on him—he had escaped its clutches, yet had proven an excellent host for centuries, and had been oh-so-malleable-at the end—but Emma had questions for him.  And yet... _They hate him_ _still,_ she realized.  He was free of the darkness, was merely human now, and the idiots still hated him.   If they felt that way about him, how would they feel about her?

She _had_ to keep anyone from knowing what she’d done.  Otherwise, it was all over.

* * *

 

“So, that’s the long and the short of it,” Will said, looking uneasy.  And Regina couldn’t blame him.  _She_ didn’t like the story he’d told, and the Charmings obviously liked it even less.  “I watched her do it, but I don’t think she saw me, but I’d appreciate you keepin’ my name out of this, if it’s all the same t’you.”

“You’re saying that…that you saw _Emma_ kill Granny?” Snow asked hesitantly, and hearing her stepdaughter put that out in the open made Regina cringe.  There had been a time when she would have given anything to see Snow suffer like this…but she was a different woman, now.  Everything was different.

“Aye.  I know you don’t want to believe me, given how she’s your daughter and all, but I know what I saw.  She looked tore up about it, kinda off her rocker, cryin’ and gigglin’ and blaming Granny for pointing the crossbow at ‘er.  I’m not sure she meant to shoot her, mind.  But it happened like that.”

Snow and Charming turned to look at one another, and Regina could see their shared heart breaking.  She was a parent, too—even if she had been foolish enough to let her son run off to Camelot with a pirate—and she could only imagine how they felt right now.  _Emma_ would have been the last person anyone would think of as a murderer, even if Regina had seen firsthand that she had the ability to kill when her family was in danger.  _That was different,_ she told herself.  _This is…this is horrible._   Regina remembered what it was like to kill someone who was innocent of any crime save offending you.  She’d rationalized it in her mind a thousand different ways, had always told herself that _no one_ was innocent, but the bottom line was that she’d been a monster.

_I wanted to stop Emma from becoming one; I thought Rumple was the threat on that front,_ she thought sadly, looking at the broken expressions on Snow and David’s faces.  _Yet she took that darkness on willingly.  Surely that has to count for_ something _in the grand scheme of things?_

“You’re certain about this,” David finally said, sounding like he had a hard time speaking through the pain.

“Yeah,” Will answered simply, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting uneasily.  “Now, are you gonna arrest me for tellin’ you this, or you gonna believe me?”

The blunt and somewhat obnoxious question seemed to break through David’s funk, and he blinked in confusion.  “Why would I arrest you?” 

“I know how things go in this town for people who aren’t part of your little heroes’ club,” the thief snorted.

“What?” Snow and Regina asked together, both turning to stare at Will.

“I ain’t blind, y’know.  And neither is anyone else in this town,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.  “Anyone who’s in yer good graces gets a free pass. The rest of us, not so much.  It’s pretty obvious what category yer daughter’s gonna fall in.”

Snow looked horrified.  “We’d never—” she cut off, eyes wide and hurt.  “Emma’s different.  It isn’t her fault.  She took that darkness on to save _everyone_ , including you!”

“Well, it didn’t do a lot of saving for Granny, did it?”

“Will,” Robin spoke up before either of the Charmings could object, his voice a quiet warning.  For her part, Regina was just staring, her insides twisting around both sickly and furiously.  _I earned my chance at redemption,_ she seethed.  _I’ve_ worked _for their trust!_

“What?” Will shrugged.  “I’m just sayin’ what half the town is thinking.  If yer determined not to blame Emma for this darkness, well, then you probably shouldn’t blame Gold, either.  And we all know how that’s worked out.”

“That’s kind of rich, coming from the guy who was dating his wife,” Regina couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“Yeah, and the guy who _backed off_ once she said she wanted to be with him,” Will shot back, and his anger made Regina blink.  “Don’t even _think_ about taking the high horse with me, ‘Your Majesty’.  I know—”

“All right, fine,” Regina cut him off hurriedly, not willing to let Will reference the way she’d ripped Belle’s heart out.  Yes, it had been necessary, but now was _not_ the time to argue necessary evils.  Not when they had a dark and murdering Emma on their hands.  “We get your point.  No one is going to arrest you, and we thank you for the information.  No one is talking about giving anyone a free pass, but we _are_ going to look at things with the proper perspective.  Got it?”

Her voice grew hard on the last words, but the thief just shrugged casually.  “Sure.  Can I go? I think I’ve said enough.”

“More than enough,” Robin muttered, while the Charmings continued to look horrified.

_Now I get to deal with that, too.  Way to make things worse, Scarlet.  Snow and David have enough to deal with, thanks to Emma becoming the Dark One and killing Granny. Now you’re trying to give them a moral crisis as well as a family crisis!_   Robin rose to escort Will out, clearly uncomfortable as Regina glared at his former colleague/friend/whatever he was.   _I should have followed my first instinct,_ she thought unhappily.  Everything would have been  _so_ much better if she’d just pinned Granny’s death on Zelena.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Seven—“Came The Sundown of a Dream”, where Snow and Charming face what their daughter has become, the race to keep the Sorcerer’s Hat from Emma continues, Camelot’s earthquakes begin to shake Storybrooke, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle face off with their old allies/enemies.


	7. Came the Sundown of a Dream

Henry and Hook had arrived at the loft to find his grandparents in a state of shock, to learn that _Granny_ was dead, and that apparently, Rumplestiltskin was awake.  And without magic.  They’d spent much of that evening searching for Emma, because—not matter what—they weren’t going to forget that she was _family_ and that she needed help.  Henry told the others about their encounter with her, though Hook had been strangely quiet and depressed through the tale, adding very little.  Then they’d all set out to try to find her.  Regina had even supplied everyone with separate locator spells, but it seemed like Emma was tracking that somehow, because every time they got to where she _should_ be, she just vanished.

It made for an exhausting night, and Henry had been ashamed to be glad to crawl into his own bed sometime after midnight, even if he did feel guilty for not being able to help Emma yet.  He just wanted to findher, maybe even by himself so that no one else could mess things up.  Henry knew that he could get through to her if it was just the two of them…but first he might have to stop her.

“I think Mom wants the Hat,” he told Snow and David when he walked over to the loft the next morning.  Regina had sat down to try to make Merlin’s spell books open—which they refused to do for her thus far—and he’d promised her that he’d go to his grandparents instead of wandering around looking for Emma.  _For now._

“I can’t believe that,” Snow said softly, looking like she was still off-balance from the news of the night before.  Truth be told, Henry was, too.  But he’d gone back and read his father’s story in the Book, and that taught him a lot that he was pretty sure his grandparents didn’t understand.

 _Grandma keeps talking about how Mom did this for the right reasons, but Grandpa Gold was trying to do good, too,_ Henry thought, watching Snow glance at her husband for support.

“Emma knows better than almost anyone what that Hat can do, Henry,” David spoke slowly and thoughtfully.  “Even with that darkness corrupting her, I can’t believe she would willingly want to suck people into it.  Any hints in that direction came from the darkness.  Not her.”

“I know,” Henry said impatiently, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  Did they think he hadn’t spent all considering this?  “But if the darkness can make her _kill_ someone, it can make her want the Hat.  Emma said that she knew what she needed to do to free herself, and I’m pretty sure that was what she meant.”

“Can it really make her change so much?” Snow whispered, looking broken.  “I mean…she told me that she would be in control once she had the dagger.  Couldn’t it be true?”

They were both looking at him for answers, but all Henry could do was shrug.  “I don’t know.  The Book says that Grandpa Gold was like that in the beginning, too.  Out of control and hurting people all the time.”

“Emma’s not like him,” Snow said immediately, but Henry saw doubt flicker over David’s face.  “She can’t be.”

“I think she wants the Hat like he did, anyway,” Henry said, wondering what his other grandfather was like now.  He hadn’t forgotten that Rumplestiltskin had tried to kill him in the alternate world—and _had_ killed Regina!—but he also knew enough to know that wasn’t entirely his grandfather’s fault.  _Isaac wrote the world so that he’d protect it, and I didn’t even try to convince him otherwise.  I just figured that Emma could beat him, somehow._   That hadn’t been one of Henry’s finer moments, even if he’d been brave.  He hadn’t been terribly _smart_.

“Then we have to find it first,” David said decisively, rising.  He glanced at Snow.  “Can you call someone to watch Neal, or do you want to come?”

“We can bring him along,” Snow decided, standing as well.

“Great,” Henry agreed, not even letting the adults think of leaving him behind.  “Let’s go to the shop.  Grandpa Gold is probably there already.”

“And if he isn’t, we can simply get the Hat and keep it safe,” David said, grabbing his badge and gun.

The threesome headed out, running into Hook along the way and heading for Mr. Gold’s Pawnshop.

* * *

 

“Damn it all!” Regina snarled, resisting the urge to throw one of the ancient spell books across the room.  She needed to take them to her vault.  No spell she knew would open them—not even bleeding a bit on the edges did the trick, which was usually was the way to pass any sorcerer’s test—and she needed to do some research.

Learning that Merlin was dead had shaken her even more than knowing that Emma had killed Granny.  Regina knew all about killing, even innocents; you could come back from _that_.  But there didn’t seem to be a way to come back from being the Dark One without Merlin’s help.  _Apparently, the Apprentice missed the news that his boss was a decaying corpse in Camelot,_ she thought irritably, gathering up the books and shoving them back in the satchel Henry had provided.  She didn’t dare send them to her vault with magic; there was no knowing what volatile spells were on them and what might explode if she tried.   _Or get out._ The legends about Merlin were as varied as they were famous, and the Sorcerer had been known for tucking all kinds of odds and ends into books, or transforming dangerous creatures _into_ books.  Even teleporting herself with them in the bag might be a bad idea.  So, she was left with traveling the old fashioned way, which made Regina cranky.

None of this made sense.  Why had the Apprentice sent them on some wild goose chase?  He’d said that Merlin was far away, not dead.  But shouldn’t the old man have known if the Sorcerer was already dead?  Something didn’t add up.  Either the corpse Henry and Hook had found _wasn’t_ Merlin, or there was something else going on.

Regina had a terrible feeling that it was the later.

* * *

 

“You smiled.”

Her comment made Rumplestiltskin turn, only to find his wife beaming at him.  They’d barely been in the shop for ten minutes, and he’d made some silly little quip to make her laugh, but he hadn’t expected that response.  He blinked, turning away from the workbench in the back room.  “Did I?”

“Yes,” Belle replied, reaching over to put a hand on his arm.  Breaking his resolve not to be so weak and needy, Rumplestiltskin found himself leaning into her touch, _needing_ her like he had in his worst moments.  Belle kept him grounded; Belle made this world _real._   He had no idea what he’d do without her, or why she loved him like this, but he could at least finally acknowledge that she _did_.  Deserve better than him though Belle did, she had chosen him.

“I suppose I feel less…empty,” he answered slowly, considering his words before allowing them to escape.  His self-control was beginning to resurrect itself little by little; he still felt rubbed raw emotionally, and was still sometimes more honest than he wanted to be, but he was finding it easier to temper what he said.

“You still feel like that?” she asked quietly, looking worried.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “A little.  I think it’s a side effect of having the darkness torn out of me like that.  Or perhaps the stasis spell.”  Now his smile turned a little bitter, because his still intelligent mind had been turning over this problem for days, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t like the way things were adding up.  “I don’t think I was supposed to wake any time soon.”

“The Apprentice said that you’d wake if the strength was there,” Belle said thoughtfully.

“I don’t think he expected _you_ to be my strength, sweetheart,” he replied.  “In fact, I think he wanted me to stay under a lot longer—”

 _Ding, ding._ The ringing of the bell on the front door to the shop interrupted him, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself tense.  So far, the only people aside from Belle that he’d interacted with had tried to beat him to death—and do heavens knew what to Belle—which left him more than a little wary.  Honestly, Rumplestiltskin was _terrified_ , even if the many years he’d had power made him try to shove that fear aside.

But now he had nothing to hide his fear behind, no crutch to lean on.  What would he do if these people came to hurt Belle?  How could he protect her?  The gun under the counter was utterly insufficient.  He still needed power.

“It’s not here,” he heard a familiar voice say.  Was that the pirate?  Hook was not exactly the man he wanted to see on his second day back in the world…or any other time.

“Well, the door was unlocked, so maybe they’re here,” Snow White’s voice suggested, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his heart sink.  _Already?_ he wondered, almost by reflex.  But then, what had he expected?  Rumplestiltskin had come to the shop to try to think of some way to help Emma, who had inadvertently taken on the same darkness that had once so corrupted him.  _Of course the heroes came to you,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.  _Get a grip on yourself.  They always do._

The real question was what they were going to do now that _they_ had power and he had none.

“Gold?” David’s voice called out.  “Are you back there?”

 Well.  At least they were polite enough not to come barging into the back room.  That fact brought a wry smile to his face, and Belle squeezed his arm, arching an eyebrow in question.  Sighing, Rumplestiltskin nodded.  He’d said he wanted to help…now it was time to prove that.  If he could.

“We’re coming!” Belle called, and she led the way out of the back room.  Rumplestiltskin hesitated a moment before following, gathering what little courage he had—which had never been much—and limping out to face his visitors.  Of course, it was the Charmings, along with Hook and, more surprisingly, Henry.  Seeing his grandson made a lump form in Rumplestiltskin’s throat; he owed the boy more than an apology, but how could you ever make up for trying to kill your own flesh and blood?

“Are you all right?” Snow was asking Belle as he walked out, Rumplestiltskin tried not to bristle.  He _had_ hurt Belle terribly, and her friends were entitled to ask her if she was all right.  _Particularly when they see her with me,_ he thought sadly.  She loved him, he knew.  She truly loved him, but sometimes love was not enough.  He would screw this up again, wouldn’t he?

“I’m fine,” Belle replied.  “And I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“What did you do with the Hat, Crocodile?” Hook demanded, looming forward before Snow could say anything else to Belle.  For the first time in centuries, Rumplestiltskin realized how much _larger_ than him the pirate was.  Immediately, his mind whipped back to when he’d been nothing save a starving cripple, determined to save the woman he loved, even if she no longer loved him.

 _Don’t be a coward,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.   But part of him wanted to shrink away and hide—while another part of him _burned_ to put the pirate in his place.  _Belle believes in you.  You can be strong for her._   He’d never really been strong…but maybe he could start.  He had a chance now to be the kind of man he’d always wanted to be, the kind of man he’d asked Isaac to write him into in the other universe.  He wouldn’t be able to do that without dealing with his own past, with the things he had done and the way the darkness had influenced him…but he could still do it.  Rumplestiltskin could still be a man his son would have been proud of.

“It’s safe,” he replied as levelly as he could, meeting Hook’s eyes.

“Safe?” Hook snorted.  “As if _anyone_ should trust you to keep that safe.”

“Actually, dearie, I know better than anyone the damage that the Dark One can do with that Hat,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.  “And, more than anyone else, I understand the pressing need to keep it away from her.”

“Emma wouldn’t even _be_ the Dark One if not for you,” the pirate growled softly.

Oh, that was rich.  Rumplestiltskin laughed before he could stop himself, old habits rearing up.  “Is that so?”

“Rumple was unconscious when the Apprentice pulled the darkness out of him,” Belle cut in, her blue eyes fiery.  “You can’t blame him for the fact that the Apprentice wasn’t able to contain the darkness inside the Hat.”

“No, I just blame him for coming back here in the first place!  If that darkness was so _eager_ to come out, he should have stayed in New York and died.  Then that would have saved everyone.”

“How dare you?” Belle snarled back, glaring icily at the pirate.  “You stood here in front of me and said that taking on the Dark One’s curse would be a _small price to pay_ for killing him.  But now it’s suddenly insurmountable, and it’s suddenly Rumple’s fault?  Or is that only because that curse is suddenly much better at corrupting someone than you thought?”

“Emma took it on to save everyone!” Hook looked anguished.

“And you do her a disservice by blaming someone else for the brave choice she made,” she retorted.

The pirate scowled.  “Emma’s no coward.”

“She was a good person, and now you’re afraid she won’t be.” Rumplestiltskin said the words everyone was thinking, and he said them without rancor.  “That’s really what kills you, isn’t it?  You hunted the Dark One for years, and now you’re in love with her.”

“She won’t be like _you_ ,” Hook said, and it almost sounded like a prayer.

“Of course she will,” he shrugged.  “She won’t be able to help herself.  I didn’t want to hurt anyone in the beginning, either.”

“My book says that you ended the First Ogre War,” Henry said before any of the adults could speak.  “It says you tried to turn the power to good.”

Snow, David, and Hook turned to look at Henry like he was crazy, but Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “I did,” he admitted.  “But the darkness is…persuasive.  You often don’t know how far you’ve fallen until you’re long since lost.”  He glanced up at Snow and Charming.  “Has she killed anyone yet?”

He remembered Hordor and his men, remembered the blood lust and the _power_ , and how strong it had made him feel.  The curse had sung within him so beautifully, telling him that he could do _anything_ now that he had power.  Rumplestiltskin had wanted so badly to believe that, but he’d been wrong.  _As will Emma be,_ he knew.

“How did you know?” David asked, his eyes suddenly wide.

“It usually doesn’t take long.”

“She’s far stronger than you could _ever_ be,” Hook insisted, and Rumplestiltskin surprised himself by giving the pirate a sad smile.

“I hope so,” he said honestly.  “She’ll need that.  Emma also has the advantage of having been exposed to magic, not to mention the way you two tore her darkness away from her.”  Rumplestiltskin nodded at her parents. “Of course, that could be a double-edged sword.  On one hand, once she gets a handle on this, she only has _the_ darkness to contend with; it has nothing of her own to amplify.  On the other, however, Emma has little experience battling back her own demons.  She’s always made the right choice because she was predestined to, not because she learned to refuse the darkness on her own.”

“Are you saying we made this worse?” Snow whispered, looking broken.

“I’m saying that this is completely uncharted territory,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “Anything could happen.”

“Can you help her?” David asked, and Rumplestiltskin was a little surprised that it was a question and not a demand.  Hook still looked like he wanted to murder him—now a distinct possibility that he would have to watch out for—but perhaps he had done the prince and princess a disservice.

“She has to want to come back from the edge,” he said bluntly.  “It took me a long time to understand what I’d become…but if she _wants_ to learn to control the darkness, she can.”  _Most of the time,_ he didn’t add.  But Emma had a century or so before she had to worry about that, unless someone either sent her to the Vault for a year or controlled her for too long.  Either would give the darkness a jump start on consuming her, but he could teach her to mitigate that so long as nothing untold happened.

“She will,” Snow nodded firmly.  “I know Emma will.”

 _The Emma you_ knew _would,_ Rumplestiltskin barely stopped himself from saying.  _Emma as the Dark One may be_ very _different._ But he wouldn’t take away their hope.  Not when they were already so frightened, and when David was clearly reading Rumplestiltskin’s skeptical expression.  The prince met his eyes, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged slightly.  There was no way to know what would happen, or who Emma would be once she evened out.  _If_ she evened out.

“Thank you,” David said quietly.  “We’ll leave you be, then, unless there’s anything you need.  No one else has bothered you, have they?”

“No, we’re fine,” Belle answered for both of them.  “Thank you.”

“Good.”  David turned to lead the others out, and Rumplestiltskin felt his old cowardice rear up, telling him to just leave it be, to not say a word, and to just _hide_.  But he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do that, hadn’t he? 

 _He’s Bae’s son,_ he told his fears firmly.  _He deserves better._

“A moment, if you would.”  He forced the words out before he could stop himself.  “Henry.”

“Yeah?” the boy turned, looking a little wary.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t blame him for that, much though it made his heart ache.

“I owe you an apology,” he said softly.  “What I did…in that other world.  It was unforgivable, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for it.  But I am more sorry than words can express.”

Hook snorted derisively, but Henry watched Rumplestiltskin with Bae’s brown eyes as he bit his lip.

“You didn’t know you were my grandfather then, did you?” the youth asked.

“No.  But it doesn’t matter.  I still shouldn’t have tried to kill you.  You were trying to do the right thing, and I should have listened.”

“Can I ask you something, then?” Henry asked.  “And get an answer that isn’t evasive or finding some loophole?  The whole truth?”

Promising to answer a question without any equivocation always made Rumplestiltskin uneasy, but he managed not to hesitate.  “You have my word.”

“How much of the alternate universe was your idea? You worked with Isaac.  What did you ask for?”

Of course Henry would ask the one question even Belle hadn’t touched.  She’d guessed some of it—he’d heard her talking as he woke up from stasis—but she’d never asked.  Taking a deep breath, and reminding himself of his promise, Rumplestiltskin looked his grandson in the eye and told the truth. 

“I asked him to write a story where there was no Dark One, where no one had to live with that darkness.  I wanted a world where I could be someone my son could be proud of…though I didn’t manage that terribly well.”  His voice cracked on the last part, but Rumplestiltskin forged onwards, even when he felt Belle’s hand land gently on his arm.  “I was too weak to ask for particulars once he started writing.  And I think he’d had that story in his head all along, the idea to turn everything upside down.”

“But why would he do that?” Henry looked confused.

It was David who answered: “Because Isaac hated people who ‘fancied themselves heroes’.  He said he wanted to win.”

Henry looked back at Rumplestiltskin.  “You just wanted to write the darkness out?”

“Yes.  It was the only way I knew to stop it.”  A sad smile crossed his face, and Rumplestiltskin felt the weight of that failure pushing down on him.  Perhaps he should have stayed in New York, and let himself die there.  _And then the darkness would have_ still _taken you over, and it would have come back here with no one to stop it,_ he knew.  The Dark One was _the_ elemental darkness, darkness older than the Enchanted Forest itself.  A small thing like the Land Without Magic never could have stopped it—not with Storybrooke so nearby.

“Isaac said that it was his story.”  Again, David spoke up, and his support rocked Rumplestiltskin to his very core.  The prince laughed humorlessly.  “He said you weren’t much help, actually.  That he had to push you to make sure the alternate world didn’t fall apart, and even then that you almost didn’t do it.”

“And then I failed at that, too.  I am, apparently, a villain through and through, even when I try to pretend otherwise.” Rumplestiltskin looked at Henry again.  “I don’t expect your forgiveness, Henry, but I am sorry.”

“If Killian can forgive Gramps for killing him, I can forgive you for trying to kill me,” the boy said with a shrug, and Rumplestiltskin blinked.  Hard.  “You didn’t know what you were doing, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”  He didn’t deserve forgiveness.  Not for everything he had been, or _anything_ he had done.

“Then it’s just like the curse, only with someone nastier than Mom pulling the strings,” Henry decided.  “I’m not mad.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say to that; pain and emotion welled up in his throat, making words impossible for several long moments.  A suspicious stinging started in the back of his eyes, but he refused to let tears fall, no matter how misty his vision grew.  After a long moment, he managed to speak hoarsely.

“Thank you, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.

“Can you help her?” Henry asked, suddenly looking so very young.  Rumplestiltskin wanted to reach out to the boy who looked at him with lost brown eyes, but he knew that wouldn’t be welcome. 

“I hope so,” he said, swallowing.  “I’ll try.”  _For you and for Bae._

“Me, too,” Henry whispered, and then gave him a brave smile.

Perhaps there _was_ hope, after all.

* * *

 

They met outside Regina’s vault, and if Will wasn’t still a little weirded out by the fact that his old friend was dating the Evil Queen, well, it was probably better than the Wicked Witch of the West.  Particularly when that witch just _happened_ to be carrying Robin’s little bundle of joy.  _Yeah, this place just gets stranger and stranger,_ Will thought to himself.  _An’ I thought Wonderland was wacko!_

“So, what’s Regina gonna do about this mess?” he asked after the normal pleasantries were exchanged.  (Will asked about Roland, but not about the psychopath who had been pretending to be Marian.  That was probably going a little far.  Robin hadn’t asked about Ana, but he knew better than to touch that sore nerve, too.  They understood one another, they did.)

“Come again?” Robin blinked.

“She’s still the mayor, ain’t she?”

“Of course, but—”

“ _But_ we’ve got a crazy Dark One running around town killin’ at random, an’ something’s got to be done, mate.  Much though I disliked Gold, that’s one think you knew he’d never do.  He only killed people with a purpose, and was more likely to turn them into somethin’ creepy n’ crawly than outright murder,” Will pointed out.  “The old sheriff seems to be cut from a different cloth, though, and her parents sure as hell aren’t gonna stop her.”

Robin sighed.  “It’s complicated, Will.”

“‘Course it is.  Everything’s complicated,” he snorted.

“You said that it looked like she didn’t mean to kill Granny,” Robin objected.  “If she didn’t—”

“Look, if I’m fooling around with your crossbow and accidentally shoot you, you’re still dead,” he cut in.  “Jus’ like Granny is.  An’ I’d sure as hell be in a cell for questioning, with no one there to talk about mitigating circumstances and the like.”

“You didn’t see that darkness she took on,” Robin countered, shuddering.  “It was almost _alive_.  It was just this swirling mess of blackness, toxic and terrible.  Even the best person is going to be a little off from that, and Emma did that to save everyone in this town, including you and me.”

“I don’t need to see it to understand that there’s a bleedin’ double standard going on here.”  Will rolled his eyes.  “I gave me word not to say anything else for now, and I’ll keep that, but you can’t keep a lid on this forever.  Your girlfriend needs to do something, and fast.  Otherwise, I won’t be the only one in this town who realizes no one means to do anything to Granny’s murderer.”

“Well if you’ve got ideas on how to you punish a swirling mass of darkness, I’m all ears.”

Will snorted.  _That one’s easy._ “Let’s start by not letting it walk around freely, yeah?  Keeping it from murdering anyone else ought to be a good start.”

* * *

 

 _Let’s start by not letting it walk around freely_.  The words echoed in Emma’s mind as she listened to the two outlaws talking.  The shorter one had picked a fight with her Killian once, she remembered, interrupting a perfectly wonderful date with something stupid.  And now he was calling hera murderer.  _Will Scarlet,_ her memories told her his name was.  He’d told them she killed Granny.  He must have _seen_.

How?  She hadn’t realized anyone was there—but control was still so very hard.  Hearing actual sounds was difficult when the darkness in her mind started raging, try though Emma did to push it back.  Now, of course, it was even harder than before.  She hadn’t wanted to kill Granny, but what was done was done.  Magic couldn’t bring back the dead, and she would _never_ fight back the darkness if they locked her away.  The very thought of being locked in some cage was enough to make her feel a little mad.  Yet this _Will Scarlet_ was telling people.  He’d told Regina.  He’d told Robin.  He was trying to turn her friends and family against her, and she couldn’t let that happen.  _I don’t want Henry to know,_ Emma thought, grief suddenly welling up so fast that it hurt.  _Henry can’t know I killed someone he liked._ For a moment, her mind was clear, and Emma was almost herself as she thought about her son.

 _He doesn’t have to know,_ that persuasive voice inside her whispered.  _Kill Scarlet.  Kill everyone else who knows.  Make sure they will never be found, and no one will ever know._

“No,” Emma whispered, and watched both men twitch in her direction.   Had they heard her?  There was no reason to let them know she’d been eavesdropping, so she took herself back to the forest with a thought. 

She needed somewhere better to hide.  A house?

She would worry about that later.

 _First, kill them.  No one need know._  

“Shut up!” Emma snarled, tearing her mind away from that entirely too tempting thought.  Yes, she could kill Scarlet.  Maybe she even should.  He had witnessed Granny’s death, and she couldn’t allow that.  But Regina was her friend.  _Regina is a threat,_ the darkness whispered.  _She is powerful.  She will try to stop you._  

_She will try to get the dagger._

A cold chill whipped through her, and Emma shivered hard, wrapping her arms around her body.  Doing so provided no warmth, even when she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to use magic to warm up the sudden ice flowing through her veins.  The voice inside her had to be wrong.  She knew it was wrong.  Regina would keep her secret.  Regina understood darkness; she had been there, too.  She wouldn’t try to trap Emma.  Regina was her friend.  _Do you hear that?_ she thought towards the darkness.   _Regina is my friend.  And she’s Henry’s other mother.  I can’t do that to him.  I won’t._

Again, thinking of Henry helped clear her mind.  Emma loved him so much, missed him so much that it _hurt_ , but she couldn’t go to him.  Not until she had herself under control.  She’d flipped out on Henry and Killian when they’d tried to help her, and Emma refused to hurt those she loved.  Because she _did_ love them, so very much.  Both of them. 

Killing Regina was out.  But Regina would _make_ Robin be quiet, wouldn’t she?  Because Regina would understand.  And that meant she could take out Scarlet and then be done with this.  Scarlet was the threat.  Not Regina. 

Then why were her hands shaking so hard?

* * *

 

An hour before sunset, the ground began to tremble.  At first, it was a tiny tremor, knocking glasses off of the shelves in Granny’s despite Ruby’s best efforts to keep them from breaking.  Windows rattled in their casings and floors trembled, but in a town with so much magic, such occurrences were not entirely unheard of.  Most people brushed it aside…for the first five minutes.

But the rumble grew to a roar, and soon enough, minor earthquakes became major ones, shaking all of Storybrooke.  People ran outside, shouting at one another and screaming, not knowing if the buildings around them would come down or not.  Tinker Bell and Ruby tried desperately to keep everything in the diner from breaking, but the dwarves ran outside to try to find out what threat had cropped up.  Snow and Charming grabbed on to one another as Prince Neal began to cry, and Regina swore as she rushed out of her vault, feeling magic fill the very air.

Meanwhile, Hook spun around to look at Henry, only to find that the lad’s eyes were wide and staring at him.  “It’s happening here!” Henry cried, clinging to the couch for balance.

“ _What’s_ happening here?” David demanded.

The loft was not the most structurally sound apartment in Storybrooke, and the eastern wall started creaking as a painting fell down.  Snow snatched Neal out of his cradle, holding him close and shielding him with her body as the pipes under the sink burst with a _bang_ , making the infant screech in terror.

“It’s like Camelot!” Killian was at a loss for words.  This shouldn’t be happening here, should it?  Had they brought something _back?_

“What?” Snow asked.  “What do you mean?”

“Camelot started shaking itself apart not long after we got there,” Henry explained.  “Everything went crazy!”

“Could something have come back with you?” David asked Killian, and their eyes met.  Immediately, the pirate could see that his love’s father shared his line of thought, but he had no reassuring words to give.

“Aside from the bag of treasures—” he started.

“You stole _treasure_?” Snow cut him off furiously.

“No!  Books and magical objects,” Henry answered impatiently.  “Things to help Mom!”

“But—”

As suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped, and Storybrooke went still.

“Well, that’s better,” David said cautiously, and Killian threw him a look.

“That remains to be seen, mate.”

None of them saw the doors in the Sorcerer’s mansion burst open once more.  No one was there to see a cloud of golden power whip through them, twisting and twirling in the air much the same way the darkness had done once it was free of Rumplestiltskin.  The power raced around the room once, and then twice, until finally breaking free through a west-facing window.  From there it shot into the sky, hovering over the Sorcerer’s House as it coiled and uncoiled, searching.

Dawn arrived before anyone saw the tendrils of golden power, and by then it had already begun its search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Chapter Eight—“When the Fire dies,” where Regina tries to face down this mysterious swirling power, and Emma visits her predecessor for advice.


	8. When the Fire Dies

“I’m starting to think that whoever called you was drunk,” Regina scoffed as the four of them walked down Main Street that morning.  Glancing at her, Robin could read the lines of stress on her face; being Regina, she made light of things and threw snarky comments around.   Regina didn’t deal well with uncertainty, and she _really_ didn’t deal well with the sacrifice Emma had made for her.

That still bothered her, Robin knew.  She didn’t say so very often, but he knew that she felt responsible for Emma having become the Dark One—and therefore for Granny’s death, too.  She’d spent most of the night researching before he dragged her away, trying to open Merlin’s books in hopes that there might be an answer there.  So far, she hadn’t managed to read a page, however, and being woken up shortly after dawn by David’s phone call hadn’t left her in a good mood at all.

“I don’t think eight different people got drunk enough to see the samegolden mass of _something_ swirling over the town, knocking holes in houses and terrifying people half to death,” the prince replied calmly.

“Were seven of them dwarves?” Regina snorted, stopping in front of Storybrooke Country Bread and crossing her arms.  “If so, I can see it happening.”

“It wasn’t the dwarves,” David retorted, clearly not even trying to hide his sigh as he exchanged a glance with Snow.

“Has anyone seen this thing up close?” Robin asked.  “I mean, do we even have any idea what it is or where it came from?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Snow answered.  “Widow Morton called and said she saw it come out of the Sorcerer’s House last night before it destroyed several boats in the marina.”

“Last _night_?” Regina echoed.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because she didn’t call until this morning!”

“Well that’s just great.”  Regina gestured angrily at the sky.  “Where the hell is this thing, anyway?  I’ve got better things to do than stand here in the middle of the street waiting for something to happen.”

She was just stressed, Robin knew, worried about Emma and overly tired.  And she probably had no idea how obnoxious she was being.  “Regina,” he said softly.  “Everyone needs your help.  You’re the only one that can stop this thing.”

“Look, we could call you when it’s spotted—” David started, but Regina cut him off.

“No, Robin’s right.  I’m sorry.  I just…I’m not used to being the one everyone turns to on stuff like this, all right?”

“It’s all right,” Snow stepped closer to put a hand on her stepmother’s arm.  “We’re all a little lost.”

“I’m not—” Regina cut herself off with a sigh, and Robin gave her a small smile as she turned back to Snow.  “Okay, fine, it’s a mess.  _I’m_ a mess.  Happy?”

“I’d be happy if none of this was happening,” Snow answered as movement caught Robin’s eye.  “But for the moment, I’ll settle with getting whatever this _thing_ is under control before it hurts someone.”

“Well, here’s your chance.”

Robin gestured upwards, towards Atlantic Twine & Net.  The sky above the store was rapidly lightening, early morning blue turning golden.  Slowly, thick smoke seemed to bubble up over the flat roof of the building, white at first and then turning rapidly gold.  Small twists of blue power sparked within the cloud, until it reared up over the front of the store, covering the sign and boiling down across the doors until it hit the street.  Within the clouds, however, the danger lurked: bright golden tendrils of power, swirling around one another just as the darkness had done five days earlier.  _Except more slowly,_ Robin realized, watching the mass warily.  _These are moving_ much _more slowly._

“Oh, great.  That thing looks really welcoming,” Regina grumbled, and then glanced at Robin, Snow, and David.  “You might want to stand back.”

“Regina…you can’t let this thing suck you up,” Snow said quickly, echoing Robin’s thoughts.  “If it’s like the darkness—”

“It needs a human soul to tether itself to,” Robin finished for her when the princess’ voice broke.  “You can’t do that, love.  We don’t know what it is, or how dangerous it is—or what it might do to you.”

“I have no intention of letting that mess invade my body, thank you very much,” Regina retorted immediately.  “But someone’s got to try to stop it, and as you all keep saying, that pretty much has to be me.  Now _back up_!”

“Just be careful,” Robin pleaded, keeping step with Snow and David as they backed towards the opposite sidewalk, never taking his eyes off of the swirling golden mass. 

His heart started pounding wildly as Regina stretched her arms out, white-blue power gathering in her hands.  After a few seconds, she thrust her hands forward, magic racing out to meet the still-swirling golden mass.  Regina’s spell struck it dead center, and something very like lightning flashed in the sky, crackling and roaring as the power descended to swirl around Regina, moving faster and faster.  It whipped around her wildly, small flares of lightning crackling violently with Regina suck in the center.

“Not again,” Robin growled, and he couldn’t have stopped himself from rushing forward, even if he’d wanted to.

But Regina could.  “Wait!” she cried.  “This isn’t like the other one!”

“Then what the hell is it?”

“I don’t know!  I think—I think it’s searching for something.”  Regina whirled within the vortex of power, trying to push it away from her body, but even as Robin watched, the golden tendrils pushed back.

“Can you get free?” Snow shouted.

“I can find out.”  Regina’s hands came up again, and this time the power that burst out was purple and darker, forming a glowing ball that was clearly meant to burn a hole through the tornado around her. 

Regina’s spell hit the golden vortex, and a sharp whistling filled the air, high and powerful enough to make Robin feel like his eardrums were going to burst.  Instinct made him clap his hands over his ears as Snow and David did the same—but the whistling continued as Regina’s ball of power tried to breach the trap she found herself in.  After several seconds, a deep _crack_ filled the air, and Regina’s spell disappeared as the vortex inhaled it whole.

“Mom!” a new voice cried, and the adults whirled to see Henry rushing up, Hook a few steps behind. 

“Henry, no!” Regina cried, and Robin wrenched his hands off of his ears as the whistling suddenly stopped, rushing over to catch Regina’s son in case he tried to jump in after her.

“I’m not letting this happen to you, too,” Henry shouted at Regina, and then looked over his shoulder at Hook.  “Try the staff.”

“I hope you’re right,” the pirate said, lifting the staff he held in his hands high over his head.  Hook brought it crashing into the ground, tip first, and somehow the staff split the surface of the street right open.  It settled in as Hook backed away, gesturing for Robin and Henry to do the same.

“What are you doing?” Regina demanded, sounding out of breath as she tried another spell to free herself from the vortex.

“It’s Merlin’s staff,” Henry explained.  “If this power _did_ come from Camelot, the staff might draw it in.  Or stop it.  Or _something_.”

“Good thinking—” David started to say, but he cut off to gape as the power suddenly veered away from Regina, wheeling in the air towards the staff—and those who stood near it.

Quickly, Robin grabbed Henry and pulled him further away, watching Hook dodge, too.  The swirling mass of power started glowing ever brighter, and the vortex whistled again as it came down over the staff, whirling around it faster and faster.  Squinting against the brightness, Robin had to bring an arm up to shield his eyes.  The ever increasing glow felt ready to burn his eyes out, and the longer he stood close to it, the warmer it began.  Somewhere behind him, Regina collapsed, only to be caught by Snow, but the power kept swirling and swirling—

_Crack!_

Suddenly, the staff tore out of the ground and fell—and the power raced into the sky, golden tendrils seeming to reach for the sun.  After a few moments, the unnatural glow slowly faded, and Storybrooke’s main thoroughfare returned to normal.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Hook asked, and no one had an answer for him.

* * *

 

He was surprised that she knocked.  In his own early days, Rumplestiltskin had never been so polite—but then, he had been so focused on proving his power to all and sundry that he hadn’t _wanted_ to be polite.  Emma, on the other hand, had been secure in who she was and with her place in the world, which hopefully meant she would get control of this faster than he had.  Still, as Rumplestiltskin had told her parents, the way they’d taken Emma’s darkness away from her could serve as a double-edged sword, and there was no way to know what kind of Dark One she would be.

_Well, I suppose I’m the one who gets to find out,_ he thought, limping towards the front door.  Belle was still sleeping, fortunately.  Rumplestiltskin had risen an hour earlier after a long string of nightmares he couldn’t remember, wishing he could bring himself to spin without thinking of Zelena.  But he couldn’t.  That witch had taken from him the one way he used to find peace, and he had yet to find another way to calm his racing mind.

“I wondered when you might drop by,” he said, opening the door to find Emma Swan on his doorstep, looking her up and down with a little trepidation.

She looked different.  Oh, not to the same extreme that he had back in their old world, but magic was different here in Storybrooke.  _So is she, now._   Gone were the casual clothes and the loose hair; now she was in black leather, with her hair back in a severe bun.  The look wasn’t a good one on her, but it did present a frightening contrast with the impatient innocence that used to define Emma Swan.

“We need to talk.”  The words were half a growl and half a plea, and Rumplestiltskin could see the war raging behind her hazel eyes.

“Then do come in,” he replied, stepping back and inviting the Dark One into his home.  _As if I have a choice.  We’ll be having this conversation one way or another, but I’d prefer to do so from a position of power rather than having her use_ her _power on me,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, trying hard to banish his fears.  He had toyed with several magical items in the shop the day before, and he _could_ use those to do minor magic…but that was nothing compared to the power Emma had at her fingertips now, and they both knew it.

Turning his back on her to lead Emma into the living room was an exercise in self-control, but somehow Rumplestiltskin managed it.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the way Emma walked, cataloging the changes in her body language and the hyper-aware way in which she looked around.  She was utterly fearless and painfully seductive, but there was an uncertainty under the surface that he could just barely sense.  She was afraid of herself, Rumplestiltskin realized.  _Good._   That meant she still possessed something of the old Emma Swan.

It had been five days, and she’d already killed.  She also had many people who loved her.  Hopefully, those factors would all come together to help her become less of a monster.

But Rumplestiltskin had never believed in following hope as a course of action, so he simply gestured Emma into a seat on the couch as he lowered himself into an armchair across from her.  He didn’t offer her refreshments, nor was he going to waste time on small talk and pleasantries.  This was not a social visit, and Emma was not here because he had ever been her friend.

“How did you do it?” she whispered, her voice raw as she stared at the carpet.  “How did you _control_ this darkness?”

“I didn’t,” he answered simply, and watched her head whip up, eyes wide and suddenly terrified.

“But you…”

“I bargained with it.  You might say that I made a deal, one you’ll have to make as well,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  “The darkness will break that deal eventually—it always will—but in the meantime, you’ll have the ability to remain more yourself and less of a simple vessel for the curse.”

Emma blinked.  “A deal.  What kind of deal?”

“You understand how the dagger works?”

“If you try to take it—” She was halfway out of her seat and snarling before Rumplestiltskin managed to interrupt her.

“I’m the very last person in this town who would try that, dearie, so sit down,” he snapped, offended at the idea and unable to stop his own memories from rolling through him.  Being controlled had always felt like being chained, trapped, caged.  He remembered countless days on his knees at Zelena’s feet, struggling to hide his terror and his helplessness, knowing that she could make him do _anything_ and utterly unable to resist.  No, for all his many faults, Rumplestiltskin could not subject another to that.  Just thinking on it made him feel sick.

“I…I think I understand that,” Emma whispered raggedly.  “When my mom touched the dagger, I felt like I was in chains.”

She shuddered, and Rumplestiltskin nodded, reining in his own feelings with an effort.  But the question still came out roughly:  “You have it back?”

“Yes.”  Hazel eyes flashed.  “And I won’t _ever_ lose it.”

“I hope you don’t,” he said honestly.  “For your sake.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time since they’d known one another, the former Savior and the former Dark One actually understood one another.

“You said something about a deal,” Emma said after a moment.  “What can I offer the darkness that it doesn’t already have?  It’s tethered to my soul already.  I let it in.”

_I need it._

He didn’t have to hear those words to know Emma was thinking them.  Rumplestiltskin knew the draw of that power all too well, and he could even feel it from here, sitting across from her.  A part of him _burned_ to take that curse back, one way or another, to do whatever it took to regain power.  Maybe his heart could take it, now.  Maybe he would be able to maintain control again.  He could probably manage it better than she could—certainly better than he had done towards the end—and that would be good for _everyone_ , right?  He wouldn’t have to be so afraid, so powerless.  No one dared cross Rumplestiltskin when he was the Dark One, but as a man he had already rediscovered how weak he was.  How afraid.

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow,_ Belle had said to him.  She wanted a husband who could love her, didn’t she?  _I just wanted to be chosen._

Rumplestiltskin had never meant to choose the darkness over her; he’d simply known that he was nothing without it.  But now he already _was_ powerless…and she was still with him.  He’d never thought she’d stay if he was simply plain Rumplestiltskin, even though he’d known he was doomed to lose her as the Dark One.  Yet his wife slept on upstairs.  She had stood by him despite the monster he had been, or the coward he now was again.  _Do the brave thing,_ he told himself, and firmly put all thoughts of retaking that curse aside.  He had promised Henry that he would help Emma, and he would keep that promise.

“Every Dark One has been different.  I bargained with the darkness for my ability to love,” he admitted.  Rumplestiltskin had never told anyone this, but Emma needed to know.  “I offered it power, offered it a willing vessel to become a figure of fear and respect, so long as I didn’t lose that part of myself.”

“For Neal,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly full of hurt.  “Baelfire, I mean.”

Speaking around the lump in his throat was hard.   “Yes.” 

“Did it work?” Emma asked.

“In part.  I never stopped loving him, but I couldn’t understand what he was so afraid of.  I didn’t understand what the darkness would do to me, how it would make me _feel_.  In the beginning, telling _its_ voice away from my own thoughts was nearly impossible.”

“I know.”

“I learned—too late—to harness it.  I learned when to feed the darkness and when to make my stand.  The secret, Emma, is that you can’t fight it all the time.”

“But—”

“No one is that strong,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off gently.  “Even the Savior.  You have to choose your battles, have to know when to give the darkness its head and when to hold firm.  I fed it with deals, with subtle victories.  I let it mock people and use them— _I_ mocked people and used them.  I did everything I could to stop it from gaining full control of me, even when that meant making the conscious choice to _be_ the monster.”

Nodding silently, Emma digested that for several moments before whispering: “I don’t think I’m the Savior anymore.”

“Perhaps not.  Does that really matter?”

“Yes!” She looked offended; Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“You know what you are, now.  There’s no escaping it,” he said bluntly.  “You can try to fight it all the time, but you’ll lose that much faster if you do.”

“How do you know?” Suddenly, she cocked her head, and he could see the imp in control.  “You never did, did you?  You were _weak_ when you took this power on.  You made a deal you didn’t understand.”

He would have made the words into a song; from Emma, they were a soft purr, dangerous and almost seductive.  Even as the accusation made him flinch, her manner sent a shiver down his spine, one made of equal parts terror and unwitting desire.  _She is going to be_ so _very dangerous if she can’t stop herself._

“I did,” he admitted, willing his voice not to shake.  “As did you.”

“ _I_ know exactly what I’m doing,” Emma hissed. 

“No, you don’t.”  It took all of his courage to look the monster he had been in the eye, and Rumplestiltskin’s hands would not stop trembling.  “But you know that if you continue this way, you’ll lose everyone you love, and you don’t want that, do you?”

Those words brought Emma back to the surface, and she flinched.  “I won’t let anyone take them away,” she snarled.

“Ah, but you’ll drive them away if you continue on like this, and you know that.  Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he said.

“I wanted _help_.  Not lectures from a broken down old man!”

“And help you shall have, if you can stomach it,” Rumplestiltskin snapped back, goaded into a temper.  That stopped Emma midway through rising, and she sat back down, glaring at him.

“Then tell me how to control this.  Tell me how to make it mine.”

“Dark magic uses you as much as you use it,” he explained.  “Understand that, and learn when to embrace the darkness.  Save your soul where you can, and _never_ let go of those you love.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice cracked again, and for a moment he was back on the edge of a swirling vortex, letting go of his son because he was afraid.  He needed a moment before he could continue, tears stinging at the back of his eyes.  “Feed the darkness.  It will feed on you, too, but if you keep it sated, the darkness will not consume you as quickly.”

“You mean by hurting people.” Emma looked a little excited and downright horrified as she spoke.

“I used deals,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I never liked causing pain—even though the Dark One always wanted to.  Sometimes I gave in and learned to enjoy it, but I always hated myself even more afterwards.  You…you’ll have to find your own path.  Just understand the balance you must walk.  You have to give it _something_ , or the darkness will simply feed on you.”

_Feed the madness and it feeds on you._   He had tried to tell Zelena what was happening, but she’d never noticed.  Had she controlled him much longer, the Dark One might have consumed him then and there, and that would have been a disaster for _everyone_.  Though the fact that Zelena would not have survived the experience was a very cold comfort, even now.

“Like it did to you at the end.”  Emma seemed to hear the unspoken words, the old madness.

“All magic comes at a price, particularly yours.”  He shrugged uncomfortably.  “I tried to turn away from the darkness while still using the power.  I killed Pan, and the price was my life.  It would have ended there if I hadn’t been resurrected, but the darkness from the Vault—all of it, even the parts I had mitigated or marginalized centuries earlier—came back with me.  The price it demanded then was my soul, and I could not get out of paying.”

“Will that happen to me?”

“Eventually.  I lasted longer than most,” Rumplestiltskin said honestly.  “But you  have centuries yet, assuming you find that balance.”

She looked away.  “I don’t know if I can.”

“I’m hardly the right man to come to for reassurances, but I think you’re probably the best suited to do so.”

“Because I was the Savior,” Emma snapped bitterly.  “ _You_ made me into that.   You and the Sorcerer and everyone else.”

“Oh, don’t lump me in with him, dearie.” Something like his old laugh bubbled up, just for a moment.  “I suspect my feelings about the Sorcerer are rather akin to your own.”  He waited until she smiled briefly, and then continued: “But no, not because you’re the Savior.  I think you’ll find the balance because of _who_ you are, not what you are.  You’re strong.  You always have been.”

“I’m not as clever as you.”  Emma bit her lip, and for a moment, she looked like the lost little girl Rumplestiltskin imagined that his maneuverings had turned her into.  Oh, Regina had cast the curse, but he’d pushed for it—and Emma had paid the price. 

“Sometimes strength is more important,” he said gently, leaning forward to place a hand on her knee.  Guilt welled up and made his voice tight.  “You can—”

“Rumple?” Belle’s voice called, and Emma’s head snapped up. 

Before another word could be spoken, Emma vanished in a swirl of black smoke, leaving Rumplestiltskin sitting alone while his wife walked into the room. 

“Was someone here?” she asked, looking confused.

Grabbing his cane, Rumplestiltskin rose.  “My successor,” he said softly, glancing at the chair where Emma had sat.  “She needed…help.”

“Could you help her?” Belle said softly, moving to his side and taking his hand.

“I don’t know.”  His eyes found the spot where Emma had been sitting on their own, and Rumplestiltskin found himself staring blankly.  After a few moments, his wife spoke hesitantly.

“Did you…did you want to?”

“I promised Henry I would.”  The response came out clipped, closed off.  He didn’t want to say more.

“Rumple.”

Had Belle not sounded so lost, Rumplestiltskin might not have answered.  He didn’t _want_ to bare his soul like this, and he finally had scraped together enough self-control to stop the raw honesty from leaking out uncontrollably.  But she deserved better.

“Part of me wants it back,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut so that he didn’t have to look at then shock on her face.  The hatred.  _This is where she decides I’m not worth loving, isn’t it?_ the old voice of his insecurities whispered before he could push it aside.  “I want the power.  But not at that price.”

“You don’t have to have power,” Belle whispered.  “Can’t you just be you?”

And there was the crux of everything, wasn’t it?  She didn’t understand, not really, even after what had happened just a few days ago. 

“I want to be a good man, but I don’t want to be helpless.  Do I have to be one to be the other?” Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes to turned a gaze on her that he knew was broken; encountering Emma had made him realize far too much about himself, and _needed_ to know what his wife, his True Love, wanted him to be.

Did she want some terrified spinner, someone who was helpless that she could be strong for?  He didn’t _think_ she wanted to rule him—because she could have easily done that when he was the most powerful man in Storybrooke.  Rumplestiltskin had always let her take the lead in their relationship, had never tried to stand in the way of what Belle wanted, but what did she want from _him_?  Was the spinner—the man he hardly remembered being, save for the fear that had dogged most moments of his life—the man she wanted?  He didn’t want to be like that.  He was tired of being afraid.

“Of course not!”

“Then tell me what you want,” he begged her, his emotions boiling over and bringing tears to his eyes.  “Tell me what you want me to be, Belle, and I’ll do it.  You told me that you wanted to be chosen, and this is me choosing you.  Just tell me what you _want_.”

“I don’t want you to tailor yourself to my expectations!” she cried, looking horrified.  “I just don’t want to be your second choice.  I don’t want your power to be more important to you than I am.”

“Belle, you never were,” Rumplestiltskin tried to explain, biting his lip to try to keep from crying outright. 

“Wasn’t I?  You turned to power for comfort instead of me,” Belle whispered.  “It was like I wasn’t…like you only married me because I was weak, not because you actually wanted me for _me_.”

Thunderstruck, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at her for a long moment.  Even amidst all his lies, he had tried so hard to let Belle know how he valued her, how much he loved her.  He had been so certain that he would lose her eventually, but he had never meant for her to feel _unwanted_. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” Tentatively, he lifted a shaking hand to touch her face, terrified that she would pull away.  But Belle melted into his touch as he had so often melted into hers, and for the first time, he could see the insecurities that his strong wife buried so well.  “It was never like that.  It was just that I didn’t want you to know how weak I was.  I thought you wanted me to be strong.”

“I wanted _honesty_ ,” she replied, and Belle was crying, too.

“I married you because I love you,” he whispered, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers.  “Because I didn’t want to lose you.  Because I was so alone and so afraid, and you were the only one who made me feel like I mattered, like anyone might love me.”

“I do love you,” Belle replied, sounding as broken as he felt.  “Why is that so hard for you to understand?  Why do you always want power?”

“Because I’ve lost everyone I ever loved.”  His voice broke, but Rumplestiltskin forced himself to continue.  “They always leave because I’m never good enough.  Power doesn’t leave.  Power can make me feel safe when I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Rumple.” Her free hand cupped his cheek, just as he was doing for her, and Rumplestiltskin let his eyes slid shut.  _She hasn’t left,_ he realized.  For all the weakness he had shown her, for all the age-old terrors he’d allowed Belle to see, she was still there.  Yet he couldn’t help tensing.  Was this goodbye?  Was this where she decided that a broken down former monster was too much work and he wasn’t worthy?  _No,_ he tried to tell himself, but somehow Belle felt the conflict, anyway.  “I’m not leaving,” she whispered fiercely.  “I love you, _all_ of you.”

“You hate the fact that I want power,” he couldn’t help saying, couldn’t help the bitter tinge in his voice.

“Not if you’re telling the truth about what you want to be,” Belle countered, and that made his eyes open to look at her.  She met his gaze fearlessly.  “In that other world…you used your power to help people.  Is that what you would do if you could?”

“It’s what I thought I could do when I became the Dark One,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and then snorted cynically.  “Not that I managed that terribly well.”

“I think Emma’s problems just show how hard that is,” his wife said reasonably, and why was it that those words made him feel a surge of hope?

But Belle deserved better than to have to reassure him all the time, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to be brave.  For her.

“I want to choose you,” he said as strongly as he could.  “Even…even if it means being powerless.  I don’t want to lose you.”

“And I don’t want you to be afraid,” Belle said.  “So let me help you.  Let me help you be who you wanted to be, and when you find whatever power you do, don’t lock me out.  Let me _help_.”

“I can do that,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and as they wrapped their arms around one another, he finally found a measure of peace.

* * *

 

“What do we do?” Snow asked later, after they’d helped Robin and Henry take Regina to her vault.  Regina was winded and weak, and although she’d insisted that she’d be all right, she had fallen asleep before they’d even gotten her in bed.

“About what?” David asked wryly.  “There are so many problems to choose from.”

“Emma,” Snow sighed.

“Oh.”

They were finally alone in the loft; Hook and Henry had stayed in Regina’s vault with Robin to poke through the books and other items there, hoping that they could find something about the staff or the vortex of power that had engulfed Regina.  David’s instincts told him that it was something like the darkness, but it hadn’t _felt_ the same.  The darkness had been cold, even when you were a dozen feet away, cold like daggers stabbing into your soul.  It had been oppressive and terrifying, whereas the _other_ power had been…everything else.  It had certainly been frightening, but there had been heat instead of cold, searing hot and ready to burn you.  _And it’s definitely not what we need to deal with right now,_ he thought, leaning against the wall near Neal’s crib.  At least the baby was finally asleep.

“I don’t think we can afford to tell everyone what happened, David,” his wife said softly, turning broken eyes on him.  “If…if everyone finds out, they’ll want to lock Emma away, and we can’t help her come back from this if she’s inside a cage.”

“I know.”  David glanced down at Neal, wondering how they would fail _this_ child, too, just like they had failed Emma.  “We tried so hard to protect her from the darkness…and now she’s taken it on to save everyone.  This isn’t Emma’s fault.  It’s ours.”

Determined eyes met his.  “I’m _not_ going to lose our daughter to darkness.  I don’t care _what_ we have to do to bring her back.”

“Rumplestiltskin said that it has to be her choice,” he pointed out, swallowing hard. 

“Then we help her make that choice.  We help her remember what is _right_ ,” Snow said.  “Whatever his experiences were, Rumplestiltskin is not Emma.  She’s strong, and she’ll pull through this.”

Her words rang pointedly in the silence for several moments, and David tried to push aside his sense of unease.  He loved Snow more than life itself, but sometimes he felt like he was the logical one in their partnership.  Snow as the believer, the brilliant North Star that he and everyone else could follow, but sometimes David had to bring her back to ground.  _Not now,_ he thought to himself.  _I can’t take away her hope.  We’ll fight to bring our family back together, even if Rumplestiltskin is right about everything._

“That brings us back to Granny.”  Thinking about the old woman who had supported them for so long hurt so much that David wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of hiding from what had happened.  _Emma killed Granny._ The thought was still almost unbelievable, but he had to make himself accept it. 

“If the town finds out what happened…they won’t understand,” Snow said it more firmly this time, and uncertainty twisted around in David’s gut.

“Lies always come out eventually, Snow.  We’ve learned that lesson the hard way.”  Pain and loss made his voice thick.  _How are we going to explain this to Ruby in the long run?_   “And Granny deserves better.”

“I know.”  She looked ready to cry, so David wrapped his arms around her.  “But what else can we do?  We have to protect her, even from herself.”

“I’ll talk to Robin,” he sighed.  Keeping this secret was a terrible idea, but what other choice did they have?

* * *

 

Regina woke up on the cot in her vault, and for a long moment, she wondered how she’d gotten there.  Then she slowly remembered the swirling golden power, the feeling of being prodded and _searched_ , the distinct sense of being incomplete.  Being surrounded by that vortex had been _just_ like being surrounded by the Dark One, and yet entirely different.  She’d felt merely winded at the time, until Henry bringing Merlin’s staff to the scene had freed her, and then Regina had been utterly exhausted.  She’d barely been able to keep her eyes open when Robin had half-carried her into David’s truck, and she must have fallen asleep somewhere between then and when Robin had put her into bed.

Or at least she hoped it was Robin who had put her in bed.  She vaguely remembered hearing an ‘I love you’, which would have been really awkward coming from David or Snow.  _Or Hook._   Regina snorted out loud.  _Yeah, let’s not think about that._

Sitting up slowly, Regina tried to ignore the way her head was spinning.  With an effort, she tuned out the voices from the next room; she couldn’t afford to concentrate on more than one thing at once right now.  Everything hurt, and she wasn’t sure that she’d _ever_ felt this weak.  Even when the darkness had tried to burrow its way into her soul, she hadn’t been so drained.  Then she’d been angry, hurt, and terrified for the enemy who had somehow become one of her closest friends.  Now…now she just felt like something was missing.

Had that golden swirl of power taken something from her?  Regina didn’t think so; she actually thought the feeling of something _lacking_ had been left behind by that power.  It had been looking for something specific, something that Regina apparently was not.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, really, other than dizzy.  Regina wasn’t the type to give a damn about the approval of some golden cloud of power, but she still had an odd feeling churning around in her gut.  Something significant had happened, but what?

* * *

 

“How did you do that?”

Henry barely heard Robin’s question.  He was too engrossed in the book he’d managed to open—the fifth he’d tried, randomly chosen out of the pile of books he and Hook had brought back from Camelot.  He and his moms’ boyfriends (a weird concept Henry really wasn’t going to think about at the moment) had stayed in Regina’s vault to see if they could find anything on the power that was still swirling somewhere above Storybrooke.  Their only working theory so far was that it had come from Camelot, but only a few of Regina’s books even _mentioned_ that realm, and Hook didn’t know anything about this, either.  None of the Merlin’s books had so much as opened, either—until now.

“Henry?” Robin pressed, and Henry looked up after flipping to the title page.

“Yeah?” he asked distractedly.

“How did you get that book to open? I tried it not thirty seconds ago,” the outlaw said, looking confused.

 “I tried to open it.  It opened.”  Henry could only shrug.  “But look!  This says it’s a book of prophecy by Morgan le Fae.”

“Morgan le Fae?” Hook echoed immediately, rushing over to where Henry sat with Robin looking over his shoulder.  “Careful with that, lad.  She was a sorceress of immense power.  And Mordred’s mother.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that the crazy incest thing?” He made a face.  “Camelot was _weird._ ”

“More so at the end,” the pirate answered with a sigh that told Henry there were so many things Hook wasn’t saying—but now wasn’t the time to ask.  Hook had helped him a lot in Camelot, and even if Henry sometimes had mixed feelings about Hook and Emma being together, he knew that Hook loved his mom a lot.  So, he stopped himself from asking and concentrated on the book instead, picking a random page and reading from it.

“Look at this!  The ‘Prophecy of the Sleeping King’,” Henry read. 

“I know that one,” Robin put in.  “Isn’t that one about how a mortally wounded Arthur was carried away on a bier by three queens, to rise again when he’s needed?”

“Yeah, but I bet you haven’t heard of the one underneath it,” he said excitedly, reading quickly.  “This one is the ‘Prophecy of the Heartless King: _a king will rise to unite humanity in the face of the greatest darkness, one born of humble origins and who will rise above his own heart being crushed.’_   It goes on to talk about heroes uniting under the king to fight the darkness.”

“Doesn’t that whole heart-being-crushed thing sound rather like what happened with David?” Robin asked, and Henry really liked how the outlaw thought like he did.  Hook, however, shook his head.

“That was a common one in Camelot, too,” the pirate said with a shrug.  “Everyone always thought it applied to Arthur, and that Guinevere did the heart crushing.  Mordred was the greatest darkness anyone could think of—right up until he burned the knights of the Round Table.  Then no one ascribed that prophecy to him and survived.”

“Ouch,” Robin breathed.

Henry remembered the way the Round Table had looked, with charred and still burning corpses seated in the chairs.  “Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts, until Robin spoke up.  “Is there anything else useful in that book, or do you think it all applies to Camelot?”

“Well, if that golden cloud _did_ come from Camelot, maybe it’s in here,” Henry said as brightly as he could, and started flipping pages again.

* * *

 

It was time.

Storybrooke called her Widow Morton, which was the identity the curse had given her.  Of course, she had headed into that curse with a certain set of expectations, most of which had finally been met when that swirling mass of power came through the doors from Camelot.  She had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the prophecies of _his_ return to come true…and now they had.  Now it was time.

She had seen the power come bursting through the doors the night before; the moment she had known that a doorway had opened to Camelot, she had been watching.  She had watched the son of Camelot and the boy go through them, and had seen the new Dark One try to follow.  The fact that the Dark One could not was no surprise; the Sorcerer’s magic had almost always opposed the darkness, and all of the Sorcerer’s doorways were created precisely to keep the Dark One from traveling via them.  Others could, however, though this newcomer did not make her smile the way the arrival of Merlin’s power had.

No, this one would be trouble.

The cloaked figure strode out of the portal as the sun went down, his quick and long strides bringing him out of the so-called Sorcerer’s House almost immediately.   He did not know this land, not like her, so she supposed it was no surprise that he headed for the forest right away.  He would wait there until he could ascertain what was happening, she knew, but there was no reason to let him get comfortable, was there?

Smiling, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the sheriff’s number.  David Nolan answered almost immediately.

“Widow Morton?” He sounded surprised to hear from her again.  “Has something else happened?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said softly.  “I was out for a walk, and I just watched a stranger come out of the Sorcerer’s House.  He seemed…dangerous.   I thought you might want to know.”

“Someone came _out_ of the Sorcerer’s House?” Nolan asked, and she smiled to herself before adopting a tone of concern.

“That is what I said.  Should I be worried?  It’s not like that…thing in the air, is it?”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said, and not laughing took all of the restraint she could muster.  “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m always glad to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Chapter Nine—“Something Beyond a Reflection,” in which Regina faces the consequences of stealing Belle’s heart, Emma deals with Will Scarlet, rumors swirl around Storybrooke, and the mysterious power continues to search.
> 
> While you’re waiting, who do you think Widow Morton really is? And who is the man who has just come through from Camelot? Also, I apologize to everyone who was waiting for news of Emma killing Granny to get out. I ended up doing a bit of plot reworking last night, and that entire story arc shifted.


	9. Something Beyond a Reflection

 

The next morning found the Golds in the shop once more.  They’d stayed home the day before, trying to figure out what they were going to do _together_ …and maybe, just maybe, how they could actually help Emma.  Rumplestiltskin still felt shaken, and their emotional conversation from the previous morning left him feeling raw all over again.  Even a good night’s sleep hadn’t chased that away, and he found himself pacing listlessly around the front of the shop, turning over one item after another and accomplishing nothing.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked, and the hand she put on his arm made him jump.

Swallowing, Rumplestiltskin turned to face his wife.  “I’m—” With an effort, he stopped the automatic assurance that he was fine and summoned up honesty.  “I don’t know.  I still feel…off.”

“From yesterday, or from having the darkness pulled from you?” she asked perceptively.

“More the later, I think.”  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that their conversation had _also_ left him lost.  His entire life had taught Rumplestiltskin that he could be either good or powerful, good or _safe_.  Belle seemed convinced that he could somehow be both, but the howling emptiness inside him combined with his raging insecurities to make him doubtful.

“Are you sure?” She stepped close, and a head landed on his shoulder.  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin reveled in her closeness, closing his eyes and letting himself imagine, just for a moment, that he might actually live a life where this kind of peace existed.

“I spent centuries as the monster,” he admitted in a whisper.  “And at least then I knew who I was.  Now…now I _still_ don’t know.”

“We’ll figure it out together.”  He could hear her smile.  How had he ever lied to this amazing woman?  How had he ever failed to trust her?  He had been such a fool.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing back his fears.  “Maybe this emptiness will fade with time, too.”

Either that, or the _something_ flashing through his visions would come to pass.  Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t sure what that would be, and his mind was too scattered to begin to pick the visions apart, but he knew that the world had changed dramatically…and that the worst was yet to come.

* * *

 

Power swirled over the gravesite, golden clouds obscuring the entire graveyard as the power went to the point it felt _should_ have provided direction: the grave of the Apprentice.  The swirling mass of golden magic did have a little sentience, though to say it could think would be going too far.  Still, it knew that it had been called, knew that the opening of the door to Camelot by those searching for Merlin was a sign.  Merlin was dead, but his power remained, seeking a human soul to tether itself to.  The Apprentice had begun this process, yet the Apprentice was gone, which created a conundrum that the power could not understand. 

The person whom it had first found had been lacking, and now the Apprentice did not answer its summons.  Seeking, burning, _searching_ , the power tore into the fresh dirt in front of the Apprentice’s headstone, digging for answers as much as for the Apprentice.  Dirt kicked up into the air, mixing with the golden cloud to create an opaque mess no one could see through, swirling and swishing back and forth as the power dug.  When it hit the wooden top of the casket, however, the cloud stopped, confused.

The answers were not there, either.  What remained of Merlin would have to keep searching.

 

* * *

 

Belle came out of the back room to find her husband seemingly in a better frame of mind, but only slightly.  She once had been able to read Rumplestiltskin like a book, even back when he’d been scaly and irascible.  Now, however, he was different.  He was part the man she always knew lay under the curse, part the knight whom her alternate self had loved, and part a lost child whom she had never realized was buried beneath everything else.  She was grateful for the new and startling honesty—it was all she had _ever_ wanted from him, that open honesty that he had given her before his death and resurrection.  Belle loved him so much, and had missed him terribly after she had exiled him.  _I’ll treasure every moment,_ she promised herself.  _And we’ll do this together._

“Doing a little better?” she asked.

“I think so.”  Belle detected a slight smile on his face as he turned to face her, though she could see the uncertainty still present in his eyes.  So, she walked over to kiss him lightly, and watched Rumplestiltskin’s tension ease a little.

“I love you,” she whispered, so glad that she _could_ say this.  But perhaps her wedding vows had been true after all.  Many times though they had lost one another, they had spent their lives finding one another, too.

“And I love you.”  Those were the only words he truly said with certainty, and part of Belle was so very warmed by that fact.  And yet…yet the phone call she had just received threatened to undermine that, and it was all her fault.

“Rumple,” Belle started softly, swallowing back her own fears.  _I can’t let down a friend when they need help_.  “Would you mind if Will came by later?”

Yes, that had the effect she expected; her husband pulled back, his eyes wide and hurt.  “Will?  Will Scarlet?”

“Listen to me, please,” she said quickly.  “It’s not like that.  I never loved Will, and he’s never loved me.  We were both just lonely...and hurting.  Will lost his wife, and although he never told me what happened, I know she broke his heart.”

“So you looked to mend it.”  Rumplestiltskin was stiff and tense now, and Belle could feel _his_ heart breaking.

“ _No,_ ” Belle stepped forward to take his hands before he could stumble back further.  “I made a mistake.  I thought you were gone forever, and I—I couldn’t live with myself.  I just wanted distraction, and I wanted someone to make me smile when I was dying inside.  I missed you so much, Rumple.”

“So much that you had to find someone else.”  His voice sounded dead before Rumplestiltskin visibly shook himself.  “I’m—I’m sorry, Belle.  I don’t have any right to say these things.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, clinging to his hands.  “I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart, I drove you away.  I don’t have any right to complain about what you did then, nor should you ask for my forgiveness.  I am simply grateful that you’re with me now.”

Belle could hear the unspoken question, and she stepped in to kiss her husband once more.  “Forever,” she promised.  “I’m not leaving.  I know I’ve said that before—”

“We’ve both made mistakes,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, leaning his forehead against hers.  His next words were hesitant, but Belle could feel that they were true.  “I believe you.  Now…what did you want Will to come by for?”

“He wants to find a way back to his wife.  I promised I’d help him.”

Rumplestiltskin’s laugh startled her, and Belle leaned back a little to look at him.  “Next time, lead with that, all right?”

“All right.”  Belle had always thought his smile was one of the most beautiful things in the world, particularly when he looked at her like that.  So, she kissed him again, this time a little less hesitantly, and was so glad when she felt Rumplestiltskin return the kiss with equal fervor.  She had always loved the man beneath the monster, and now that man was the one in her arms, without the Dark One in between them, separating them with lies and betrayals.  No matter what road he took from here, Belle would treasure _Rumplestiltskin_ —and if he needed magic to help him feel safe, she would help him find it.

After all, he _had_ been a good man in the other world, even if the way that would had been brought about was all wrong.  But what Rumplestiltskin had been there told Belle what he had always wanted to be, had _shown_ her the good man that she had always known lay beneath the power.  Maybe he hadn’t been able to realize his potential when he’d been the Dark One, but everything was different, now.  Now they could love one another without reservation, and Belle was so engrossed in their kiss that she almost didn’t hear the distinctive ringing of the bell by the door as someone walked in.

“It’s nice to see that you two have made up, but the town has slightly bigger problems than your love life,” Regina said, strolling in like she owned the shop with Robin on her heels.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin broke apart, and Belle felt her heart hammer wildly against her ribcage.  The return of her heart had led to the return of her memories, and she distinctly remembered how she had offered to help, only to find Regina _ripping her heart out._   She had accepted the former Evil Queen’s apology in the past, had trusted her, only to find Regina willfully abusing that trust.

 _And when she did that, she took away_ any _chance of ending the mess with the Author without Isaac writing an alternate story,_ Belle thought angrily.  _I could have actually talked to Rumple.  He told me the truth before Regina started controlling me, and I could have_ helped _him._

“Pardon me if _your_ problems aren’t exactly on the top of my list,” Belle snapped back before Rumplestiltskin could answer, reaching for his hand.  He knew why she was angry, at least.  Rumplestiltskin understood, and his fingers closed around hers, and Belle felt her courage solidifying.

“Can it.” Regina rolled her eyes like _Belle_ was in the wrong, which made Belle gape.  “Whatever’s crawled up your skirt can wait for later.  I need help with something.”

“What’s ‘crawled up my skirt’, as you so succinctly put it, is _you_ , Madam Mayor, is you,” Belle retorted hotly.  “You stole my heart, and yet you have the gall to barge in here, demanding we help you?  Get out.”

That earned Belle an incredulous look.  “You were fine.”

“You threatened to kill me!”

“I didn’t actually _do_ anything to you,” Regina replied impatiently.  She was actually tapping her foot, acting like this conversation was simply a nuisance in the way of whatever she meant to do.

“Regina, what did you _do_?” Robin spoke up before Belle could respond, and she saw Regina’s head snap around to look at her lover. 

 _He didn’t know,_ Belle realized with a start.  Regina’s eyes were wide and a little panicked, though she managed to conceal most of her shock. 

“I did what I had to so that Zelena didn’t kill you,” Regina said, her voice less certain but still bold as anything.

“She was never going to kill me, love.”  Robin’s voice was surprisingly gentle, and it made Belle bristle.  “What did you do?”

“I asked how I could help,” Belle answered while Regina seemed to be struggling to find words.  “And she ripped my heart out instead.”

“But…why?”

“Because she wanted to stop me,” Rumplestiltskin spoke up from Belle’s side, his voice harder than she’d heard it since he’d been freed from the darkness. 

“No, because she wanted to _hurt_ you,” Belle corrected him, squeezing his hand and remembering what Regina had forced her to say.  She might have understood Regina’s position better if the former queen hadn’t been so needlessly malicious, but Regina had forced her to hurt Rumple, when Regina had already known how vulnerable Rumplestiltskin was.

“I did what I had to.  I’m not apologizing for that,” Regina snapped, and Belle just snorted.

“No, you took the easy way out, and because you were _ashamed_ of it, you erased my memories!  I didn’t even knowI didn’t have my heart until Rumple and Will stole it back from Maleficent, because you were too cowardly to even return it,” she spat.  “Tell me, Regina, what would you have done if you came back and everything went according to your plans?  Would you have kept my heart so that you’d keep having leverage against my husband?”

Regina flinched, ever so slightly.  “Of course not.”

“Well, pardon me, _Your Majesty_ , if I don’t believe you this time,” she said, crossing her arms.  “I accepted your apology and worked with you once.  That’s not going to happen again.  Now you’re welcome to leave.”

“I’m— _what_?”

“Unless you’re going to rip my heart out again and make me help you, you’re out of luck,” Belle replied, partially because she was angry, but also because she really wanted to know what Regina would say.  By now, Regina had to be aware of the fact that Rumplestiltskin had no magic, and Belle knew that she couldn’t depend upon fear of her husband to protect her.  So, what would happen when Regina could show her true colors?  _I trusted her once.  I’ll never make that mistake again._

“It’s not your help I need,” Regina growled. 

She looked truly wounded, but Belle was too angry to care.  Her barbs had been meant to hurt, just as Regina had meant to hurt Rumplestiltskin with what she had forced Belle to say.  To Regina’s left, Robin wore an expression of increasing uncertainty, looking between the women with concern.  Belle felt a little sad on his behalf—Robin had obviously thought that Regina had changed—but she understood that disillusionment far too well.  And Robin deserved to know the truth.

“Oh, does that mean you’ll be after my heart instead, dear?” Rumplestiltskin spoke up from Belle’s side, leaning casually on his cane and looking vaguely amused at the notion. 

“Look, we can’t change what happened,” Regina said, clearly trying hard to sound reasonable.  “But we _all_ need help.  Hook and Henry brought something dangerous back from Camelot with them, and I can’t even open the books they found.  Add to that the fact that we have no way to stop Emma, and we’ve got a bit of a disaster on our hands.  So, pardon me for being just a _little_ focused on trying to _help_ people.”

“And what makes you think that I’ll help you at all?” Rumplestiltskin asked mildly.

Regina blinked.  “You’re not the Dark One any longer.”

“While that’s an admirable deduction, it really has no bearing on the current situation,” he replied.  “You weren’t terribly interested in helping me when I needed it—or even heeding the warnings I tried to give you—and you hurt my wife.  Why should I help you at all?”

“The entire town is in danger!”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “This appears to be a weekly occurrence in Storybrooke.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Robin cut in before Regina could reply.  “So, please, tell us what it will take to get your help with at least one of these problems.  I understand that you’re angry with Regina—and rightly so—but please don’t take it out on the entire town.”

Seeing Robin in the position that she had been in so often was very odd, and Belle swallowed as she turned to look at her husband.  She _was_ still furious at Regina, and Belle was quite certain that she would never trust the Evil Queen again, but she didn’t have it in her to endanger all of Storybrooke because of that anger.  She wasn’t sure if this new and less dark Rumple did, however, so she met his eyes with a silent question.  After a moment, he gave her a half smile and a shrug.

“Tell me what they brought back with them,” he said to Robin, ignoring Regina, who at least had the sense to remain quiet.

“Some sort of power.  Magic, I mean.  It looks almost like the darkness that was pulled out of you, but gold in color.  It attacked Regina when she tried to banish it, and nearly sucked the life right out of her.  It took her until today to get back on her feet.”

“Thanks for mentioning that part, Robin,” Regina muttered, giving her lover an annoyed-but-fond look that he ignored. 

“You’re certain it came from Camelot?” Belle asked, flipping through her mental catalog of magical phenomena.  She couldn’t think of anything, but she’d never studied the realm much, either.  _Or at least not after the last time Sir Lancelot came to visit Mother,_ she thought, remembering the warm and smiling knight who had been her mother’s friend.

“That’s our best guess, anyway.  Widow Morton said she saw it come out of the Sorcerer’s House, and that’s where the portal was.”

“You’re fools,” Rumplestiltskin said with a soft laugh.  “All of you.”

Robin looked offended.  “Excuse me?”

“Camelot is the most magically unstable realm in existence,” Rumplestiltskin explained.  “Going there, particularly via an _established_ portal that remains _open_ , is extremely dangerous.  They probably brought a dozen surprises back with them—half of them living—and another dozen will follow unless you close the doorway.”

“Close it?” Regina cut in.  “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”

“Well, knowing how you opened it would help.”

“I don’t know.  Henry went to the Apprentice’s house, and he thought he talked to the Sorcerer.  But Merlin turned out to be dead,” Regina explained with a shrug.  “Henry followed a broom to it.”

Belle knew enough about travel through realms to know how dangerous _that_ sounded, and she exchanged another glance with Rumplestiltskin, who looked thoroughly exasperated by human stupidity.  “We’ll have to do some research,” she said, pushing aside her anger for the moment.  “Do you have those books you mentioned?”

“I brought one of them.  Henry managed to open one of the others yesterday, but it was just a book of prophecy.  Not useful.”

Belle gestured impatiently, and Robin pulled a book out of the bag he had been carrying, laying it on the counter.  Immediately, Belle reached for the book, studying its old cover.  There was no title on the outside, just symbols she _knew_ she had seen somewhere before.   She couldn’t quite remember where, though, so Belle spent several moments studying the book before she tried to open it.  The cover was dark blue and the pages yellowed with age, yet instinct—and the smell of the book itself—told her that the age might just be an illusion.  Perhaps the book had always been this way?  There was no way to be sure, so after flipping it over to eye the back as well as the front, Belle finally gently moved the cover away from the front pages.  Much to her surprise, it stuck. 

Frowning, she tugged again, but the cover would not budge.  So, Belle turned the book on its end and tried again, this time attempting to pry the front and back covers away from the pages, but nothing happened.  When she tried a second time, however, she felt the slight tingle of magic in her arms, and Belle laid the book back down with a sigh.  “Do you know where it came from?”

“Henry said it was in Merlin’s workshop.  Nothing more.”

“Allow me to try,” Rumplestiltskin said suddenly, reaching for the giant tome. 

Belle opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, but the book opened the moment her husband’s fingers touched the spine, leaving all four of them to stare speechlessly.

* * *

 

_Feed the darkness and it feeds on you._

There was truth in those words, Emma realized.  She knew instinctively that the way to controlling the darkness would not be via tricks and deals, or at least not for her.  She was smart enough, but Emma knew that she wasn’t that type of clever.  What was it that Gold—no, _Rumplestiltskin_ —had told her?  To find ways to feed the darkness, to keep it sated.  She could do that, couldn’t she?  The darkness had been happier after she killed Granny, horrible though that had been.  The parts of her that were still _Emma_ shied away from that memory—not from the killing, which the darkness wantedto embrace despite the crippling shame—but from the joy she had felt.  The _release._

 The conversation from the day before had been oddly comforting.  She knew her parents would hate what she had done.  Even Hook and Henry had judged her.  But Rumplestiltskin hadn’t.  Ironically, he had actually tried to help her, had honestly tried to help her.  Of all the people in Storybrooke that the old Emma might have expected to help her, Rumplestiltskin would have been last on the list.  And yet Emma thought she understood him, now.  There were bits and pieces of the others in her mind, now, fragments of memories she had yet to make sense of, and she was beginning to understand why Gold had always been so difficult.   _But he could love,_ she told herself, missing her family so badly that it burned.  _He messed it up, but he_ loved _Belle and Neal._

 _I won’t screw it up,_ she promised herself.  There was only one thing standing in the way of a reconciliation with her parents, with Henry.  She knew Regina would see sense, but if someone told her parents what she had done, they would never understand.  _They’ll lock you up,_ the curse whispered.  _They’ll shut you away._  

A chill ran down her spine.  Emma had rarely been genuinely afraid, but she was now.  She hadn’t meant to kill Granny, and she didn’t _want_ to hurt anyone.  She had control now, and she thought she knew what she needed to do in order to _keep_ control of her darker impulses.  But if her parents tried to lock her away…

 _Don’t think like that,_ the Dark One told herself firmly.  _There’s a problem.  Solve it._  

Squaring her shoulders, Emma headed out to find the Knave.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the power continued to search, giving the Dark One—its enemy, its opposite, and its creation—a wide berth.  One was naturally opposed to the other, yet what remained of Merlin knew the truth.  As he was, left as a swirling and searching entity, he could not oppose the darkness.  He could only avoid it.

The search continued.  The staff was supposed to be the marker, and yet the Apprentice seemed to have left another.  Both were strong, yet neither was enough to draw the power in on its own.  The second grew weaker by the moment, no longer the glaring beacon it _should_ have been, increasingly… _aware._ This confused the power, left it swirling aimlessly over Storybrooke, trying to find a person who could meet Merlin’s requirements. 

Then a window opened, and the power swerved east, searching. 

Hoping.

* * *

 

“I did what I had to!” Regina tried to say, only to be faced with an implacable expression that told her Robin did _not_ understand.

“You didn’t have to rip someone’s heart out and then erase their memories of it!”

“I didn’t hurt her,” she objected, crossing her arms.  Why couldn’t Robin see that?  Regina had only gone as far as she’d needed to—and, well, if she’d gotten a tiny bit of well-deserved vengeance in the process, there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

“No, you used her to hurt her True Love,” he retorted.  “Do you know how terrible _I_ would feel if someone used me against you like that?  Bloody hell, Zelena _did_ do that with me, and I think about it every day!”

She stared at him incredulously.  “That wasn’t your fault.”

“And none of this is _Belle’s_ fault either, yet you insist on feeling no remorse for victimizing her.  Regina, you’re better than this.  You’ve told me that you want to change for the better, that you don’t want to be the Evil Queen anymore, but when you hurt someone like that, you’re only hurting yourself.”

“There wasn’t any other way to stop Rumplestiltskin,” she objected, not wanting to think about what Robin had said.  Her dream of the Evil Queen showing up to defend Robin had seemed so very prophetic, and she’d never paused to ask herself if she was doing the right thing.  Right and wrong never entered the equation when Regina was desperate; if it had, she never would have become the Evil Queen in the first place.  _I did what I had to do,_ she told herself for the hundredth time.

“Of course there was,” Robin said sadly.  “You should have seen him in New York, Regina.  That man wasn’t ever going to willingly work with your sister.  I think he even tried to tell me not to go back to her, but I was too dense to listen.  And besides, you could have made a deal with him for our safety.  You know that.”

“I—”

“And even if you couldn’t, do you think I want my life bought at the price of someone else’s suffering?” he cut her off, making Regina gape.  “Do you think so little of me that you think I’d want you to hurt one of my friends just to save me from my own mistakes?”

“I didn’t hurt her!” she said desperately, starting to feel like the walls were closing in on her.  Regina had tried so hard to be better, had tried so hard to be _right_ , and now Robin was turning on her, too?  Regina wanted to be angry, but instead she just felt broken.

“No, you made her hurt someone she loved, just as Zelena made me hurt you,” he replied, taking her hands in his own.  Regina flinched, not sure why he was holding her hands so tenderly when he was also berating her.  But then Robin’s voice turned gentle:  “It’s not right, love.  And you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be so defensive.”

“You might be right, but even then, I can’t change the past,” Regina replied, swallowing.  Had she been wrong?  She still wasn’t sure, but then her moral compass had been broken for a long time, hadn’t it?  She had told herself— _proved_ to herself and many others—that she wanted to be better.  She _was_ better.  Regina was the Evil Queen no more.  She helped people, and she tried to do the right thing.  She was trying to be _Regina_ again.

“I’m not asking you to change the past,” Robin said softly.  “But you told me that you want to put the Evil Queen aside, and that means doing so even when it’s hard.  I can help you change, but you have to want it.”

“I do,” she whispered, feeling broken inside. 

“Then you need to realize that treating someone like an object is never right.  Your darkness might be useful sometimes, but you can’t turn it on innocent people.  You have to save the darkness for those who deserve it.”

He was right, Regina realized.  Robin was right.  The person she had been, _Regina_ , would never have hurt Belle to get at Rumplestiltskin.  Oh, Rumple might deserve what he got—he’d been the Dark One, and not exactly free of darkness himself, not to mention the stunt he’d pulled with the Author—but Belle was innocent.  More importantly, Belle had been offering to _help_ , and Regina knew that she should have understood exactly what that meant.  _This isn’t the first time I’ve used her against him,_ she thought.  _And now that I have a True Love of my own, I know how that would burn._

“She’s not going to accept a second apology.”

Regina hadn’t meant the words to come out sounding so petulant, but she knew that was true.  Belle had accepted her apology the first time because Regina had meant it, but no matter how sincere she was this time around, she knew that the bookworm wouldn’t be so forgiving.  _As well she shouldn’t be._ That voice came from inside her, and it sounded like the girl she had been before her mother and Rumplestiltskin had corrupted her so much.   _Oh, be honest with yourself, Regina.  You_ wanted _the power.  It filled the emptiness in your heart like nothing else ever had._

Until Robin.  _Robin_ filled the void that Regina had spent so long plugging with power.  And now he was asking her to actually _be_ better.  Not to just pretend, not to throw a veneer of goodness over her darkness, one she could discard when turning to evil was so much easier.  But Regina knew enough to know that she shouldn’t change for him.  She should change for herself, for the two boys in her life who looked up at her like she might just be some sort of hero.  She hadn’t acted like a hero when she tore Belle’s heart out, and in her heart, Regina knew that Henry and Roland would both be as horrified as Robin was.

“Does that matter?” Robin asked, and for the first time, Regina really understood what he meant.

* * *

 

Will had the distinct feeling that he was being followed. 

He hadn’t been one of the most accomplished thieves in the entire Enchanted Forest without developing something of a sixth sense in that respect, and his time spent in Wonderland had only honed that skill.  Not that being a thief was anything to be terribly proud of in this world, but, well, he figured that he should just stick with what he was good at.  _It’s not like trying to be a good guy has gotten me anywhere,_ he thought with a snort.  He’d told Robin and Robin’s ‘lady’ about what the new Dark One had done, and what had they done about it?  Bloody nothing, that was what, and Will was done with trying to help.  He’d just concentrate on getting back to Ana, and figuring out where everything went wrong.  Watching Belle go through what she had with her husband had taught him a thing or two about love (again), and Will was determined to get home and make things right.

Once this bastard stopped following him, that was.  He was supposed to meet Belle in the pawn shop in a few hours, but before then he really didn’t have anything else to do.  So, he turned right off of Main Street and onto Seventh, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was fishing and using him as the bait.  Unfortunately, there was no one around—or at least no one he could see.

Time to visit the rest of the Merry Men, then.  If anyone could pry a tail off you, it was Little John, and John had been damn bored since Robin started hanging out with the so-called heroes.  _He’ll fit right in.  Robin’s idea of a punishment is to leave you to get what you deserve, after all,_ Will thought bitterly.  Not that he’d been disappointed at the time; Robin not turning him over to  Maleficent had let Will and Ana escape to Wonderland…for all the bleeding good that had done them.  But Robin was the noble sort, and he wanted karma to get you, not to have your blood on his hands.  Will supposed that Robin might be looking at the new Dark One the same way, but—

_Swoosh._

Almost to the edge of the park—which was between him and the forest—Will spun around, certain that he would see his stalker there.  But there was still nothing.

_Swoosh._

Again, the noise came from behind him, and Will twisted to look, again, finding nothing.  His heart was starting to pound when the same sound came yet a third time—but when he turned that way, there was still nothing.

“Don’t let your imagination get the better of yeh, idiot,” he grumbled to himself, resolutely turning back for the park.  He could take the shortcut by the swings towards the Merry Men’s camp, and he quickened his pace.

The first hundred or so yards were fine, and Will started to relax.  Thinking about the Dark One—who didn’t even know that he’d seen her kill Granny—must have been sending his bleeding head into overdrive.  He was close to the tree line, now, nearly to safety, and Will made himself smile.  He contemplated whistling, and then was surprised to find he was doing it without having decided to—

 _Something_ shoved into his back, sending him stumbling forward.  Will barely caught himself before a second gust of wind smacked him in the right side, and _there_ was where the whistling was coming from.  It was high-pitched and odd, though, not like any natural wind, and when it nearly ripped him off the ground, Will dropped all pretense at being casual and confident, breaking into a run.  If he could get into the forest, everything would be all right.   The forest was safety for a thief like him, and whoever was following him wouldn’t be stupid enough to mess with all of the Merry Men, would they?

_Crash._

“Bloody hell!” Will skidded to a stop three strides into the forest, barely missing being flattened by a gigantic oak tree that just _happened_ to find this moment the perfect time to uproot itself and fall down. 

Dodging right, he aimed for a thicket of smaller trees—ones less likely to smash him into Will Scarlet-flavored paste—but they suddenly came to life, reaching out thin branches to whip at him when he tried to go that way.  Yelping as one sharp branch found his face, Will stumbled back and spun around, thinking that maybe he should go back the way he came.  _And pull your damn cell phone out, too,_ he berated himself silently.  _You’re in Storybrooke, not Wonderland.  Call for help!_

Twisting around a suddenly hungry bush—he wasn’t sure the thing didn’t have teeth—Will dug his phone out of his pocket.  He could call Robin.  Robin might be a little biased where his formerly dark lady was concerned, but Robin was still good in a pinch.  Or he could call John, who was probably closer, but Robin’s lady was a sorceress, and Will had a bad feeling he might need one right now.  So he thumbed the quick dial for Robin, leaping over a second tree after it fell in his path—

And skidding to a stop when he came face to face with Emma Swan.  She was pale and dressed all in black now, but the woman in front of him was _definitely_ the same chick he’d seen kill Granny, and Will tried desperately to back away from her, only to find that his feet wouldn’t move.

“You won’t be needing that,” she said in a purr, and suddenly his cell phone bounced out of his hand.

The last thing Will heard before she teleported him away was Robin’s voice calling his name from the other end of the line.

* * *

 

There.  In another lifetime, her useless drunk of an adopted father had been adept at breaking and entering.  A little Zelena used to watch him at his work, fascinated by how he could open any door or window, back when she’d been wide-eyed and innocent and had thought the man actually worth something.  She had never been as talented as he, but after over a week in the asylum, she’d finally found a way to unscrew the bars. 

Zelena giggled.  Obviously, when Regina had constructed this pitiful little prison, she’d had the curse to help keep her prisoners inside.  But now, when faced by someone far more brilliant and resourceful than whatever pitiful wretches her idiot sister had kept inside, the security measures Regina had taken were woefully inadequate.  _Typical.  She’s always so overconfident,_ Zelena thought with a sneer, wiggling her way out of the window.  Crawling like a snake in the dirt was hardly dignified, but Zelena could make up for that later.  After she got this damned magic-blocking cuff off, that was.

But when she tugged on it, the cuff wouldn’t move.  Then she felt something, a magical _surge_ in the air, and Zelena thought she was making progress—until she turned to see a giant golden swirl of power closing in on her like an avalanche.  She didn’t even have time to scream before the power flattened her to the ground, searching, _pulling_ , pressing, and digging.  Powerful witch though she was, Zelena had never felt anything like this, not even when her own magic had merged with her pendant upon becoming the Witch of the West in Oz.  No, this was twice as exhilarating and infinitely more terrifying, though the pressure wasn’t painful at first.  Not at all.  At first it was _beautiful._

Then the power got a good read on her and Zelena did scream.  She wasn’t it, wasn’t good enough, and as _always_ , they wanted more.  Furious, she tried to cling to the power, refused to let it go, even as it tore through her derisively, looking into her soul and finding her lacking.  It needed something she was not, needed potential for light and good that Zelena had long since discarded as useless.  Oh, that was not all it wanted, but when the power tore through her soul like heavy grit sandpaper, attempting to scour through the dark and the muck to find something that wanted to be better, the power found nothing it could latch on to.  She still desired power and revenge, still burned with envy and hatred.  She met the other criteria: Zelena was willing, and there was an emptiness in her that what was left of Merlin could nestle into, but she was not enough.  The child inside her might have been, but the power was too impatient for that.  It would have to go elsewhere.

Grappling with the golden swirls as best she could, Zelena fought to hold onto the power, instinctively realizing that if she could make this _hers_ she would be unbeatable.  She _needed_ this.  That power could replace her lost pendant, could let her defeat Regina once and for all.  She knew that she could _take_ this power, so she pulled as hard as she could, fighting to draw it inside her.  Then she would be—

The world went dark, and Zelena thought no more.

* * *

 

“You’re a thief,” she said softly, sizing up the man who had told Robin—and therefore Regina—that she had killed Granny.  “I _despise_ thieves.”

Emma knew that she’d been one, once.  But that had been different.  _She_ had been different.  Now she was the law; Emma was supposed to protect the people of Storybrooke, and she thought she had found a deal that she could make with her curse, a way to feed it and keep herself sane.  _Make him suffer for his crimes,_ the darkness whispered, its touch feather light and far less intrusive than before.  She could live with this.

“Look, Sheriff, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’ve been on the straight an’ narrow since comin’ back to Storybrooke.  Except for that incident with yer boyfriend, which I’m _really_ sorry about now that—”

“Shut up,” Emma snapped, not wanting to think about Killian.  Thinking about Killian made her burn to go to him, and she didn’t know how he’d react.  _He’ll want you,_ the darkness reassured her.  _You want him.  He wants you.  Take what you want._   With an effort, she pulled her mind away from the rising feeling of possessive lust.  She didn’t want Scarlet like that, even if he was a decent looking man.

Yet it was gratifying to hear his mouth snap shut like that.  She hadn’t even had to use magic.  He was plainly terrified of her, and that sent a delighted shiver down Emma’s spine.  _Wrongdoers_ should _fear me,_ she decided.  _Why was I always so lenient before_?

“You were probably in Granny’s to steal, anyway,” she decided, twitching her fingers and letting tendrils of magic surround the thief.  “That’s what you _do_ , isn’t it?”

“Well, actually—”

“I don’t care,” Emma cut him off again.  “I’m going to make you pay for that, and for everyone else you’ve hurt.  I’ll give you _justice_.”

The word tasted sweet on her tongue.  Yes, she would manage the darkness by feeding it those who deserved justice.  Emma understood now that she _had_ to feed it somehow, lest she lose herself.  So, that would be her bargain.  Emma wouldn’t hurt the innocent.  She would go after those who hurt others, those who tried to tear families apart and stole from the innocent.

“Um, if that means you’re going to take me to jail, I know the way,” Scarlet tried, warily eyeing the purple coils of magic as they tightened around him.  “I can take meself there, if that’s all right with you.  I don’t want to be trouble, after all.  No trouble, me.”

“You’re already trouble,” she hissed.  “You’re trying to tear my _family_ apart, just like you did with Belle.  You like to do that to the Dark One, don’t you?  Is it some hobby of yours?”

“What?  No!”

Emma hadn’t really thought Scarlet was brave enough to try to bait two different Dark Ones, but his fear was rather delicious.  _That_ fed her darkness, too, made the rage die down a little.  In the forest, his terror had been palatable, and Emma hadn’t felt this good since she’d become the Dark One.  She was more herself, now.  She could push the darkness back like this, just as Rumplestiltskin had said.  _I have to feed it,_ Emma thought once more.  _But I can do that without betraying myself._

“It doesn’t matter.  You’ll get what you deserve.”

A shiver ran down her spine again, and Emma lifted her hands to pull the magic tight.

Scarlet screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t kill me, Regina fans! She’s got a bit to learn about who she wants to be, that’s all. Robin’s definitely going to help her. Next up: Chapter Ten—“Wrong or Right”, in which Rumplestiltskin and Belle venture out, Zelena is found, Killian hunts down Emma (with surprising consequences), August shares some news, and the search for Will begins.
> 
> In other news, now that I’m almost done with FOTS, I’m about ready to go to a twice-a-week posting schedule. Are you folks interested in me doing that? It would probably start in the first full week of September if so.


	10. Wrong or Right

Somehow, Belle had convinced Rumplestiltskin to go to Granny’s for lunch.  He’d been a ball of nerves the entire time, but Belle had rightly pointed out that she wanted to give Ruby a hug and that _he_ needed to prove to people that he wasn’t the one who had killed Granny.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t mention that he already had his suspicions concerning who was guilty of _that_ particular murder; if Belle hadn’t put the pieces together already, he would have been very surprised.  Still, no one else in the diner seemed to have realized what was going on, and if the looks they threw his way were hostile, well, he was rather used to that.  At least no one attacked them, and Rumplestiltskin got through the meal without spilling anything on Belle.

“I think that went pretty well,” his wife said optimistically as they headed towards the shop, walking slowly on the sidewalk arm in arm.  Of course she had to walk to his left again, since his right hand was more than occupied with his cane, but Rumplestiltskin treasured the closeness all the same. 

Grumpy—who seemed to be working part-time at the diner and keeping an eye on Ruby the rest of the time—had flat out asked Belle why she was with someone who had lied to her so many times.  She had turned heads when she’d pointed out that the _Dark One_ had told those lies, and Rumplestiltskin was no longer the Dark One.  While he wasn’t sure he deserved that much credit, Rumplestiltskin had been grateful for the support.  It was also interesting to see people giving him speculative looks, as if they were wondering exactly what he was now.  _Unfortunately, I’m wondering the same thing,_ he thought wryly, but still managed to put on a slight smile for his wife.

“As well as can be expected, anyway,” Rumplestiltskin allowed.

“Give them time.  Once they realize that the monster was the Dark One, not you, they’ll come around,” Belle smiled.

“I think you’re too optimistic, sweetheart.”

Her eyes twinkled.  “One of us had to be.”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Hey, Belle!” Grumpy’s voice shouted from behind them, and Rumplestiltskin stopped reluctantly as Belle turned to face the dwarf she’d befriended so many years ago.  Grumpy—or Leroy, here in Storybrooke—had never liked Rumplestiltskin, but he still had convinced the Blue Fairy to work up a memory potion for Lacey.  Rumplestiltskin might not have been fond of the dwarf, but that had been a favor he would never forget.

“Please tell me you’re not going to lecture me on my choices,” Belle started bluntly.  “I’m fine, and this is _my_ choice.”

“I get it, sister.  I might not be your husband’s biggest fan, but your life is your life.  I ain’t gonna get in your way when you know what you want,” was the dwarf’s surprising response.  “This isn’t about that.”

“Sorry,” Belle replied, sounding abashed.  “I just…I’m sick of hearing it.”

“I gotcha,” Grumpy nodded. “But what I wanted to talk about is Ruby.  I know you’re busy and all, but can you help us keep an eye on her?  She’s taking all this hard.  Tink’s staying with her, but maybe you can take her out from time to time, get her away.  Granny was her only family, and Snow’s distracted by what happened to Emma, so we’re all trying to help out.”

“Of course I will,” she replied immediately.  “I’ll drop by tomorrow and see if I can’t drag her shopping or something.  Will that work?”

“Yeah.  I’ll get Ella to help make sure the diner’s covered, and worst case the boys’ll help out, too.  Thanks, Belle.”

“Anytime,” she said with that glowing smile that Rumplestiltskin knew could turn _any_ man’s head—except, perhaps, a dwarf with a True Love of his own.  Grumpy nodded, but any response he might have made was cut off by someone screaming.

Whirling around, Rumplestiltskin spotted the _last_ person in the world who he wanted to see staggering down the street, her eyes glassy and red hair tangled and windswept.  The simple dress Zelena was wearing was torn at one shoulder, and her face was deathly pale and blank as she wandered a seemingly aimless zig zag pattern.  Three people jumped out of her way, looking like they weren’t sure if she had the plague or might curse them—but Rumplestiltskin froze.

_“You know, there's a time I would have relished this,” she’d whispered, leaning over him and pinching the oxygen tube shut as he struggled for air that wouldn’t come.  “And with your vendetta against me for the death of your son…”_

She’d always enjoyed hurting him, though.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been surprised in that hospital bed; just terrified.  Even though it felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d controlled him, it had really been less than three months, even including his time in New York.  And he’d never forget that sadistic smile. 

_“I’m going to give you a choice on how you want to live out the rest of this time. One choice is screaming agony. The other is much more pleasant. Choose well, doll.”_

“Rumple?” Belle’s voice cut through the nightmare he’d lived through, and Rumplestiltskin twitched, blinking hard.  “Are you all right?”

Grumpy was gone, he noticed, having rushed towards Zelena while Rumplestiltskin was stuck in his own memories.  Even as he watched the dwarf reach the Wicked Witch’s side, Zelena collapsed, clearly unconscious.  _Is dead too much to ask for?_   Trying to kill her was one decision he would never regret.  No matter how pure his heart supposedly was now, Rumplestiltskin would only be sorry that he’d not done the job well enough.  _It would have saved us all a lot of trouble._

“Rumple!”

“I’m all right,” he whispered shakily.  “Just…remembering.”

He couldn’t believe he’d let that much emotion show; when he’d finally been freed, Rumplestiltskin had been determined to pretend it had never happened, to be happy and be there for Belle.  He had thought that if he hid the pain well enough, eventually he could _make_ himself better, but now here he was, trying not to tremble just from _looking_ at the infernal woman.  Closing his eyes and forcing in a deep breath helped steady him a little, but it was really the way that Belle squeezed his arm that brought Rumplestiltskin back to center.

“She can’t hurt you now,” Belle whispered, thankfully too quietly for anyone else to hear.  “I think she’s unconscious.”

“Hey, Clark, go grab my van, will you?” Grumpy said before Rumplestiltskin could reply.  “Someone needs to take Crazy Green here back to the asylum, and I’m sure as hell not gonna carry her.”

“Power…drained…” Zelena muttered, and despite his fears, Rumplestiltskin found himself taking a few steps forward to hear better.  She was clawing at the leather cuff on her wrist—which he was beyond happy to see was still there—eyes rolling around wildly and unfocused.  “Need it.  Bring the cloud…back.”

“Cloud?” Belle mused aloud, still at his side.  “What’s she talking about, Rumple?”

“I have no idea.”

“There was a giant golden cloud of…something,” Michael Tillman stepped forward to volunteer.  “It seemed to spit her out right down the street.  I saw it, and then it climbed up into the skies and kind of vanished.”  He shrugged.  “It looked like magic of some sort.”

Wide blue eyes turned to him, and Rumplestiltskin felt Belle’s hands tighten on protectively his arm.  “Do you think that’s her doing?”

“I don’t think so.”  Stretching out with senses and power he no longer had was giving Rumplestiltskin a headache, but he _did_ still possess an encyclopedic knowledge of magic.  _And apparently an affinity for it,_ he realized, because he _could_ feel something surrounding Zelena, just not in the detail he would have been able to before.  Letting out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Rumplestiltskin opened his mind to the magic he _knew_ existed, and finally felt tiny hints of it finding him in return.

Zelena was still mumbling incoherently, even though Grumpy had yanked her hand away from the cuff.  She seemed harmless enough at the moment, and certainly couldn’t pick him out from the crowd, so Rumplestiltskin dared limp another few steps forward.  _Relax and let it come,_ he told himself, and after a few seconds, was rewarded by more information.  He could _almost_ see the residual tendrils of magic in the air if he squinted just right, even if doing so gave him a terrible headache.  Still, there was something different about that magic, something Rumplestiltskin couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Got an expert opinion, Gold?” Grumpy asked, sounding surprisingly sociable.

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “I’m not sure what it is,” he admitted.  “Whatever this magic is, however, it’s unlike anything that has ever come to Storybrooke before.”

“That’s great,” the dwarf grumbled.  “Did a new Villain of the Week come to visit?”

Why were they looking at _him_ like he had the answer to that one?  But the entire crowd was, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin just wanted to crawl into a corner and hide.  He didn’t want them to look at him like this.  He didn’t want them to notice him at all.  _I will not be that man,_ he told himself firmly.  _I can’t.  If I show fear now, I’ll never stop._  

“I’m afraid I’m no longer on the Villain of the Week mailing list,” he forced himself to reply dryly, and was surprised when Grumpy snorted with laughter.

“What, did they kick you out of the union?”

His own chuckle surprised Rumplestiltskin.  “It appears so,” he managed after a moment, watching as two other dwarves loaded Zelena into the back of Grumpy’s van.  They took her back to the asylum without a further word, freeing Rumplestiltskin and Belle to return to the shop and do some research.

He had a book to read, after all.  The giant tome had snapped shut when Regina had tried to take it away, making the former Evil Queen grumble and leave the book behind.  For his part, Rumplestiltskin was terribly curious about how _that_ had come about—particularly since it was obvious that the book had belonged to Merlin.  Given how good the odds were that whatever had attacked Zelena had come from Camelot, Rumplestiltskin figured that he needed to start reading quickly.  He had never heard of anything that would hit someone as powerful as Zelena that hard, but he was certainly interested in finding out what had.

 

* * *

 

Killian had palmed a locator potion when they’d been in the shop two days earlier, and he didn’t regret it.  He could apologize to Belle later, but as far as he was concerned, the Crocodile owed them this much.  That bastard had let Emma take on _his_ curse, and no matter what anyone else said, Killian couldn’t help hating him for it.  Emma had been good before that; she’d taken on that horrible darkness to save everyone else, while Rumplestiltskin swanned around with Belle on his arm like he wasn’t the same villain that had tried to consign them all to a living hell just a week earlier. 

But that didn’t matter.  Emma _did_ , so Killian grabbed her red leather jacket out of the loft and poured the potion over it.  He wound up following the floating jacket into a residential area of town, all the while trying to figure out what in the world Emma would be doing there.  None of her family lived anywhere near this street, and when the jacket headed up the front walk, Killian started to worry.  But he still opened the gate set into the white picket fence, following the jacket and trying not to swallow too hard.  What could Emma be doing here?  _Who_ lived in this blue and white house? 

Glancing at the exterior didn’t help; there was no name on the box that held mail, nor even a number next to the door.  The blinds were drawn, and the house seemed quiet.  Killian hadn’t seen Emma since he and Henry returned from Camelot three days earlier, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.  Then she’d seemed torn between fury and a desperate need for love—something in her eyes had called out for him desperately, and Killian had been a fool and had asked for the dagger instead of being there for her.  _I won’t do that again,_ he promised himself, taking a deep breath and resolving to face whatever Emma had done.  _It isn’t her fault.  She just needs help._

The door swung open before he could knock, and suddenly there was Emma, dressed all in black and with her hair back in a severe bun.  Hazel eyes burned into his.

“Killian,” she purred.  “I was hoping it would be you.”

“You were?” he blurted out before he could catch himself.  He was usually suave with women—even with Emma—but Killian had a hard time focusing beyond the beautiful face in front of him.  She was dressed differently than he was used to, but Killian couldn’t care.  She was _Emma_ , and that was all that mattered.

“I wanted to apologize,” Emma said, wearing a slight smirk that somehow sent his heart to racing.  “I should have trusted you before.  I know you would never try to use the dagger against me.”

“Never,” he promised immediately, glad that they were at least getting this issue into the air immediately.  “I shouldn’t have said what I did, either, love.  We’re just all worried for you.”

“Don’t be.”  Her smile was inviting.  “Come in.  Stay with me.”

“Stay—?” Killian barely got the word out before Emma reached out and grabbed him by the belt with one hand, dragging him through the door.  A wave of her other hand closed the door behind him, and suddenly her lips were on his.

She tasted like fire and dark magic, different from how Emma _should_ have been, but Killian didn’t pull away when her arms snaked around his neck.  Instead, he pulled her close and poured every bit of love and devotion he felt for her into his kiss, hoping against hope that this would be _enough_.  He knew Emma Swan, and he knew she was there underneath the demon that was trying to rule her.  Killian had seen the darkness she invited into herself, but he knew the real woman.  He knew her and he loved her, so he kissed her with his entire soul, willing the light back to the surface.

It had to work.  Emma kissed him back hungrily, sighing contentedly against his lips, her hands sliding into his hair and her body pressed closely against his.  Holding her like this was heaven.  No darkness, no matter how powerful, could withstand a kiss like this.  _It’s working,_ Killian told himself as he pulled back, gasping for air and searching Emma’s eyes.

She kissed him again before he could say a word, slamming Killian back against the wall.  But he didn’t argue, or at least not until his body’s urgent demand for air made him withdraw slightly, still holding onto Emma tightly.  Eyes gleaming, she cocked her head at him.  “Are you looking for something?”

“Emma?” Killian whispered, hope making his chest tight.

“I’m still right here.”  Again, that smirk, the one that the old Emma would have accompanied with that beautiful light in her eyes—but from this Emma, it was dangerous.  Dangerous and intoxicating.

Not playful.  Not light.  Not _Emma_.  There was something else at home.

“Of course you are,” he replied, forcing a smile and trying to cover his disappointment.  But Emma noticed, of course.

“Were you trying to break my curse?” she laughed suddenly, pulling away from him.  Hazel eyes narrowed briefly, and Killian thought the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees in the space of a second.  “Well?”

Swallowing hard, he knew he couldn’t lie.  “I just want you back,” he whispered.

“But you have me,” Emma replied, stepping forward again and pressing her hands against his chest.  “And maybe this is how I was meant to be.  My parents took my darkness from me and left me incomplete.  Now I’m not.”

“This isn’t you,” Killian pleaded.

“It is now.  Get used to it, or get out.”

That hit him hard, and Killian knew that a better man would be able to resist the siren call of the seductive smile she gave him after Emma snapped those words at him.  A true hero would have told her that he couldn’t love someone who hurt others, that he couldn’t stand by her as long as she killed people like Granny.  But Killian Jones had been a villain.  He knew how seductive the darkness was. Unlike Snow, who seemed to believe that Emma wouldn’t succumb at all, he was capable of recognizing what had happened.  Emma was reveling in the darkness now.  It was new and it was beautiful, and she felt like she could do _anything_.

He remembered that freedom all too well, the amazing feeling of casting off all responsibility and just being as bad as you could be.  Embracing darkness was _easy_ and it was alluring, because the burden of being good just got too heavy sometimes.  He knew that Emma sometimes took being the Savior _too_ seriously, and a part of him wondered if her actions now were a direct result of having the responsibility for restoring everyone’s happy endings thrust upon her.  _She won’t be like this forever,_ he told himself firmly.  _Of course she’s going to go a little wild.  You did the same.  She just needs to know that she isn’t alone, and that someone will be by her side when she’s ready to come back._

That was what love was, wasn’t it?  It wasn’t picking and choosing.  It wasn’t staying only when the going was good.  Love was ugly and unconditional, and Killian loved this woman.  Even if she was the Dark One.

“I’ll stay,” he said, stepping forward so that his face was only inches from hers.  “I know all about darkness, love.  You don’t frighten me.”

“I don’t want to,” Emma said, and the vulnerability that flashed through her eyes told him that the old Emma was still there.  Her voice cracked slightly.  “I meant what I said, Killian.  I love you.”

“And I love you, Swan,” Killian replied immediately.  “Dark or light, Savior or Dark One.  I love _you_.”

The third kiss failed to free her, too, though they wound up halfway down the hallway and Killian thought they might have wound up in a bed had he not tripped over a very large cat.  Emma caught him before Killian could fall on top of her—which she made look terribly easy, despite how much he outweighed her by—and he looked down, only to be greeted by a incensed _hiss_. 

“What’s this doing here?” he asked before he could stop himself, belatedly remembering that he had no idea whose house they’d just been making out in.

“This is Bandit,” Emma smiled dangerously, leaning down to pick the tortoiseshell cat up.  It really was obscenely large, though lanky and skinny as a rail, mainly black in color except for the red-orange splotches on its coat.  The cat hissed at her, too, baring fangs angrily, but Emma only snickered and bopped the cat on the nose with a finger.  It growled and looked ready to bite her until Emma’s smile turned into a glare, at which point the cat let out a defeated sounding hiss and looked away.  She glanced back at Killian before dropping the monster sized feline.  “I wanted something to play cat and mouse with.”

“You should have bought a mouse, then,” he quipped, watching the cat land and slink off.  Was it his imagination, or was the cat glaring at him?  _Definitely just my imagination.  It’s a cat._   Killian had plenty of experience with cats, as they were an excellent way to keep the rats in check on board ship, but this one still struck him as strange.

“Maybe I should have.”  Her eyes followed the cat for a moment, too, until Emma suddenly swept in to stand inches away from him once more, kissing him hard.  “Come upstairs.”

“Uh…not that I mind the invitation, but mightn’t the owners of this lovely home return while we’re, um, engaged?” Killian managed to ask before he utterly lost his mind.  Emma had always been one to tease him a little; her flirtations were playful and sometimes hesitant.  Now she was coming onto him like a stampeding herd of horses, and while Killian didn’t _mind_ , per se, he still found it strange.

“It’s my house,” she whispered against his lips.  “Ours, if you want.”

“Emma…” He didn’t mean for the words to come out in a growl, but that invitation had sent warmth to _all_ the wrong places.

He was here to help her, not to jump in bed with her.  He was here to remind her of who she was, not give into the desire currently raging through his body.  Killian had to be better than this—not for his sake, but for hers.  There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many things he _needed_ to say.

“Yes, Killian?” Again, she cocked her head at him, and now her gaze turned a little playful.  “Do you not want me?”

“You have _no_ idea how much I want you right now,” he said, and his mouth went dry as she started to unfasten her black leather top.  Killian almost didn’t get the next words out: “But you’re not yourself.”

“I’m as much myself as I’ll ever be.”  Pausing with her top half open, Emma reached for his belt once more, and Killian couldn’t make his hands stop her when she started to unbuckle it.  _Oh, I_ could _stop her.  I just don’t want to,_ he admitted to himself.  Emma’s eyes bored into his.  “And I _need_ you.”

Cursing himself for a weak fool, Killian leaned in to kiss her.  He needed Emma, too, and maybe he could forget good and evil, just for a little while.  This was what she was now, and for better or for worse, he loved her.

* * *

 

Being an adult again was…weird.  At first, August hadn’t expected the aging up to _last_ , and he’d anticipated becoming Pinocchio again within a few days of the Queens of Darkness going down.  But apparently Rumplestiltskin knew his stuff, because here he was, fully adult and not turning into wood.  That last bit was undoubtedly the best part of it all, and if someone had told August he would have had to spend a few days as a prisoner to get to be himself again, well, he would have made that deal without hesitation.  Even _with_ the pesky wooden nose in the fire parts. 

Still, it was hard on his Papa, who had his boy taken away from him yet again.  They were still working on their relationship, because Geppetto had never really known _August_ , but there were more good days than bad.  _At least at home, anyway,_ August thought, walking into Granny’s.  He’d taken his old motorcycle out for a spin when Geppetto’s apartment had proven too stuffy, and of course he’d found something that defied explanation.

“So,” he asked the room at large, leaning up against the counter.  “Anyone here commission a castle to be built out in the woods?  Because there’s a big one growing fast.”

“A _what_?” Grumpy asked from behind the counter, and August shrugged.

“I kid you not.  I caught a glimpse of it from my bike, and when I went closer to investigate, I almost discovered the moat the hard way.”

“A castle.  Are you serious?” Sneezy demanded, and then promptly lived up to his name.

“You really need to see Whale about some antihistamines or something, man,” August said.  “But yeah, dead serious here.  Someone’s building a castle out there, and it looks like it’s magic.”

Grumpy frowned.  “Who the hell would do that?”

“Don’t we have enough unclaimed real estate around here?” Happy spoke up.  “I mean, between the Sorcerer’s House and Zelena’s creepy farmhouse, hasn’t enough stuff shown up?”

“I’d be more worried about the mysterious sorcerer building it,” another voice said, and August turned to look at where Lily sat in a booth with her mother.  Both human/dragons looked smug and rather pleased with themselves, and part of August really wondered if anyone was ever going to do anything to Maleficent for her role as one of the Queens of Darkness.  _Probably not,_ he decided.  _She did help towards the end, and she’s friends with the mayor._

“What mysterious sorcerer?” Sneezy sneezed worriedly.

“I don’t know,” the young woman shrugged easily.  “We saw _someone_ building it earlier, though.  From the air.”

“That’s just great,” Grumpy snorted.  “Just what this town needs.  Some _other_ villain here to make a mess.  As if we didn’t have enough of one already.”

Narrowing his eyes, August watched the mother-daughter pair exchange a glance, and then had to ask: “How do we know you’re not involved?”

Maleficent smiled.  “You don’t, of course,” she replied.  “But you might consider the fact that I wouldn’t waste power on something so foolishly ostentatious when I’m perfectly capable of _buying_ myself a home and already have.”

“You know we’re gonna check that, don’t you?” Grumpy spoke up.

“I’m sure you will.”  The elder dragon rolled her eyes and rose. “Come, Lily.  Let’s see if we can’t discover something else useful for the foolish heroes to beg us for.”

August watched them go, unaware that when they stepped into the street, something _else_ was evaluating the two women, too.

“It could just be the new Dark One,” someone else suggested, but August shook his head.  Castles weren’t Emma’s thing any more than they were his.  _We’re more the type to get a mansion than a castle,_ he thought with some amusement.  Kids who’d grown up in the system valued material possessions from this world, not the old one.  _Modern appliances beat fires in the hearth any day, and who wants to live without heat and air conditioning?_

* * *

 

“Hey, Belle,” Robin said in surprise.  He’d headed out to the camp in the forest to give Regina a little space; he knew that she wasn’t happy with what he had said to her, but sometimes love meant saying uncomfortable things.  He didn’t love Regina any less for what she had done, though it _did_ make him worry for her. 

That, and Belle was his friend, which meant he was worried for _her_ , too.   Robin would never forget that he owed Belle his life— _and_ Roland’s—after she had convinced Rumplestiltskin not to kill him after she’d helped him escape with the wand, and he meant to make good on that debt in any way he could.  _She deserves better than being used as a pawn,_ Robin thought fiercely.  _I know how that feels, and I won’t have it happen to anyone on my account._

“Have you seen Will?” Belle said right away, shocking him for a second time.  Judging from the fact that Belle seemed to be back with her husband, Will was the last person he would have expected her to be asking about. 

“Um, no.  Is there—is everything all right?” he inquired as delicately as he could. Robin wasn’t the most subtle man, but if Belle was asking after her sometime boyfriend…

“Everything’s fine.  He was just supposed to come by.  Rumple and I were going to help him try to find a way back to Wonderland, but Will never showed.  He’s not answering his phone, either.”

Robin blinked.  “He did call me a little while earlier, but he wasn’t there when I answered.  I thought that was a little strange, but I understand that people in this world call it ‘butt-dialing’ when that happens.”

“I’ve heard the phrase, yes,” Belle laughed.  “Just tell him that Rumple found what might be a way back if you see him, all right?”

“You bet,” Robin promised, and they hung up.  On a whim, he dialed Will’s number again, but after four rings, the voicemail kicked on.

“You’ve reached Will Scarlet.  If I’m not answering me phone, I’m probably in a bloody ditch somewhere passed out drink.  Leave me a message an’ I might get back to you when I’m sober.  If I like you enough.  Otherwise, piss off.”

Frowning, Robin hit the end call button and stared at the phone for a long moment.  There could be a hundred and one reasons why Will didn’t want to answer his phone at the moment, but the hairs on the back of Robin’s neck were starting to stand up.  He didn’t believe in coincidences, and Will had been the one person who had actually _seen_ Granny’s murder. 

_What if Emma knows?_ The mere thought made him shiver.   _We haven’t told many people, but her mother is emotional enough to confront her with it, or she might have found out dozen other ways._ But if Emma knew, Will was in danger.  Grave danger.  And Robin wasn’t about to let a friend get hurt, so his next call was to the only sheriff Storybrooke had left.

* * *

 

After four hours of searching, they found Will’s cell phone near the Merry Men’s campsite.  Snow was actually the one who found it when they doubled back in that direction again, and they would have missed it completely if the phone hadn’t started beeping a low battery alert. 

“David!” she called, and he jogged over to join her.  They’d split up: Robin and Regina had gone one way after a few locator spells had inexplicably failed, and he and Snow had gone yet another.  Hook wasn’t answering his phone, either, so they didn’t have his help, and David had been hesitant to call in anyone else who didn’t know exactly why they were concerned for Will’s safety.  Snow held the phone out to him.  “I think this is his.”

Will didn’t seem to have a code for his lock screen, which meant David was able to open up the dialer easily enough.  The last call received was from Robin, so David called that number. 

“Will?” Robin answered on the first ring.  “Mate, we’ve been worried sick over you.  Why didn’t you—”

“It’s David,” he cut in as quickly as he could.  “We just found Will’s phone, but no Will.”

“Damn.”  A long silence fell on the other end before Robin sighed and added: “Regina’s teleporting us to you.  We’ll be there in a moment.”

Hanging up, David turned to Snow, who gave him an equally helpless look.  They both knew what Robin was going to say, even if neither wanted to speak the words out loud.  Silently, David reached out to take his wife’s hand, squeezing it hard as Regina and Robin appeared in a cloud of purple smoke that barely stood out from the early evening gloom.

“We didn’t find anything, either,” Regina said by way of greeting, crossing her arms irritably.  “My locator spells keep running in circles like there’s no one to find.”

“There’s an easy explanation for that,” Robin added immediately, his voice hard.  “And it isn’t because he left Storybrooke for no reason at all.”

“I know what you’re trying to say, but there’s no evidence that it was Emma,” Snow countered immediately.  “ _Anything_ could have happened.”

“And I could grow a second head right now, though it’s not terribly likely,” the outlaw retorted, making Snow flinch.

David squeezed her hand again.  “We can’t assign blame without evidence,” he said as calmly as he could.  “I know what it looks like, but as Snow said, there’s no evidence at all.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.  Will told us he saw Granny die, and now he’s gone,” Robin replied.  “You can’t tell me that doesn’t make you uneasy.”

“It does,” David admitted, swallowing.  “But we can’t condemn Emma without evidence.  Even with what happened to Granny— _especially_ because of that—we can’t assume she’s guilty.”

“Then let’s ask her,” the outlaw replied, making the other three turn to stare at him.  “Let’s bloody _ask_ Emma demand she tell us the truth.”

No one seemed to know what to say, until Regina turned to her lover and said gently: “There’s no guarantee that she will.  None of us know how that darkness has affected her.  She’s hidden herself away for a good reason, and I expect it’s because she doesn’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“That didn’t exactly help Will!”

“Robin…”  Regina looked torn, and David could understand why. She loved Robin, but Emma was her friend, too.  And Regina was family, even if her relationship with them was strange at times. 

“No, he’s right,” David said, sighing.  “At least in part.  We need to get through to Emma, to help her.  We’ve been trying to give her space, to let her find herself…but we can’t afford to do that anymore.  We have to find her and help her.”

“That’s why we can’t let anyone know what happened,” Snow whispered suddenly.  “If everyone knows…they’ll want to kill Emma.  Or worse.”

Three heads whipped around to stare at Snow, and David felt his heart sink.  He knew she was right, but listening to _Snow_ say such a thing, for her to give up some of her cherished belief in justice, hurt more than words could express.

“Finally,” Regina breathed, clearly sharing none of David’s moral compunctions.

“Will and Granny deserve better than that,” Robin objected, but he looked a little defeated already.

“They do,” Snow agreed.  “But this isn’t _Emma_.  This is the darkness inside her.  The best way to protect everyone isn’t to let the town hurt Emma.  It’s to get that darkness out of her once and for all, and for that to work, she needs our help.  Not us putting her in a cage.”

Robin sighed, glancing down at the phone David still held in his hand.  “I can’t argue that’s a good end goal, but what if she keeps killing?”

“Then we stop her,” Regina answered.  “Whatever it takes, and however we have to.  In the meantime, we can blame Granny’s death on Zelena if anyone asks.”

“And Will?”

“Will, too,” the former Evil Queen confirmed.  “Zelena has committed plenty of crimes, and she’s already locked away.  She got out earlier; we can say she did it twice.  Editing the security footage will be easy enough.”

“This isn’t right,” Robin whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” David agreed, letting out a painful breath.  He had to close his eyes for a moment, hating himself for what he was about to say.  Snow clung to his hand and he clung back.  They stood at the edge of a precipice, looking down into the deep chasm of darkness that had claimed their daughter, and both knew that they would never be the same again.  _We’ve tried so hard to be heroes,_ David thought.  _But now we’re just going to do whatever it takes to save our child…and everyone else with her._ He cleared his throat and made himself continue: “But it’s the only choice we have if we’re ever going to bring her back.  We can’t _make_ you agree, Robin, but we can beg you for your help.  Please.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve never gone outside the law to try to help others,” Robin replied, looking down at the ground.  Then he looked up, his face a mess of hurt.  “But it’s the first time I’ve ever betrayed a friend to do it.  I hope she’s worth it.  Truly, I do.”

“So do we,” David whispered, feeling the half-heart twinge in his chest. 

They were risking everything on the bet that Emma could come back from the darkness, but sooner or later, they would have to decide what else they were willing to give up to make that happened.  David only hoped that they could save his daughter before the price became too high to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eleven—“ They Have the Might”, where Emma decides she wants to start talking to her family again, Belle and Rumplestiltskin read Merlin’s book, Regina tries to do the right thing, and Merlin’s power reaches out once more.
> 
> On another note, assuming I can get ROC11 done in time, look for it on Tuesday!


	11. They Have the Might

**_Chapter Eleven—“They Have the Might”_ **

He hadn’t managed to leave the house until after ten in the morning, which made Killian feel a little guilty.  Once he’d found all of his clothes, he’d noticed that there were several missed calls on his phone, along with two of those messages that he always forgot how to check.  Under normal circumstances, he would have asked Emma for help, but Killian was still reeling from the night they had spent together.

He loved her, but he shouldn’t have given in.  Emma _wasn’t_ herself, and as determined as he was to stand by her, to help her come back to the woman he knew she was inside, Killian knew that giving in to her wasn’t the right way to go about that.  He’d watched Belle go down that road with the Crocodile, and while he knew in his heart that Emma would _never_ be as bad as Rumplestiltskin, he understood that there were similarities.  Little though he liked admitting that, even in the privacy of his own mind, he’d seen the same darkness gleaming in Emma’s eyes that he had seen before.  _She’ll fight it back,_ he told himself, heading across town to the Charmings’ loft.  _I know she can do this._

The walk was short, thankfully, and soon enough, David opened the door to his knock.

“Hook,” the prince said in surprise.  “We were starting to wonder what had happened to you.  We must have called you a dozen times last night.”

“I was…talking to Emma,” he said slowly, and watched Snow whirl around from where she’d been checking on the baby. 

“You saw Emma?” she gasped.

“Aye.”  Killian sucked in a deep breath.  “She’s gotten herself a house, actually.  It’s off Hunt Street.  She said that it had been a dilapidated wreck before she fixed it up.”

Both of Emma’s parents were staring at him like he’d provided them with oxygen after too long without, and guilt twisted in Killian’s gut like a dagger.  _They should have been the ones to talk to her.  They would have done better than I did,_ he thought remorsefully.  What had he done?  He’d failed to free her with True Love’s Kiss and then given in. 

“Is…is she all right?” David asked, sounding a little more cautious than Killian would have expected.

“She seems to be under control, now,” he answered honestly.  “I’m…I’m not sure how to describe how she’s different, though she is.  But she wants to start talking to her family, again.  She says she misses everyone.”

The grin that split Snow’s face made him feel even guiltier, somehow, even though Killian hadn’t told a lie.  Emma _had_ told him that morning that she wanted to see her family, and he’d promised to bring Henry by that afternoon.  Even David seemed happy to hear that, though there was a reserve in the prince that Killian wasn’t accustomed to seeing.  Something, however, told him not to bring up the subject when Snow was around, so he waited until Snow took Neal off to be changed before asking.

“What happened last night?”

“Will Scarlet went missing,” David replied bluntly.  “We tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I, uh, may have dropped the phone,” Killian admitted, not wanting to admit that the phone had spent the night at the bottom of the stairs—as had his jacket and a number of other garments, his and Emma’s both.

“Well, you missed a mess,” the other man sighed.  “We don’t have evidence that Emma is responsible, but we know that Will saw her kill Granny.  For now…well, we’re going to keep it quiet.  Regina suggested we blame Zelena if anyone asks too many questions.”

Killian wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that; oh, lying wasn’t exactly something he was unaccustomed to doing, but he’d learned the hard way that lies eventually came out unless you were prepared to kill to protect them.  _Did Emma do that?_ he wondered.  _I was with her.  She couldn’t have killed that thief if I was with her, could she have?_   But he could read David’s face well enough to tell where this was going.

“I take it we’re going with Regina’s suggestion, then, and blaming it on everyone’s favorite Wicked Witch,” he said. 

“You have a problem with that?”

“Not particularly, no,” Killian admitted, and was that disappointment he saw flickering through David’s eyes?  “I just want to protect Emma.  Even from herself.”

“We all want that,” was the soft reply.  “I’m just not sure how long we can keep it up.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had spent the previous evening combing through Merlin’s spellbook, his eyes flying over the irrelevant and searching for something, _anything_ that might tell them what this mysterious golden power was.  All he knew so far was that it had attacked Regina and Zelena both—which indicated almost nothing, given how different the sisters were—and that Grumpy had told Belle that _something_ had dug up the Apprentice’s grave.  Odds were that the same force was responsible for that, yet Rumplestiltskin still had not found anything useful.

“Anything?” Belle asked as he poured over the book in the shop that morning.

“Plenty,” he groaned.  “But nothing useful.  This is a truly fascinating book, and I wish I could give it the attention it deserves, but there’s nothing about any powers that should be acting like this.”

“I wish I could help more,” she replied, leaning over his shoulder to kiss him on the cheek.  Rumplestiltskin _had_ tried to hand Belle the book the previous night, hoping that her special touch with research would lead her to find the answer faster than he could, but the book had snapped shut when she’d tried to handle it alone.  That had led Rumplestiltskin to _really_ start wondering why the book would allow only a former Dark One to read it, and part of him wanted to call Emma Swan into the shop to see if the book would open for her, too.

But he stopped himself every time that silly notion came to mind.  There were spells in that book he definitely didn’t want a novice Dark One to find.  _Or any Dark One,_ he thought, aware of how very ironic that notion was.  He would have _killed_ to possess this book in his days as the Dark One, would have slain dozens without blinking an eye.  There were spells in here even he had never dreamed of, powerful and complicated and life-altering.  But for better or for worse, Rumplestiltskin no longer was the Dark One…and he understood how very dangerous Emma was now, particularly before she managed to control herself.  _Assuming she wants to._

“You do help,” he told Belle honestly.  “Sweetheart, you’re…you’re everything to me.  I’m afraid that I’m the useless one.”

“You’re not useless.”  Arms slipped around his neck, and Rumplestiltskin half-hated himself for the way he leaned back into her embrace, just _needing_ her touch like he never had before.  “Even if you didn’t have magic, Rumple, you’d have your brilliant mind.  And you _do_ have a little magic now, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted quietly.  “I can feel it.  Some.”  Twisting on his stool, Rumplestiltskin looked at her worriedly.  His next words came as a whisper.  “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Belle replied, kissing his cheek.  “I used to think it was all about power, but it never was, was it?  I love books for the knowledge they give me, and a part of you loves magic for that same reason, don’t you?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded wordlessly, his stomach twisting up in a nervous knot.  He kept trying to prove to Belle that she was more important to him than power—that she always _should_ have been and he knew that he’d messed up so terribly—but what if it didn’t work?  What if she didn’t believe him?  For the first time in centuries, he truly _wanted_ to help solve a problem facing the people who lived around him, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how to do that without magic.  Magic had been his intellectual passion for years; studying it had filled the void of the centuries, had helped chase some of the loneliness away.  He’d never been _just_ the Dark One; he’d been a sorcerer, and one of the most learned ones in centuries, too.

“Rumple, I love you,” Belle whispered.  “I love _all_ of you, particularly now that I can see the man you’ve always wanted to be shining through.  If you can use magic, you should.  It will help everyone.  You can see things that others—”

“That’s it!” he cut her off without meaning to, jumping to his feet so quickly that he forgot about his cane and almost collapsed.  Belle had to catch him as Rumplestiltskin staggered, fumbling for his cane and _hating_ that old injury again.

“What’s it?”

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.  The answer might be in that book, but we could be a few thousand pages away from finding it,” Rumplestiltskin answered.  “But we don’t need the book.  We need to find that power’s weaknesses, because the key to stopping _anything_ is to find its weak point.”

Belle’s eyes lit up.  “Great!  How do we do that?”

“The gauntlet.” 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Rumplestiltskin realized what a mistake they might be.  The gauntlet was still a sore point between them; although he’d told Belle the entire story—including the way he’d gotten it back, which had _not_ been part of a farce like she’d feared it had been when the gauntlet had led her to the dagger—Rumplestiltskin was wise enough to know that those memories still bothered his wife.  Sure enough, her face fell, her beautiful eyes darkening with sadness that hehad caused.  Immediately, Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach twist back into a knot.  He’d screwed it up again, hadn’t he?  Every time he tried to do something right, he only wound up hurting those he loved.

“Right,” Belle whispered, biting her lip.  “Um, it’s, uh, over there, I think.”

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin interjected, his voice weak but forcing himself to try.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t think…”

He felt like that cowardly spinner again, begging Milah for scraps of her love and knowing their marriage would never be the same.  _Is that all I am, now?  Is that all I’ll ever be?_ he couldn’t help thinking.  Rumplestiltskin was trying so hard, but he was so damn afraid of losing her, even though he _knew_ how much she loved him.  _She said she won’t leave,_ he tried to tell himself, but he knew that Belle didn’t want a weak coward, either.  No woman did.  _Belle, please.  I’m afraid._   She’d pushed him away when he’d admitted that, hadn’t she?

 _Don’t do this_ , he told himself desperately.  _That was your fault, not hers._   _Never hers._

“Yes, you did,” she turned to him, and her brave smile broke his heart.  “You’re trying to help, Rumple.  Don’t you understand how proud of you I am?”

“I’d rather not help if it hurts you to do it,” he replied, reaching out to touch her cheek.  Milah would have pulled away, but Belle didn’t.  She leaned into his hand, and relief made his knees weak.

“Pain makes us stronger, and I know the truth, now,” she whispered, and her hand came up to squeeze his fingers.  “Just promise me no more lies.”

“I promise,” Rumplestiltskin replied quickly, meaning every word. 

“Then let’s find the gauntlet and see if we can find the weakness in that cloud before it tries to destroy Storybrooke,” Belle said strongly, and Rumplestiltskin somehow found himself answering her smile.

But the gauntlet, it turned out, was gone.

* * *

 

_Several Years Before the Curse_

Camelot was notwhat Rumplestiltskin had expected.  Oh, he’d known the place was wild—time there was all but overcome by dark magic strong enough to make even _him_ a little uneasy.  War had come to Camelot, which had already been out of step with the rest of reality, and then Mordred had tried to _stop_ time for some insane reason or another.  As a practice, Rumplestiltskin avoided the Camelot for that reason…but every Dark One went there eventually.  It had only been a matter of time.

Once, he’d hoped to find the Sorcerer’s Hat there, but the Apprentice seemed to have reacquired it, despite Ingrid’s attempt to hold onto the blasted thing.  That was inconvenient, but if he succeeded in Camelot, perhaps Rumplestiltskin would never need the Hat at all.  Merlin, after all, remained at least somewhat in this realm.  Wisps of stories indicated that the Sorcerer yet lived, that he remained sequestered in the old castle for reasons known only to himself.  Rumplestiltskin had gone to the Apprentice long ago, hoping for a doorway to the Land Without Magic, but he had been refused.  Would Merlin do the same?  There was no way to know without asking—and even if Merlin did refuse, Rumplestiltskin knew that the Sorcerer had been the creator of his own…condition.

If he could speak to Merlin, perhaps Merlin could help him learn to reverse the blackening on his heart.  At first, the problem had seemed insignificant, but the more years passed, the more toxic the darkness’ influence upon him became.  Rumplestiltskin might have been the Dark One, and he might have been perfectly content to remain as such, but surely there was a way to do so without sacrificing his soul to the darkness.  He had to find a balance, to find something better than the deals he had always relied upon.  They weren’t enough, not now, and Merlin could—

“The Dark One comes to Camelot,” a soft voice said from behind him as Rumplestiltskin approached the old castle.  He could see a half burned gate not far away, leading straight into the first courtyard of Camulodunum, and he was so damned close that he wasn’t going to let some prissy youth stop him.

“If you know what’s good for you, dearie, you’ll stay out of my way,” he replied, pitching the words into a bit of a threatening song as he turned lazily to face the youthful voice. 

But this was no youth who faced him.  There was age in that face, centuries in those dark eyes that belied the smooth features.  _And power,_ Rumplestiltskin realized, taking in the other’s red robes and regal bearing.  He wore a gauntlet on his right hand, and a sword on his belt that was a very near imitation of Excalibur.  _Nearly as powerful, too_ , Rumplestiltskin thought, his eyes lingering on the sword.  _Could that truly be Caladbolg?_ Like Excalibur, Caladbolg was a secondary power, though it had been forged by Viviane, not by Merlin.

“This is my realm,” the other answered, his gray eyes narrowing.  “I would invite you to leave if I did not so desire your death.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up.  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather hard to kill.”

 _Kill him.  Kill him and take his power,_ the darkness whispered within him, salivating at the thought.  _Take the sword.  The sword is power.  So is the gauntlet._ Rumplestiltskin felt the shiver run down his spine, felt the power within him coiling in delicious anticipation, but he shoved that aside for the moment.  He was not a fool, nor some mindless puppet for the darkness to throw at whichever target it desired most.  He would do this on _his_ terms or not at all.

“Not that hard,” was the even reply.

“Let me guess,” Rumplestiltskin said, gathering power to himself as he felt the other do the same.  “You’re Mordred.  Your hatred for the Dark One is all but legendary.”

He wouldn’t mind killing someone who had hunted so many of his predecessors.  Stories said that Mordred had even caused the death of a Dark One or two, but he’d never been brave enough to wield the dagger himself.

“ _King_ Mordred.  My reputation precedes me, I see,” Mordred replied with a cold smile, and something about that sent warning bells to ringing in Rumplestiltskin’s head—

Then magic slammed into him, sending him flying against the crumbling wall of Camulodunum.  Rocks splintered and crumbled, and his shoulders burned from the impact.  Yelping in pain and surprise, Rumplestiltskin barely managed to teleport away from the next assault, drawing on his own magic to attack Mordred.  But he missed—utterly and completely!—when Mordred batted the spell aside with ridiculous ease. 

“Is that the best you have, Dark One?” Mordred taunted him as Rumplestiltskin dodged a giant wave of flame.  It caught the edges of his dragonhide coat, making Rumplestiltskin waste precious time and magic dousing the flames licking at his sides.

“I have a name!” he snarled, summoning up the nastiest spell he could think of on short notice, a black and gold tornado that erupted out of the ground at Modred’s feet.  That finally made the slender sorcerer dance aside, and then Mordred was finally forced to teleport away as the tornado tracked him, growing ever smaller and fiercer and trying to tear him into pieces.

“Why would I care about that?” the other countered dismissively as he reappeared only a dozen feet away from Rumplestiltskin.  The tornado veered to follow him, but suddenly Rumplestiltskin felt a giant well of power open up, and his tornado collapsed in on itself.  “Your spellwork is lacking.”

Centuries had passed since he’d done anything other than win any magical duel with ease, and hearing that made rage roar in Rumplestiltskin’s ears.  _Show him,_ the darkness taunted him.  _Pull the darkness forward, crush him like—_

Mordred _was_ smart, Rumplestiltskin realized, clamping down on his temper and on the furious whispers inside him.  Mordred clearly knew the darkness well, and he was taunting _that_ , not Rumplestiltskin.  He didn’t care about the man who had become the Dark One, which meant he didn’t know a thing about Rumplestiltskin or the kind of sorcerer he had become.  Silently, behind a snarl of fury that was mostly for show, Rumplestiltskin began weaving together several complicated spells, building one or two on the fly and pulling others from his own memories, his own studies.  Not from the darkness.

“Then what _do_ you care about, dearie?” he asked, teleporting away from another attack and sending an ineffectual wave of dark magic at Mordred in return.  As expected, the sorcerer-king waved it aside easily.  “If you’re so keen on killing me, and so knowledgeable about what I am, surely you realize you’re at a _bit_ of a disadvantage.”

“Ah, you mean that I lack the dagger,” Mordred replied smoothly, and this time Rumplestiltskin wasn’t able to dodge his attack.  This one knocked him flat, smashing the wind out of him and hammering Rumplestiltskin to the ground on his back.  Pain reverberated through his spine, and he threw another pair of attacks back at Mordred, only to see both sail far wide of their target.  Yet he kept building his web. 

“And you won’t be finding it,” he trilled, trying to ignore the whispers as they became shouts.  _Kill him!  Protect the dagger!_

“Ah, but I will.  Though I don’t plan to _kill_ you.  Not exactly.”  Another wave of power roared in on him, this one dark and icy and painful enough to make Rumplestiltskin scream.  But he kept building, pulling thread by thread together.  One by one.

The next spell he sent at Mordred was smaller than his other attacks, designed mostly as a distraction while the other seven pulled together.  But this one connected, hitting Mordred square in the center of the chest—and only pushing him back a step.  Mordred bounced back to look down at Rumplestiltskin, smiling darkly.

“This gauntlet is the most remarkable piece of magic I’ve ever crafted,” Mordred smiled.  “It can determine _any_ person’s greatest weakness.  In most cases, that’s the thing they love most, but we both know that’s not true for the Dark One, don’t we?” He scoffed.  “As if you could love, anyway.”

Unbidden, Belle’s face flashed through Rumplestiltskin’s mind, but he pushed that aside.  He did _not_ have feelings for his maid.  He would not go down that road.  Not again.

Thankfully, Mordred was still talking, and his gauntlet had apparently not picked up on the way a certain blue-eyed young woman pulled on Rumplestiltskin’s withered heartstrings. 

“Even now I can see your dagger.  The image grows more clear, and it is within—”

Fueled by desperation, yet a product of study rather than rage, the web of spells tore out of Rumplestiltskin.  He’d managed to hold back until the threads were _just_ in place, sending seven spells sailing at Mordred.  Caught off guard, the so-called King of Camelot caught three of them, shoving them aside like they were nothing, but those three hid the four far more dangerous ones, all of which hit.

Mordred screamed.  One spell slashed his face open from left to right, nearly removing his eye and taking half of his nose with it.  Another lit a fire within him, one that would have burned a lesser sorcerer from the inside out and still did considerable damage, tearing at Mordred in ways no mere human could survive.  The third was another tornado, rearing out of the ground right beneath Mordred’s feet, spitting and hissing and howling its rage as dark magic engulfed him, keeping him from teleporting away from the fourth and final spell.  That one, of course, was defensive in nature—and it reached out and ripped the gauntlet from Mordred’s right hand before he could discern the location of Rumplestiltskin’s dagger.

Rumplestiltskin caught the gauntlet as it flew through the air, and he almost turned back to renew their battle, but visions suddenly ripped through his mind, making him stagger.  The images made no sense—there was a woman there, burning with the darkness which now possessed him.  She faced Mordred across the Vault of the Dark One, her eyes on a boy who looked _so_ very much like the child Rumplestiltskin had lost.  The teen was even about the right age, but it wasn’t, _couldn’t_ be Baelfire, even as the visions he Saw broke his heart in two.  Yet there Rumplestiltskin was, striding up from not far away, stepping into the image and radiating power.

Yet nothing made sense.  Rumplestiltskin tried to tear his mind free, but the visions stayed with him, and he found himself staring at this other-self of his, trying to puzzle out how he could look so _human_ , so fragile, and yet so not himself.  _He was not himself._ The boy looked at this human Rumplestiltskin, looked at him with Baelfire’s eyes, and—

 _Stop it!_ He almost cried the words aloud, and was so very glad that Mordred was too consumed by the tornado to notice the way he staggered.  The visions were unrelenting, even when the landscape changed.  There was a funeral bier approaching an unfamiliar shore, a swirl of darkness being torn from a nearly blackened heart, _Belle_ weeping over him and whispering that she loved him—but that couldn’t be him, for he looked too human and nothing made sense—and finally that same dark woman again, her eyes on fire with desperation and rage, making a deal with the devil to save what was left of her soul.

 With an effort, Rumplestiltskin managed to teleport himself back towards the portal Jefferson had opened, collapsing to his knees once he’d stumbled past the threshold.  The visions were quiet, or at least somewhat; he kept Seeing the same things, over and over again, until he somehow managed to pinch the flow off.  No, he couldn’t go back and renew the fight, now; he’d lost his advantage, even if the gauntlet could point him at Mordred’s greatest weakness as much as it could show Mordred his.  Yet he hadn’t _lost,_ had he?  Rumplestiltskin might not have gained what he’d come to Camelot for, but he still had acquired a valuable prize.  Continuing to fight with Mordred would be foolish, and as much as the darkness screamed in his mind, he knew when to retreat.

Mordred could wait.  He now knew they would see one another again.

* * *

 

Thirty-some odd years later, the same visions were the first to hit Rumplestiltskin since the darkness had been ripped from him.  He’d wondered briefly if he was no longer a Seer; even if those ill-gotten powers had been separate from his status as the Dark One, he definitely not been a Seer beforehand, and a part of him had felt like everything that made him unique had of course been stripped away.  However, the truth turned out to be much more complicated.  Like magic, the visions seemed to only need a bit of time to return.  Perhaps they had been waiting for him to come back to himself, to the man he had been—or maybe the man he’d always wanted to be, as Belle said.

Now he recognized the faces he Saw, however.  Now he knew Emma Swan—though watching her skin sparkle in the Enchanted Forest’s sun was odd.  Now he knew Henry, too, and remembering how his grandson had once reminded him of Baelfire was even more painful once he understood the connection.  Yet what were they doing at the Vault of the Dark One?  But Mordred… _Mordred_ held Henry by the throat, the metal fingers of the gauntlet pressing tightly against Henry’s windpipe.  Decades earlier, those visions had made no sense, but now Rumplestiltskin could see what would happen—for this had not happened yet.  Oh, no.  He was Seeing the future again, only now it was the near future. 

“I know where the gauntlet is,” he told Belle softly.  The rest of the vision continued to play through his mind, and Rumplestiltskin could see the other him, the near future him, walking up to confront Mordred at the Dark One’s side.  Yet he _still_ had the sinking feeling that the man he saw was not quite Rumplestiltskin, that something had changed and something had—

“Who took it?” his wife asked immediately, clearly following his line of reasoning.

“Mordred,” Rumplestiltskin answered, remembering what he had read of the sorcerer-king, remembering Mordred’s age-old feud with the Dark One.  With _every_ Dark One.

Belle had always been quick; she caught the implications lightning fast.   “You think that he’s the sorcerer that people say is building a castle in the forest, that he came from Camelot?”

“I do.”  His eyes found Merlin’s book—half a journal and half a spellbook, it turned out—on their own.  “And I am beginning to wonder if this is related to the power we are trying to identify.”

“That can’t be good,” Belle said softly.

“No, it can’t.”

* * *

 

His mom wasn’t the same, but that was okay.  It would have to be.

Hook had dropped Henry off at Emma’s house right after lunch, leaving after exchanging a look with Emma that practically lit the air on fire.  Henry might have only been twelve (almost thirteen!), but even he could see the tension and the desire between them.  Truth be told, it made him a little uncomfortable, mostly because he wasn’t sure what was going on inside Emma’s mind.  This Emma—the one who had kissed Hook right in front of him, pulling the pirate close and _dragging_ him to her—wasn’t the one Henry was used to seeing.  Hook seemed discomfited, too, which Henry might have enjoyed seeing a few weeks earlier, but now it just made things doubly disturbing. 

Going to Camelot had changed Henry’s opinion on Hook, at least a little.  He still didn’t like the way Hook had jumped into his dad’s shoes so quickly, but the pirate made Emma happy, which meant Henry had promised himself to accept Hook based on that.  Now, however, even the pirate appeared uneasy with how forward and possessive Emma was, and Henry found himself racking his mind to see if he could remember Grandpa Gold ever acting that way around Belle.  _No, he treated her like she was made of precious glass, even after she banished him,_ Henry remembered.  This was something different.

“I miss this,” he said as they sat on the couch together a little while later, playing a game on the Xbox 360 he had _not_ asked how Emma had acquired.  “I miss us.”

“Me, too, kid,” Emma replied, but she sounded like the answer was a little automatic.

“So, um, how is everything?” Henry asked hesitantly.  Emma hadn’t talked about anything _important_ yet, just worriedly asking if he was all right and demanding to know if anyone had tried to hurt him.  She hadn’t even asked how her parents were.  Henry had offered that information when Emma hadn’t inquired, but she’d seemed…distracted.  Hook seemed to hold her attention well enough when he was around, but the moment he’d left, Emma had asked Henry if he wanted to try out her new Xbox, and he’d jumped at the chance to do _anything_ with her.

“Fine,” Emma shrugged, and then gave him a smile that was _almost_ real.  “I’m still me.  Just different.”

“How different?”

“I’m still your mom,” she answered immediately, giving him a hard look, one that sent an odd shiver down Henry’s spine.  “And I worry about you.”

“Everything seems quiet enough, except for that golden power lurking around town,” Henry shrugged.

“What power?” Emma asked, twisting to look at Henry, suddenly attentive.  _Why couldn’t she look at me like this earlier?_ Henry wondered before he could stop himself, and then pushed that thought aside.  This was hard for Emma, he knew.  Everything had changed, and she was fighting to control herself.  He had to be patient.

“Mom told me that Grandpa Gold thinks it came through from Camelot,” he explained.  “It’s just kind of this swirling cloud of power, kinda like the darkness, but golden.  Mom tried to stop it, but—”

“You need to stay away from that, Henry,” Emma cut him off fiercely, making him blink.

“I helped with it when it tried to go after Mom, actually.  I brought Merlin’s staff and then Hook drew it away, because otherwise it might have really hurt her,” he said proudly, and was shocked to see the anger on Emma’s face.

“Don’t you dare do something like that again,” his birth mother said, grabbing Henry by the shoulders, her fingers digging in so hard that it hurt. “You can’t risk yourself.  I won’t allow it.”

“Mom,” he tried to reason with her, but Emma just rode right over him.

“I didn’t take this darkness on so that you could be hurt,” she snapped, sounding desperate.  “I did this so that you’d be safe, so that all of you would be safe.  So, no playing hero.  You _stay away_ from that power.  It’s dangerous, and it would hurt you because you’re connected to me.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”  Her hands squeezed, and the gesture was probably meant to be reassuring, but it made Henry wince.

“Mom, you’re hurting me,” he said quietly, hating that he had to complain like a little kid.

Emma released him and scooted back so quickly so quickly that Henry actually wondered if she teleported a little.  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.  “I’m sorry, Henry.”

“It’s okay,” Henry replied, swallowing hard.  Emma was trying.  Wasn’t she?  But this paranoia and dark insistence was a little creepy.  “And I’m okay.  Both from now and before.  The power went for the staff, not me.”

“Good.”

Henry might have said more, but suddenly, something warm rubbed against his right ankle, and he looked down to see a red and black splotched cat pressing against his leg.  In fact, it was stepping on his foot, looking at him with intent yellow eyes that were clearly meant to say _something_ significant, but Henry didn’t speak cat.  Confused, he looked up at Emma.

“You got a cat?” He’d never thought Emma might be a cat person.

“Yes.”  Her smile was enigmatic, and just a little dark.  “His name is Bandit.”

Emma bent to pick the cat up, but it hissed at her, spitting furiously and swiping at Emma with a claw.  She just continued smiling that creepy smile, her eyes on the cat like it was some very special toy.  Bandit’s claws caught the leather sleeve of her top, but Emma barely seemed to notice, flicking a finger and repairing the damage as she settled the cat into her lap.  He tried to escape her, yowling angrily, but Emma held him there despite his struggles.  Henry watched in silence for a moment, trying to pinpoint exactly what was _off_ about Bandit, but he couldn’t figure anything out.

“I don’t think he likes you very much.”

Emma laughed.  “No.  He doesn’t.”

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t intended to run into Belle so soon, but when she saw the younger woman walking towards Granny’s late that afternoon, she knew that Robin had been right.  _“You told me that you want to put the Evil Queen aside, and that means doing so even when it’s hard,”_ Robin had said _.  “I can help you change, but you have to want it.”_   And she did truly want to change; Regina had wanted that for a long time.  She just found it hard not to slip back into her old ways, but Robin had been right, too.  Darkness was a useful tool when it was needed to fight evil, but did know that it should never have been used to victimize someone.  Maybe taking Belle’s heart as leverage hadn’t been the worst thing to do—after all, there had been no way to know at the time which way Rumplestiltskin would go—but she hadn’t needed to enjoy being cruel with it.

Either way, Robin had also been right about how she owed Belle an apology, even if Belle didn’t want to accept it.  So, Regina crossed the street quickly, intercepting Belle in front of the animal shelter.  Belle, predictably, tried to walk around her.

“Excuse me,” Belle said, polite enough to get on Regina’s nerves.

She clamped down on her annoyance.  “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” the brunette replied tightly, and Regina checked a sigh.  “And I’m busy.”

“I know,” Regina said as levelly as she could, stopping and letting Belle walk away if she wanted to.  “I just—I just wanted to apologize.  For taking your heart.  I was desperate…but that’s no excuse.”

Belle finally stopped and turned to look at her.  “Did Robin tell you to apologize?”

“Yes, but what’s that have to do with anything?” she asked, confused.

“Then it’s meaningless,” Belle snapped.  “You can’t be better just because someone else wants you to, Regina.  It doesn’t _work_.  You can’t be better for Henry or for Robin.  You have to be better for yourself.”

Stunned, Regina could only stare.  She _knew_ that.  Did Belle think she didn’t?  Then again, Belle’s experience with reformed villains really did center around Rumplestiltskin as the Dark One, and the entire town was now experiencing exactly how dodgy _that_ darkness was when it came to telling the truth.  Regina knew that she needed to reevaluate everything she’d thought she’d known about her teacher; he wasn’t the same man without the darkness, and she honestly didn’t know what that meant.  Maybe Belle did, but that was hardly the topic at hand, was it?  _Belle_ clearly thought that Regina was only apologizing because Robin had given her some sort of ultimatum, the kind Henry had once handed out.  Those ultimatums, coming from the child who meant more to her than life itself, had actually put Regina on the right track, but she knew enough now to agree with Belle.  Being better for someone _else_ wasn’t enough.

“I know that,” she told the other woman.  “And for the record, Robin didn’t tell me that I _had_ to apologize.  He just reminded me that I _should_.”  Regina hesitated, and then continued:  “I don’t expect you to forgive me.  You did that once, and I wasted what little of your goodwill I had.”

“Does apologizing make you feel better?” Belle asked.

“No,” Regina replied a little more honestly than she liked. 

“Good.”

Regina couldn’t help flinching; this was a far cry from the forgiving, kind woman Belle had always been.  _Did I help change her, or was that Rumplestiltskin’s betrayal?_ she wondered, but then Belle shrugged, a little of her old compassion leaking into her voice.

“I accept your apology,” Belle said softly.  “But I won’t trust you again.  Not for a long time.  I offered to help you, and you ripped my heart out.  That doesn’t go away.”

“It shouldn’t,” Regina agreed.  “I understand.”

Honestly, she hadn’t expected Belle to accept her apology at all, and the fact that Belle had left Regina feeling better than she liked to admit.  She didn’t need anyone else’s approval to be herself, but Regina _did_ want to be a better person.  She’d been working to help people instead of hurting them, and that meant—

A sharp whistling noise filled the air, interrupting Regina’s thoughts and overriding whatever reply Belle had planned to make.  Immediately, the wind picked up and a familiar feeling of pure _power_ started to prickle its way up Regina’s spine.  She knew that feeling, knew the whistling as it grew louder and louder, sending people diving for cover.  Most tried to run indoors, but Regina and Belle both stepped up onto the street to watch the golden swirls of power fill the air, crashing downwards from the sky, howling and twisting wildly. 

Was it Regina’s imagination, or was the cloud of power _bigger_ now?  When she’d tried to stop it, the cloud had been mere tendrils, a mess of twisting and twirling wisps of power.  Now it was a giant cloud, big enough to stretch from one side of the street to the other as it whistled and whirled, picking up smaller objects—and even one dwarf, though Regina couldn’t tell which from her angle—and throwing them around as if they weighed nothing.  Next to go was the blue Miata convertible that Regina knew all too well; as she and Belle watched, it reared up into the air, flipping end over end and crashing straight into Modern Fashions, right across from where Regina and Belle stood transfixed.

“Get out of the road!” she shouted at the helpless idiots who were still staring at the whistling mess of power, including one moronic driver who _still_ sat behind the wheel of his beat up Ford truck.  Regina started forward, determined to do something to push the power away, bringing her hands up to start a defensive spell.

Doc’s Miata had been empty, but the truck wasn’t, and the cloud picked up Prince Thomas and his Ford just as easily.  Fortunately, the truck only went straight up and then came down again with a giant crash—but then the sharp whistling was replaced by a gigantic howl, and suddenly a dragon fell out of the sky.

No, make that _two_ dragons.  One, the larger of the two, seemed to be trying to shield the smaller one, but that didn’t help.  Lily hit the ground first, one of her wings crashing straight through the roof of the Marine Garage, right next to where Regina and Belle were standing.  Maleficent landed almost on top of her daughter, but seemed able to transform herself at the last minute, landing on top of Lily’s other wing in a human heap.  The gold cloud descended right on top of them as Regina rushed forward, magic sparking in her hands and desperate to push the power away from her old friend, but even as her spell hit—or disintegrated into thin air, which seemed to actually be the case—the golden swirls of power abruptly pulled away, racing back into the sky and leaving Regina with the odd feeling that it was still _searching_.

By the time she and Belle reached the two dragons, Lily had transformed as well, leaving mother and daughter both in a bruised pile.  Regina went for Mal as Belle went to Lily, checking for a pulse and barely able to find one.  Magic leapt out of her fingers almost before she willed it to, feeding her information—and making Regina’s heart sink.

“I think they’re both unconscious,” Belle said softly as people started emerging from safety.

“And drained dry,” Regina agreed, swallowing hard.  “Just like I was.”

Turning, she glanced at the carnage the power had wrought.  Last time, it had just gone for her.  Now it had upturned two cars—one of which had a passenger, who looked injured but alive—sent two dragons hurling out of the sky, thrown a dwarf across the street, and uprooted at least two mailboxes and three signs.  Glancing over at Belle, Regina could see the other woman was growing as worried as she was.  The power might not be _malicious_ , and it might not even want to hurt anyone, but it was getting dangerous.

Someone had to stop it, but how?

* * *

 

He had watched the destruction out the window, finally laying eyes on the golden cloud up close and shivering.  Rumplestiltskin could _feel_ the power radiating from those golden tendrils, even through the front window of his shop, and he had never so much as seen anything like that.  Regina had been right; that power was dangerous.  Yet it hadn’t killed anyone, either.  _Yet._ Was it growing increasingly desperate?  Three centuries of magic-honed instinct told Rumplestiltskin that was the case, yet he had no idea how to stop it.

Nor what it was.

Sighing, he limped back behind the counter, reaching for Merlin’s spellbook once more.  The book was proving as useless as it was fascinating.  There were several hundred helpful spells inside, but most of them lay far beyond his current meager abilities.  And none of them even began to hint at how to restrain power of that magnitude.  Still, he would keep looking because that book seemed to be the only resource they had, so Rumplestiltskin reached for the book once more…only to clumsily knock it right off the counter.  Muttering, he leaned his cane against his stool and bent to pick the book up, only to find a yellowed piece of parchment fluttering out of the back when he did so.

Placing the spellbook carefully back on the counter, Rumplestiltskin reached for the parchment.  Immediately, he could feel it coming to life under his fingers, could feel centuries’ old magic in the paper.  It sent a shiver down his spine, a delightful feeling of _power_ like he hadn’t encountered in too long, and the seal melted away even as he made to tear it free.  Eyes wide, Rumplestiltskin read the old-fashioned script quickly, noting that the hand the letter had been written in was heavy and uneven, as if the words had been scrawled down at the very the last moment.  There were drops of blood on the page, old and dark, almost black in color.

_Danns’,_

_You had the dagger, and you did not stop me.  This tells me all I must know._

_Allies once we were, you and I.  Once I had hoped we might be more—but this you know.  You demanded a choice, and I chose humanity over your friendship, for which I know you cannot forgive me.  Forgiveness is beyond you, even now, though I have long since absolved you for your role in my gaining the darkness.  You lied to me, but I was not wholly truthful, either.  In the last moments before—_ blood obscured the next few words— _I was able to prepare._

_The dagger has pierced my heart, and there is a new “Dark One” as the commoners are calling him.  They know not from whence she came, but if I know Maleagant, he will prove a terror much to your liking.  As for me, well, I continue onwards.  Surely you were aware that the Sorcerer cannot die; being as I am, the last remaining of humanity’s original powers, I will not go to the Vault as my predecessor did.  My body may fail, but my power will merely wait.  Even now it sustains me when I should already be dead.  Soon enough, my Apprentice will find me a new host, and while I cannot battle you now—or perhaps not for centuries yet—you will find that I shall always stand for humanity.  Even against you._

_I am dying, yet I—_ more blood stained the page, obliterating an entire paragraph. 

 _Now I wait and watch.  I am—_ the next words were crossed out and indecipherable — _prepared to do what must be done._

_Merlin of Camulodunum_

Rumplestiltskin dropped the letter from nerveless hands.

 _That_ was the power.  Part of him had always sensed that Merlin had been a Dark One—not the first, clearly, as he’d created the entire mess, but his fingerprints were all over the darkness that Rumplestiltskin had inherited so long ago.  But he had _not_ known that Merlin had survived his death.  _Did he do so as I did?_ Rumplestiltskin wondered, and then reached out with shaking fingers to pick the letter up again.  No, Merlin had not.  He had been stabbed with the dagger, and the way Merlin’s heavy hand grew more illegible as the letter went on, it was plain that he had been dying.

More or less.  _The Sorcerer cannot die,_ Merlin had written.  Those words made an odd tightness rise in his chest, so Rumplestiltskin read the letter again.

Suddenly, the feeling that had lingered on the edge of his consciousness since Belle had woken him suddenly coalesced.  The world spun, and terror tore through him before Rumplestiltskin could get a grip on his instinctive cowardice, his brilliant mind racing to outpace his fear.  _I was not supposed to wake,_ he realized yet again.  _I was meant to remain empty.  A shell, nothing more._   The Apprentice had banished his soul even as he had scrubbed Rumplestiltskin’s heart clean—or perhaps that had simply been a side effect of the darkness being ripped from him—but Rumplestiltskin knew exactly where the Apprentice had sent him.

His soul had been in the Vault of the Dark One, buried there as were all his predecessors—save the one.  Merlinwas not there.  _Merlin_ was the power sweeping around Storybrooke, searching for the shell, the empty host, which his Apprentice had marked.  Merlin had waited centuries, perhaps even longer, for someone who fit his specific criteria, and now his power rampaged around Storybrooke, tearing through one magic user after another as it searched for the host it had been promised.

Shivering, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at his shaking hands.  Was this his atonement?  Had the five days he and Belle had shared merely been an epilogue, a few stolen moments to ease his passing into oblivion?  He had hoped he might learn to be a better man, but Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone that all magic came at a price.  He had lived far longer than he was meant to, had been the Dark One for three centuries.  And now it was time to pay for those years, for the evil he had wrought and the darkness he had become.  He would not have the chance to be a better man…or perhaps he would.  Just once.

Rumplestiltskin knew that he would never be a hero, but was this his chance to, for once, do the right thing?  The very thought of allowing that power inside him, allowing it to banish everything _he_ was, was utterly terrifying.  He knew that power would not be like the darkness.  It would not leave his soul behind.  Merlin would replace him, and Rumplestiltskin would die.

But what would happen if he did nothing?

* * *

 

 ** _A/N:_**   _Sorry for the delay in updating—I wound up spending a wee bit of time in the ER (though everything is fine now), which put me off my schedule.  So, I’ll go to twice a week updates starting next Tuesday instead of this week._

_Stay tuned for Chapter Twelve—“Light in the Darkness”, in which Emma finally speaks to her parents, Henry goes to Rumplestiltskin for advice, and Merlin’s power goes after two new targets—both of which are very close to our new Dark One.  Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin struggles with a choice that must be made…and what he must become._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating—I wound up spending a wee bit of time in the ER (though everything is fine now), which put me off my schedule. So, I’ll go to twice a week updates starting next Tuesday instead of this week.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twelve—“Light in the Darkness”, in which Emma finally speaks to her parents, Henry goes to Rumplestiltskin for advice, and Merlin’s power goes after two new targets—both of which are very close to our new Dark One. Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin struggles with a choice that must be made…and what he must become.


	12. Light in the Darkness

They hadn’t even made it past the front hall.  Even starting a simple conversation had become complicated; Emma had pulled back when Snow tried to hug her, and that odd cat of hers had run into the room, hissing and spitting until Emma had turned on it and frightened it away with a glare.  David had tried to talk about anything but what they suspected Emma of, but somehow Will’s disappearance had come up despite his efforts.  He knew that Snow didn’t want to believe that Emma had killed Granny, and he could feel his wife’s heart—the heart he _shared_ —breaking when their daughter didn’t outright deny it. 

“You believe a _thief_ instead of me?” Emma demanded more coldly than David had ever heard her, and listening to the disdain in her tone made a shiver run down his spine.

“Emma, please,” Snow answered gently.  “Of course we want to believe you, but we know—”

“You know nothing.”  Suddenly, Emma shrugged flippantly.  “Well, if you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine.  I understand.”

“You…you what?” Snow looked utterly confused, and David couldn’t blame her.

They’d meant to come by Emma’s new house—grand and imposing as it was—the day before, but the mess that the power had made on Main Street had delayed that idea.  Maleficent and Lily were both in the hospital, recovering as much from falling from the sky as they were from the cloud’s assault, and several others had been hurt, too.  That said nothing about the property damage, which David, Snow, Regina, and Hook had spent the evening trying to help repair.  Unfortunately, that meant that he and Snow hadn’t managed to go see Emma until this morning, eight days after Emma had become the Dark One, and part of Charming felt like they had failed her already.

Emma just shrugged again.  “I can’t make you believe me, and I don’t care if you do,” she replied.  “Why would I kill Granny?  I liked her more than I like most people in this town.”

The words were flat, though, not the impassioned plea of an innocent woman.  Fear and worry gurgled in David’s stomach; he couldn’t believe he was hearing _Emma_ sound like this.  Emma had always been headstrong and determined, fierce in her beliefs and unwavering when she felt something was right.  Now she just sounded like she didn’t give a damn.

“We don’t think you wanted to do it,” he said after a moment, after Snow threw him a helpless glance that said she felt as lost as he did.  “And you’re right.  We don’t understand the burden you’re carrying—we only know that you took it on to save everyone, and we want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Emma retorted.  “Your version of _help_ is what removed my darkness and left Lily with a double dose of it.”

Snow jerked back as if Emma had struck her, and David felt sick.  They’d gone through this, he’d thought.  Emma might not have liked what they did, but she had forgiven them—or so they had believed.

“We made mistakes,” he tried to say.

“Maybe you didn’t.” Another shrug.  “If you hadn’t removed my darkness, I’d probably be going crazy right now, killing people like that thief claims.”  She looked him right in the eye.  “And I didn’t kill Will Scarlet, before you ask.”

“Then where did he go?” Snow whispered, and David felt her hand shake within his.

“Why are you asking me?  Maybe you should ask Belle.  She seemed to know him better than anyone.”

“Emma…” David trailed off, swallowing, struggling to find words.  He wanted to believe her, but he knew they couldn’t.  Maybe she hadn’t killed Will—those words rang truly enough—but Will had _seen_ what happened to Granny.   Unless Will was now hiding because he had been lying?  Could he have set up his own disappearance?

“You know we love you, right?” Snow picked up, reaching for Emma’s hand.  Emma let her take it, but didn’t seem to react much. 

“Of course I do.”

“We just want to help you, Emma.”

“There’s nothing you can do.  I’m the Dark One, now.  Merlin’s dead, and no one can take it away from me,” Emma replied, her hazel eyes flint-hard.  “This is what I am.  We should all get used to it.”

* * *

 

Talking to her parents had been _painful_.  Emma hid it, because she didn’t want them to see how weak she was—or to hear the voice whispering inside her, the one that said _they knew and they’d hate her_.  They’d asked her about Granny.  They’d already learned about the one thing she desperately wanted to keep a secret from them, and Emma could sense their distance.  They said they loved her, but they didn’t understand. They were too _good_.  Even when they did bad things, they did them trying to be good.  Neither of her parents understood darkness, and Emma could feel them judging her with every word they said.

When they finally left, she felt empty and lonely and so damn _needy_ that she wanted to cry.  For an hour or so, she sat alone in her beautiful house, flicking magic at Bandit and making him yowl furiously.  Part of her enjoyed that, but tormenting the cat didn’t fill the emptiness raging inside her.  There was only one thing that could, only one person who understood.  _I know darkness,_ Killian had said.  _He_ hadn’t said a word about blame.  Oh, he’d been foolish the first time they’d seen one another, talking about the dagger and how he wanted to help, but Killian was smart enough to know that she didn’t need someone to control her.  She needed someone to _love_ her, someone to be there and not judge her like her parents were.  Killian understood, and Emma wanted him so badly that it hurt.

What good was being the Dark One if she could not take what she wanted?  Rising from her chair, Emma brought herself to her lover with a mere thought, finding him walking along the docks alone.  Seeing her made Killian stop cold.

“Emma,” he whispered her name almost like it was a prayer, and the sound of his voice sent electricity through her veins.

_Take what you want,_ the darkness whispered.  _He won’t stop you._ So, she didn’t give him a chance to say more, stepping forward and pressing a hard kiss to his lips.  Killian hesitated for a moment—from surprise, she was sure—before kissing her back.  He seemed as if he was slightly overwhelmed by her passion, but his hands closed around her waist as Emma held on to his jacket, and at least now she felt _wanted_.

“Come with me,” she smiled at him, the darkness within her coiling up to become desire.

“Emma, love, it’s only—”

“Shh.”  Placing a finger against his lips, she cocked her head at her lover and gave him the most suggestive look she could manage.  “Who cares what time it is?”

“I was going to talk to—”

Again, Emma cut him off.  “So?”

Killian’s eyes went wide as she pressed her body against his, and she could feel the evidence of his desire.  _See?_ her inner voice exalted.  _He wants you.  He knows he does._   Killian, however, seemed to be trying to object again, probably out of his strange and misplaced sense of chivalry.  _I like that about him sometimes, but not_ now _,_ Emma thought. 

“We’re still looking for Will Scarlet,” he told her, clearly fighting against his own baser urges.  “I want to prove your innocence, and for that we need to find him.”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” she purred, and then blinked as Killian pulled back a few inches.  _Take what you want,_ the darkness repeated, now more insistent.  _Be who you are._   But a smaller part of her, the part that was still Emma, still the lost girl she had been for so long, whispered beneath the din of dark urges: _Don’t leave me._   Talking to her parents had left her so lonely.

“I do,” Killian replied passionately, his hand coming up to cup her cheek while Emma reveled in his touch.  “I don’t want this town to view you the way they viewed the Crocodile.  You’re so much better than that.”

_I’m really not,_ Emma thought, but she would never say it.  Let them all have their illusions.  Let them think she was better.  She knew her darkness, now, and, ironically, it had been Rumplestiltskin who had taught her to feed it.  _He_ understood, and a part of her—a part Emma hoped was only the darkness, wondered what it might be like to take _him_ to bed.  The Apprentice might have wiped the darkness from his heart, but such things left a scar.  A stain.  She had seen it in his eyes when they’d spoken, and that drew the darkness in.

_No,_ she told her inner demons firmly.  _Not that one._ This _one is mine._  

For a moment, Emma could feel the darkness protesting, could feel it tugging her in a different direction.  It was impatient, she knew.  Hungry.  _Feed the darkness and it feeds on you._   She would have to do something to feed it, and soon, or she would lose control.  Lose herself.  Emma wasn’t going to let that happen, though.   She knew who she was, now, and she knew what to give the darkness.  _Killian._

“I’m trying,” she admitted softly, and it was actually true.  Emma punctuated the words with another hard kiss, pulling him close once more and not letting him draw back.  “I _need_ you.”

“Emma…”

He trailed off, and the rejection in his eyes burned.  _Hurt him,_ the darkness demanded, and Emma’s hands wouldn’t let go when Killian tried again to take a step away from her.  _Make him pay for hurting you!_  

“Why don’t you want me?” she whispered, trying to wrestle the darkness back. 

“I feel like I’m taking advantage when you’re like this,” Killian said softly, and Emma felt like singing _I told you so_ at the darkness.  His voice was gentle: “Everything is so new and so different.”

“You’re not,” Emma purred.  “I could stop you anytime I wanted to.”

“It’s still not right.”

“I don’t care about right!” she snarled, the darkness rearing up again.  _Just take him home.  He’ll give in._

“I do—”

Emma cut him off with a third kiss, pouring her desperate love for him—because it was love, not just lust, despite what the darkness tried to tell her—into her entire body and holding him tightly.  _Don’t say it,_ the darkness demanded.   _Tell him the truth and he’ll exploit your weaknesses!  They always do.  They_ all _will.  They don’t love you—_

“I need you,” Emma repeated, rushing the words out before the darkness could stop her.  “I have to feed the darkness somehow, and lust— _love_ —will do it.  If I can keep it sated, I won’t hurt anyone.”

Killian’s blue eyes went wide, and for a moment, Emma feared she’d said too much.  But the hand on her face was tender.  “Is that what this is, love?”

“Yes,” she whispered desperately.  “ _Please._ ”

He quirked a smile and kissed her back. “As you wish.”

That was all she needed to hear.  Emma’s magic swept them away.

* * *

 

Belle had opened the library that morning.  It was the first time since Rumplestiltskin had woken up that they’d planned to spend the day apart, and he already felt the familiar ache of missing her even though he’d seen her ten minutes earlier.  The fact that he’d spent much of the night tossing and turning didn’t help; he’d turned the situation over in his mind again and again, trying to tell himself that he _had_ to be wrong about what that golden cloud wanted.  It was larger, now, floating in the air above Storybrooke where everyone could see it, seemingly waiting for something to happen.  Rumplestiltskin was mindful of his promise to Belle, of course; he’d told her he would be honest with her, but surely that didn’t mean he had to share his suspicions before he could confirm them?

There had to be something in that book that could tell him what he needed to know.  Merlin’s letter to the mysterious ‘Danns’ had referred to Merlin as an original power, which Rumplestiltskin had always suspected the Sorcerer had to be, so perhaps that was where his research should start.  In fact—

The back door to the shop was open when he arrived, the lock clearly picked, and Rumplestiltskin’s hand froze in midair when he noticed that.  Yet he couldn’t hear any noises from within, not crashing or someone rummaging around, so if the burglar was still in there, they were being remarkably civilized about things.  _What if it’s someone like the butcher’s son? What if I walk right into some trap?_ he wondered before he could stop himself, his heart racing.  His hold on magic was still tenuous and slippery; Rumplestiltskin could feel it, but he’d only tried a few simple spells with very mixed results.  Defensive magic was certainly beyond him at the moment, but there was a gun under the counter.  _Don’t be a coward,_ he told himself firmly.  So long as he could get there, he could deal with whatever threats came up.

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin walked into the shop to find his grandson waiting in the back.

“Henry,” he said in surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you about Mom?” the youth asked, shuffling uneasily.

“Which one?” Rumplestiltskin replied.  Belle had told him about Regina’s apology, and while he still was furious with his former student for what she’d done, he did recognize that he’d backed her into a corner.  And she was trying.

“Emma.”

Lost brown eyes looked at him, full of confusion and hope, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart nearly broke then and there.  Henry was _so_ very much like Baelfire—he’d even lost a parent to that terrible darkness at just a little younger than Rumplestiltskin’s own son had—and Rumplestiltskin had done so very little for him over the years.  Yet here Henry was, trusting him to _help_ , despite the damage Rumplestiltskin had done to this very boy and those Henry loved.

“Of course you can,” he answered, reaching back to close the door behind himself.  “Let’s sit down, shall we?”

Henry nodded quietly, and he led the way over to the cot.  The boy sat there, while Rumplestiltskin chose the nearby chair.  Henry might have been his grandson, but he wasn’t going to presume any degree of closeness he hadn’t earned.  Perhaps someday he might build a relationship with the boy.  It might even start today, but Rumplestiltskin knew there was a long way to go.  _Assuming I get the chance to try,_ he thought darkly, and then pushed that worry aside.

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently, and that seemed to open the floodgates.

“She’s different.  She doesn’t seem to _care_ about the things she cares about.  She worries about me—I got a lecture about doing anything dangerous—but she doesn’t _listen_.  Not like she used to,” Henry said, looking miserable.  “She just wanted to do things, not talk about anything.  Grandma and Grandpa went to talk to her, too, and even though they won’t tell me everything that happened, I _know_ that she wasn’t very nice to them.”

“Ah,” Rumplestiltskin breathed.  He’d been wondering what face Emma would show the world, how the darkness would warp her.  It would, he knew.  It always did.  But while he’d gone showy and nasty, Emma seemed to be going down a different road.  Rumplestiltskin had concealed his loneliness and weaknesses by being too powerful for people to think he could _feel_.  Emma seemed to be disguising her loneliness with indifference.  _I wonder what_ else _she’s doing,_ he thought idly.  Clearly, she’d followed his advice, otherwise there would be many more dead than just Granny and the scrappy thief (whose fate he had other suspicions about).  “Do you…has anyone explained to you what the darkness inside her does?”

“No.  They all say I’m too young, but I think that’s an excuse,” Henry sighed theatrically.  “They don’t get it, but you do, don’t you?”

“I do.”  He quirked a smile, appreciating the irony of the Charmings’ grandson coming to the former Dark One for advice.  “That darkness affects everyone differently,” Rumplestiltskin explained.  “It amplifies some of your worst traits and mutes your better ones.  Compassion is hard.  Caring what others think is almost impossible.  And it’s always whispering within your mind, driving you to do darker and crueler things, driving you to be your worst…and not to care what anyone thinks of you.”

“I know she still loves me,” the boy said quietly—hopefully?  Henry clearly wasn’t positive, but he was the Truest Believer for a reason.  Then Henry scowled.  “She looks at Hook like she wants to eat him.”

_Lust and seduction, then,_ Rumplestiltskin thought.  He’d seen a bit of that when she’d visited, of course.  However, Henry didn’t need to hear  _that_ ; the boy was still only twelve.  He could reassure him on other fronts, though.

“She does love you, Henry.  The darkness makes love hard and selfish, but not impossible.   Emma—the mother you’ve known, the one who loves you—is still there.  Her love for you may become warped; she’ll worry for your safety and overreact if you get hurt, but that’s because the darkness wants love to be _possessive._   Emma loves you, though.  She’ll just have a difficult time showing it.”

“How did Dad deal with you?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “Better than I deserved,” he whispered, remembering his own son’s pleas for him to return to who he’d been.  “I…I was out of control in the beginning.  I didn’t know a thing about magic, and I didn’t have anyone to lean on.  I just wanted to keep your father safe, and I did many terrible things.”

“Except you stopped the war first,” Henry pointed out.  “The one with the ogres.  You brought the children home.”

“At first, it seemed like I could be better, that I could do good,” he replied with a sad smile.  “But I fear that your father saw the changes in me long before I did.  I hurt people without thinking.  I gathered power because I _could_.  I was paranoid, and I suffocated Bae with protectiveness until he was ready to snap.  And yet he still wanted to help me.”  His throat tightened; the pain of having abandoned his beloved son still burned, despite the forgiveness Bae had given him in the end.  Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a whisper.   “I just couldn’t see that.”

“Do you think Emma will be like that?” Henry asked, and not for the first time, Rumplestiltskin admired his bravery.  “She’s already so… _worried_ about me.”

“Every Dark One is different,” he answered.  “But I suspect that, once the darkness fully sinks in, yes, she’ll resist anyone who wants to help free her.  She’s strong, but the power is…seductive.” 

“So, she won’t want to let it go.  It’ll _make_ her not want to let it go?”

“Probably.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to tell Henry that it was almost certainly too late on that front already. 

“Okay.”  Those deep brown eyes turned on him again.  “Thanks for not lying to me, Grandpa. No one else wants to let me know how bad it is.”

“You’re welcome.”  He swallowed hard, and then continued hesitantly: “She’s still your mother, you know.  Beneath the darkness, she’s still the Emma you love.  And I know she’s trying to control it, otherwise she never would have come to see me.”

“She did?”

“Two days ago,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.  “And…I know I’ve not earned the right to give you advice, Henry, but I can tell you this from experience: knowing that someone loves you lends a Dark One enormous strength when it comes to fighting the darkness back.  You might not _win_ , but love is the key to holding onto part of your soul.”

Henry nodded thoughtfully, and when the boy left a few minutes later, Rumplestiltskin felt like he actually might have made a difference.  _I don’t think I have much time left to do that, so perhaps this one thing might matter,_ he thought sadly, watching the door swing shut behind his grandson.  There were so many ways in which he should have helped Henry in the past, but at least he had tried this one time.

* * *

 

The cloud dumped Snow at the center of town, too, and she was unconscious by the time she hit the ground. Regina and David rushed to her, but like all of the cloud's other victims, Snow did not stir.  In lieu of taking Snow home, they carried her into Granny's, where Ruby offered them a room where Snow could sleep it off.  They already knew that Whale could do nothing for her at the hospital; Lily and Maleficent were only there because they'd fallen out of the damned sky.  Those two had finally woken up in the early hours of the morning, but that hadn’t been Whale’s doing at all.  He’d only been able to work on the cuts and bruises they had, not on the way the cloud had drained them dry.  So, Regina left David to keep vigil over his wife and stepped out into the hallway, pulling out her phone.

Emma answered on the fourth ring, sounding strangely...satisfied. "Yes?"

"Look, I know you're playing antisocial Dark One hermit, but something's come up," Regina said without preamble.

"What?"

“That golden cloud of power attacked your mother.  We need your help.  I can't put a dent in the damn thing, but maybe you can,” she replied, feeling an odd chill run up her spine.  Emma was different.  But _how_ different?

“What, no cautions about not using my power and letting the darkness get its claws deeper into me?” Emma replied immediately, and the words were mocking.

 “I'm not your priest or your mother,” she snapped automatically, and then regretted it right away.  Emma hadn't even asked if Snow was all right, and that was really out of character for her.  Regina sighed.  “You’re supposed to be the damn Savior, the good girl.  I’m the Evil Queen, remember?  Me telling you not to let darkness in would be kind of hypocritical.”

“Wouldn’t it _just_?” the other purred. 

_I’m letting this woman be around my son?_ Regina wondered, but managed not to say it.  Emma’s voice was…freaky.  _Dark_.  She reminded her of Rumple, actually, just with a lot less control.   And less giggling, thankfully.

“Look, we need help.  If you don’t want to give it, fine.  I’ll go talk to Rumple and see if he’s got anything else.  But whatever this power is, it needs to be _stopped_.  So, if you want to help, get your ass to Granny’s.  Otherwise, do whatever you’re going to do.”

“I’m not going near that power.  It’s not my problem,” Emma snapped, and Regina blinked.

“Oh, wow.  I didn’t know that becoming the Dark One turned you into a coward,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“Don’t you _dare_ call me a coward,” Emma hissed, and Regina could feel magic crackling in the air.

“I just call things like I see them.”

She hung up before Emma could respond or she could say something that she might regret.  Regina didn’t really know how being the Dark One changed someone, and she _hated_ things she didn’t understand.  She felt obligated to help Emma because Emma had taken that darkness on for her, but how did you help someone who didn’t think they needed help?  She was frustrated by Emma’s decision to play hermit, weirded out by the way Emma sounded.  She hadn’t seen her in person yet—Snow and Charming certainly hadn’t invited her along for that little family confab—but Regina was already beginning to realize that things were far worse than Snow thought.

_And Snow had to go and give her the dagger back, didn’t she?_ Regina cared for Snow more than she wanted to admit (even these days), but sometimes her stepdaughter could really be an idiot.  She cared too much, and that got her into trouble.  Which, of course, was now getting everyone _else_ into trouble.  Now Emma was being selfish—or whatever she was—and she’d be no help.  Which meant it was up to Regina.

And oh, joy.  The pirate had just walked through the door, which hopefully meant at least Emma wasn’t banging his brains out.  At the moment, anyway.  Snow and David might have missed how frequently Captain Guyliner disappeared, but Regina hadn’t, and she’d figured out where he was going off to.  Particularly since the stench of the Dark One’s magic utterly _surrounded_ him; Regina could practically see Emma’s handprints on his leather jacket. 

“Done entertaining your Dark Lady?” she asked before she could stop herself, and watched heads turn.

Hook blinked.  “Emma told me what happened to Snow.  I’m here to help.”

“Well, at least she cares enough to send her boy toy,” Regina replied dryly, but inwardly she found herself feeling a _little_ better about the situation.  Emma had spent the necessary magic to teleport Hook across town.  That counted for something, didn’t it?

“Emma _cares_ ,” the pirate said quickly, sounding defensive.  “She just…that power isn’t something she can face.”

“Did she bother to tell you why?” Robin asked, and Regina could have kissed him for refusing to ignore the problematic nature of what Emma was doing.  At least she wasn’t the only one who found that odd.  _Not to mention unsettling._

“I assume she has her reasons.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Regina grumbled, exchanging a glance with Robin.  She didn’t honestly think Emma was a coward, but clearly Emma had some reason for not wanting to face off with that golden cloud of whatever-it-was.  Regina could understand that, at least a little—it had sure done a number on her, after all, and she still shivered when she got too close to that swirling mess of power. 

Fortunately, David returned before Regina could say anything else to the pirate; she might regret being nasty to Emma, because Emma _had_ saved her from that darkness, but Hook didn’t get a free pass as far as she was concerned.  Still, they had better things to do than snap at one another, so she turned to face David as Robin asked:

“How’s Snow?”

“Awake, but only barely,” David sighed.  “She’s regained a bit of color, but she’s going to need to stay in bed for a while yet.”

“Probably a good idea,” Regina allowed, thinking of how the darkness had drained her. 

“But why did it go after Snow?” Robin wondered, glancing Regina’s way.  “So far, the power went after you, Zelena, Maleficent, and Lily.  Why Snow?  You said it was looking for something, but the pattern breaks down here.”

“Everyone else was a magic user,” Hook agreed.  “But—”

“Snow was in the other world,” David interrupted.  “She had magic there.  In the world Isaac created, Snow was the Evil Queen.”

“Damn,” Regina whispered.  She hadn’t thought of that at all, but it _fit_.  “You’re right.  I didn’t have magic there, but Snow did.  But she _doesn’t_ have it here, so maybe that’s why she woke up sooner than the rest of us.”

“So, it wants someone magical,” Robin picked up where she left off.  “And, you said that it was looking for something, right, love?  Did you catch what?”

“Not particularly,” she grimaced.  “It was just… _searching_.  I felt like I didn’t meet its criteria, like it was looking for something I didn’t have.  It was…unsettling.”

“That’s not terribly helpful,” Hook put in, and Regina resisted the urge to turn him into a toad.  It would only irritate Emma, and then Emma would turn him back, anyway.  Doing so wasn’t worth the effort, but she still bristled as he rolled his eyes and added:  “Could you add anything less useful?”

“I felt like I wasn’t enough, all right?” she snapped.  “Yet I was _too_ much at the same time.  And I know that doesn’t make sense, so don’t bother telling me so.”

“I think we’re getting a bit far afield, now,” David interjected before Hook could say any more.  Regina almost snarled something else, not liking the suspicious way the pirate was looking at her, but she felt Robin take her hand, and his touch was enough to calm her temper.  A little, anyway.

“We need more information,” she admitted.  “I don’t know enough.”

“You said you gave Rumplestiltskin one of the books that Killian and Henry brought back from Camelot,” Robin mused.  “Could he have found anything?”

“Why in the world would you give something like that to the Crocodile?” Hook demanded before Regina could respond, and she wheeled on him, glaring.

“Probably because he could open it and I couldn’t,” Regina snapped.  “ _Or_ maybe because he has more experience with magic—and with being the Dark One—than any of the rest of us.”

“He can’t be trusted.”

“Oh, give it up.” Regina rolled her eyes.  “You don’t like him.  _Fine._   I don’t always like him, either, and he sure as hell doesn’t always like me.  Get over it, pirate.  If he can help, we’ll take it.”

“Fine,” Hook grumbled, but at least he didn’t argue any more.

But before they could head over to the shop to ask, the cloud descended down upon Main Street once more.

* * *

 

Potential.

It— _Merlin_ —needed potential.  Potential for _light_ , not dark—although the two tended to go hand in hand, or at least in such a case that matched what the ever-growing cloud of power was looking for.  The marker was fading, and the power knew that.  What was left of Merlin knew, too, and he was growing increasingly desperate.  His power had been safe in Camulodunum, contained in ways that would allow it to endure through centuries, and aided by the fact that time did not run properly in Camelot.  Here, however, the power was less predictable.  Sooner or later, it would vanish into the air, destroying the last of humanity’s original powers, the last champion.  And then, despite what he had written, the Sorcerer would be no more.

The Apprentice had been intended to guide his power into the transformation, but the Apprentice was not here.  Merlin grew increasingly coherent as his power searched for a new host, yet he could not understand where the Apprentice had gone.  He _needed_ someone, needed someone with enough emptiness to let him in, yet enough potential for light that his power could take root permanently.  But the sorceresses—both dark and dark-turning-to-light—had proven unsuitable.  The dragons likewise so.  Even the fairest of them all had not been what he needed; she was too torn and too protective.  Too desperate by half, and not magical enough.  Her body would have been torn apart had the power tried to inhabit it.

He was running out of time.  He had to find—

_There_ was a possibility.  The boy walking down the street practically _glowed_ with magic, and he had all of the enormous potential of the Truest Believer.   The power swept down immediately, clouds descending out of the sky, investigating, prodding, _hoping_.  This boy had held the staff, had magic in his very blood.  Perhaps…

* * *

 

Emma teleported onto Main Street just in time to see the cloud attack Henry.  She had been coming to make peace with those who wanted to stop that power, but froze once she saw the golden swirls engulf her son.  Hook had begged her to help, to show them that she was still Emma, and she’d decided that she did want that power gone.  Her instincts knew what it was, knew that the power was a menace, and she needed to be rid of before it could find someone to serve as a host.  So, she had come to provide assistance.  Emma was already planning to tell Regina that she would suck Merlin’s power into the Sorcerer’s Hat—which would be a beautifully cosmic irony that had the darkness inside her chortling—but once she saw Henry, all plots and plans fled out of her mind.

“Henry!”  Without thinking, Emma leapt forward, drawing power—oh, such power!—to her hands and flinging it at the swirling golden cloud.

The tendrils barely even wavered; they absorbed the darkness and continued twisting around her son.

“Mom!” Henry called, sounding so brave.  He was foolish, so foolish, risking himself like this, and where the hell was Regina?  “It’s okay!”

“The hell it is!” Emma snarled, stopping and digging deep into the reservoir of darkness that now inhabited her.  Pulling, reaching, and burning with fury, she conjured a wave of magic like Emma had never even dreamed could exist.  She aimed it right at the center of the cloud, thinking of nothing save Henry.  But then her magic faltered as she thought of her love for her boy, and when Emma tried to attack the cloud, anyway, her magic was easily shrugged aside.

Then the cloud turned to face her, and golden light whipped outwards, so bright that it hurt Emma’s eyes.  The magic hit her square in the chest, sending her sailing backwards, lifting her straight off the ground and flinging her a few dozen feet.  Emma hit the ground hard, but that impact didn’t hurt nearly as much as that light magic had when it hit her.  Destroy it! the voice within her howled desperately.   Get the Hat.  Destroy the Sorcerer and free yourself!  The urge to flee, to leave Henry to his fate, and find the Sorcerer’s Hat instead, was almost overwhelming, and Emma found her magic trying to teleport her against her will.

“No!” she howled, struggling to her feet as Regina, Hook, David, and Robin rushed out of Granny’s.

Suddenly, the cloud veered away from Henry, swerving towards Emma as she dug into the darkness to find defenses.  _Fight another day,_ the darkness whispered.  _The boy will live._   Go now!  It took all of her self-control to stand her ground, to face down the swirling mess of golden light and glare defiance back at the power that hated her as much as she hated it.

“Pick on someone your own size!” Emma shouted, and without warning, she felt the familiar weight of the dagger in her left hand.  She could kill it, she suddenly realized.  She could kill the power, and even if that meant she couldn’t use it to charge the Hat, she could free the world of a terrible menace—

A sharp whistling filled the air, and the cloud was upon her before Emma could contemplate attacking.  It knocked her down once more, flattening her and hammering her into the asphalt and smashing her head back hard enough to make Emma see stars.  But Emma gritted her teeth and summoned up more power—only to be hammered again, and then again, until finally the power swept away from her, vanishing into the sky at a dizzying speed while Emma lay panting.  But she didn’t forget to hold onto the dagger.  She needed it, and someone else gaining it could mean a life as their slave.

“Here,” a voice said from above her, and Emma looked up to see Regina offering her a hand.  Dizzily, she sneered at the former Evil Queen, and scrambled to her feet on her own.  Regina just shrugged.  “Fine.  Don’t accept my help.”

That all-too-superior look grated on Emma’s last nerve, and she wheeled on Regina, her temper feeling like a volcanic eruption inside her soul.  “Where the hell were you?” she demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked where the hell you were when that cloud attacked my son!” Emma snarled, slashing the dagger at Regina for emphasis.  She didn’t mean to connect, but Regina still backed away gratifyingly quickly. 

“Well, excuse me if I was trying to find a way to defeat it while you were busy playing hermit!” Regina shouted back, and Emma had never wanted to kill someone, to make someone suffer, quite so much as she did in that moment.

“Mom!” Henry shouted, running up with David at his side. “I’m fine.  I wasn’t even hurt.  It barely even—”

“That’s not the point,” Emma cut him off, but her eyes still traced him from head to toe to make sure that Henry was telling the truth.  He seemed unharmed, but that didn’t give Regina an excuse.  Regina should have been there.  Wheeling back to face Regina, she never even registered the way the darkness taunted her.  _Kill her.  Kill the bitch and have Henry to yourself.  Kill her like you should have years ago._   “I never should have trusted you with Henry!”

“You never should have trusted me?  Give me a break, Emma.  I’m not the one who talked about taking him back to New York without his memories, or who thought it would be a good idea to let a pirate babysit him!” Henry’s adopted mother retorted. 

“No, you just let that _attack_ him!” She gestured wildly with the dagger in the direction where they could all still see the cloud lingering in the distance, stepping towards Regina and thinking about how lovely the Evil Queen would look with the kris dagger in her gut. 

“Oh, I ‘let’ that happen?  Where were you while I was trying to figure out why it attacked your mother?  I didn’t see you here giving a damn, so stop blaming others!”

“How dare you—”

“Mom!  Mom!”  Suddenly Henry was between the two women, physically shoving them apart.  “Stop.  Please stop!  I’m fine.”

But Emma couldn’t let him put himself near Regina, so she waved a hand, teleporting Henry to her home in a puff of purple smoke.  He would be safe there, and only there.  Emma had been a fool to let him out of her sight.  No one would protect Henry like she would.  None of them could be trusted.

“Bring him back,” Regina commanded, her voice suddenly low and dangerous, and Emma could feel the other woman’s fury gathering power.

“Or what?” she purred, leaning in to look in Regina’s eyes.  “Are you going to threaten me, _Your Majesty_?”

“Henry is my son as much as he is yours,” Regina whispered.  “And you will never teleport him again without his permission.   Henry isn’t some belonging to be banished when you feel necessary.”

Emma laughed, amused by Regina’s silly posturing.  The other woman still thought she had some say in what happened.  “Unlike you, I’m protecting him.”

For a moment, she thought Regina might attack her, but then her father— _Damn him and his honor; I could end this in a moment!_ —stepped in between them.

“Emma, please,” David said.  “We all want to protect Henry.  You know that.”

“She doesn’t show it very well.”  She rolled her eyes at Regina’s affronted expression, shrugging.  “I’ll do it better.”

“Emma,” he repeated, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm.  Annoyed, Emma shrugged him off and looked at Killian, knowing that he’d support her.  But David continued before Killian could do so, saying: “We need to stop this cloud from attacking anyone else.  We know it’s going after magic users, and we could use your help.”

“Henry isn’t a magic user,” Emma pointed out.  That idiot theory had probably been Regina’s idea.

“But he has the Heart of the Truest Believer, right?” David asked.  “Surely that could be enough.”

“Maybe.”  Emma didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know that answer; the darkness had some knowledge, but not everything.  Or maybe she just couldn’t reach it, yet.  After all, where had Rumplestiltskin gotten his knowledge from, if not from the darkness within her? 

“We need to ask him some things.  Can you bring him back?” he continued in that same, calming, tone, and Emma fought back a scowl.

“No.  He’s safe where he is.  I can go ask him your questions.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Regina spoke up immediately, but Robin’s hand on her arm stopped her before she could say more.

She smiled sweetly.  “Then make me bring him back.”

“David, surely the lad is safe at Emma’s home,” Killian spoke up, moving to her side as Regina looked ready to explode in fury.  “That cloud won’t attack him there, and until we get a handle on things, it’s best to keep him well away from it.  Just in case it comes back for more.”

She’d know she could count on him, and Emma turned to Killian with a brilliant smile.  He understood, and she was so glad for that.  _Someone understands._   Emma didn’t understand how that made her feel wonderful and sick to her stomach at the same time.  The darkness didn’t like that, did it?  She didn’t care.

Even Regina obviously felt that made sense, despite her scowl.  David turned to look at Regina for a moment, and finally the other woman shrugged twitchily.  Then Emma’s father turned back to look between the two sorceresses warily.

“Regina, you said that you thought Gold might know more about this power.  Maybe we should go ask him before we talk to Henry,” he suggested.

“If he knew something, he would have come out to deal with it,” Killian pointed out, and Emma reached out to stroke his arm, her fingers tightening on the leather of his sleeve because she liked the way it felt.

“No,” she smiled, understanding her predecessor far too well.  “Of course he wouldn’t.  Why would he?  I only came for Henry’s sake.  That…cloud does not like what we are.”

That earned her a strange look from all four of her companions, but Emma only shrugged.  She knew how Rumplestiltskin’s mind worked, or at least how it had.  She knew.  _He probably has the Ha_ t, Emma realized. Or was that her darkness talking?  The satisfaction coiling up in her core certainly could have been due to either.  _I have the dagger.  I can take it and do what must be done._

_See?_ she told the darkness—and herself.  _I can still help people.  I’m just going to do it on my terms._

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had been in the back of the shop when the cloud found Henry, but he’d realized what was happening in time to witness the aftermath.  Henry seemed fine when Emma teleported him away—an unsurprising, if ill-advised move—but that didn’t mean Rumplestiltskin’s heart was pounding any less rapidly.  _Bae’s son was in danger because I hesitated,_ he realized, swallowing hard as he pulled out his cell phone.  David had broken up the renewed argument between Regina and Emma, and odds were that they’d head this way any moment.  That meant he needed to act quickly.

“Hey, Rumple.  Is everything all right?”  Belle answered on the second ring, sounding concerned.  Yet just hearing her voice slowed his heartrate a little…at least until he thought about what he needed to talk to her about.  Then Rumplestiltskin just felt sick.

“The power went after Henry,” he said without preamble, watching through the window as the heroes—and the Dark One—headed towards his shop.

“Is he all right?”

“He seemed to be, but…can you come to the shop, sweetheart?  I think this is going to be important,” Rumplestiltskin forced himself to speak calmly, even though he felt like crying.

_This is it.  This is the end._

“Of course I can,” Belle replied immediately.  “I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and then dug deep inside himself—ironically, drawing on Mr. Gold more than anything—to find a cool façade of self-control.  He needed to hide his thoughts from the world, needed to be composed and logical when the heroes came barging in. 

They did, of course, without preamble.  Regina was in the lead, looking furious at the world—a feeling he could hardly blame her for.  Emma, on the other hand, looked relatively self-satisfied, but she was eyeing Regina as a predator observed its prey, calculating and deadly, just waiting for the right moment to pounce.  _This may get ugly in a hurry_ , Rumplestiltskin realized.  _And we don’t have time for that._   _The power—Merlin—could go for Henry again, because no matter where Emma sent him, Henry’s bound to wander._

“We need your help.” Surprisingly, it was David who spoke, though Hook looked at Rumplestiltskin suspiciously and Emma turned to size him up the way she had been studying Regina.  That predatory smirk sent a chill up Rumplestiltskin’s spine, but that was easily dismissed.  _I’m going to tangle with something far more deadly than you, dearie,_ he thought towards his old darkness.  _You only wanted to erase me at the end, not from the beginning._

“Of course you do,” Rumplestiltskin replied without his old biting sarcasm.  “You want to know what that power is, and how to stop it.”

“It went after Henry,” Regina said.  “And Snow before that.”

Snow was a bit of a surprise, but Rumplestiltskin supposed that she had possessed magic in the other world.  _I wonder if it’s a coincidence that I was the only one to possess magic across both stories,_ he thought idly, then pushed the speculation aside.  “Is she alive?”

“Yes.”  David again, who was glancing worriedly at Emma as she prowled to the right, looking wound too tight and ready to spring off in unexpected directions.

“Good.”  That meant Merlin hadn’t killed…yet.  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, and explained further as Belle walked into the shop: “That power is what is left of Merlin.  My best guess is that Henry and our good captain here might have triggered something while they were in Camulodunum—though it is more likely that the Apprentice set things up precisely so that they would.”

“What do you mean, that’s ‘what’s left of Merlin’?” Regina demanded.  “Merlin’s dead.  They found the body.”

“Merlin was—is—an original power.  Killing one is…tricky at best,” he answered.  “That is what remains of him: his power, and I assume, his consciousness.  It’s searching for a new host.”

“And it’s chewing through magic users like a junky popping pills,” Regina said dryly.  “How do we stop it?”

“We put it in the Hat.”  Emma’s uncanny eyes were on Rumplestiltskin, now, and were things not so serious, he might have shrank away from her in fear.  But he knew that look, knew that desperation, and Belle’s hand on his arm steadied him as she slipped behind the counter to join Rumplestiltskin.  “That will stop it.”

“Clever girl,” Rumplestiltskin chuckled, and watched the darkness inside Emma respond, ever so slightly, to the praise.  “And you’d charge the Hat while you are at it.  It’s a clever idea, but it won’t work.”

Hazel eyes narrowed ominously.  “Because you won’t hand over the Hat, old man,” she hissed.

“No.  Because Merlin created the Sorcerer’s Hat.  It can’t hold his power.”  Rumplestiltskin paused again, struggling against the need to bite his lip nervously.  “Believe me, if it could, I’d be the first to suggest its use.  But it can’t.”

“Then what can we do?” Robin spoke up.  “How can we stop it?”

“You can’t,” Rumpelstiltskin admitted.  “The power is looking for a new host.  We have to—”

“Look, no offense, Rumple, but how do you know that’s Merlin?” Regina cut in impatiently, but it was a question he had been waiting for.  Wordlessly, Rumplestiltskin extended the letter written to the mysterious ‘Danns’, and watched Regina read it quickly.  “Oh.”

“I found that inside the book Henry and Hook brought back,” he said quietly.

“He meant to do this?” Regina asked, looking dumbfounded.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t have the chance to answer before the bell on the door rang, and Henry strode in, carrying Merlin’s staff.

“Don’t be mad at me, Mom,” the lad said, and it was impossible to know which mother he was talking to.  “But I had an idea.  What if the staff works like the dagger, only on the cloud?  I think the power might have followed it—us—here from Camelot.  And the power was drawn to it before, so maybe we could use the staff to trap it somehow?”

And thus the missing piece to the puzzle arrived.  Using the staff hadn’t occurred to Rumplestiltskin before now, but suddenly everything fell into place, and he felt the rancid churning of fear begin in his stomach.  _Not now,_ he told his inner coward.   _There isn’t time._

David glanced back at him.  “Can we trap it?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “The staff is a magnet, not a control device.  What we have to do is give Merlin’s power, his soul, what it’s looking for: a new host.”

“The Apprentice is dead,” Regina objected, looking down at the letter in her hand. “How are we supposed to do what he didn’t?”

Somehow, his left hand found Belle’s right, though Rumplestiltskin couldn’t bear to look at her.  If he did, he’d never speak the truth.  “He already did.  That power is looking for someone willing…and someone empty.  The Apprentice…I believe he marked me when he pulled the darkness out of my heart.  I don’t think I was meant to wake again.”

“Rumple,” Belle gasped, and the pain in her voice made him turn to look into worried blue eyes.  “You can’t be saying…”

“This is the price to be paid,” he whispered heavily, hating himself more with every word.  “I have hurt so many, done so much evil.  I don’t think”—he had to suck in a shuddering breath as he reached up to touch Belle’s face, feeling her tremble—“that I was meant for a second chance.”

“You can’t mean that,” she whispered, and Rumplestiltskin had to look away from her before he broke down.

“The Apprentice intended to leave an empty vessel for Merlin to inhabit.  I see no choice but to give that power what it wants, lest it begin killing people in its quest to find one,” he said as levelly as he could.

The others were silent; after a moment, Regina blinked.  “If that works, that…thing will displace your soul.  You’ll be dead.”

“Well, you weren’t terribly worried about facing the Dark One with no one else at home,” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help quipping.  Being a jerk helped conceal his nerves.  Gold had taught him that, and he forced a smile.  “Now it will merely be Merlin.  Luckily for you all, he has a soul.”  _Just not mine._

“I didn’t—” Regina started to object, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

“It doesn’t matter, now,” Rumplestiltskin said as gently as he could. 

“You’d do this,” David spoke up, sounding conflicted.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he said softly.  “It’ll find me eventually once it realizes—or even if it doesn’t, the more coherency the power loses, the more damage it will do.  That’s an original power out there, one of the four cornerstones of human magic.  There is nothing it can’t destroy.”

“I don’t like it,” Emma hissed.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Of course you don’t.  In your shoes, I wouldn’t, either.”

That seemed to mollify her somewhat, but Hook was at her side, looking incredulous. 

“What are you going to do, just walk out there and sacrifice yourself?” the pirate laughed bitterly.  “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin said simply.  Assuming I don’t lose it and run away in terror.  Then he looked at Belle, because the next words were for her.  “Just this once…I’d like to do the right thing.”

He could see the tears in her eyes, but Belle held them back bravely.  “It’s not the first time,” she whispered fiercely.  “Are you certain that you have to do this?”

“All magic comes at a price,” Rumplestiltskin replied regretfully, letting Belle pull him in so that his forehead rested against hers.  He would have stayed there forever if he could, but he knew there wasn’t time.  “I think we both knew I wouldn’t escape the price of being the Dark One forever.”

“Oh, Rumple…”

He wanted to weep in her arms, wanted to cling to her and never let go, but Emma interrupted before Rumplestiltskin could lose himself.

“I can stop you,” she stated flatly, and when he turned to face her, her hazel eyes measured him coldly.  “Let the power destroy what it will.  Merlin stays dead.”

David looked shocked.  “Emma, Merlin can—”

“She doesn’t care,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off before David could go on about how Merlin could defeat the darkness.  He had his doubts on that front, anyway, and besides, Emma didn’t want to be rid of it, not now.  “What she does care about is Henry.”

That got Emma’s attention.  “I’ll protect him,” she snapped.

“Against that?”

She glared.

“A child’s soul is less complicated than an adult soul, and Henry is the Truest Believer.  He’s been touched by magic; it’s in his bones.  In lieu of a better target, Merlin’s power will go for him, and you won’t be able to stop it.  I can.”

“And why would you do that?” she hissed.

“I failed to save my son.”  Somehow, he managed to get the words out without breaking down, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.  “Let me not fail my grandson as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I intend to continue this story even once season 5 starts, assuming there’s still interest. I know that the show is going to go in a different direction, but there’s lots left to happen here, including the return of the Black Fairy, the continuation of an age-old war that will determine Emma’s fate, and the return of a certain character from the Vault of the Dark One. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirteen—“ Rest Here, Enchanter”, in which Rumplestiltskin offers himself up, old foes watch in interest, Henry makes an interesting acquaintance, and Merlin comes to Storybrooke.


	13. Rest Here, Enchanter

Belle caught Rumplestiltskin’s arm as he stepped outside of the shop.  She was determined not to break down; Rumplestiltskin was being brave, and so she would be as well.  But she felt like she was dying inside.  They had had six days.  _Six days_ to fix what they had broken, six days to fall in love all over again.  It wasn’t fair.  Rumplestiltskin was trying so hard.  He was finally free of the darkness, and the Apprentice had set him up for this?  The bitter feeling of being lied to made Belle furious; the old man had said Rumplestiltskin would wake if the ‘strength’ was there, but he had never meant for him to wake at all.  He’d always meant to replace Belle’s husband with Merlin.

Knowing that burned like fire in her heart, and she pulled Rumplestiltskin around to face her, grabbing the lapels of his jacket in her  free hand.  “Promise me you’ll fight,” she said fiercely, looking straight into deep brown eyes that tried so valiantly to hide his fear.  “Promise me you won’t give in.”

“Belle, I…”

“I know you have to save Henry,” she nodded.  “I know you feel that you have to save all of us from what you think you started.  So, do what you have to, but don’t let your soul go.  Please.  Promise me you’ll fight for us.”

“Oh, sweetheart…I’ve never been good at fighting.”  He looked like he wanted to cry, too, but Rumplestiltskin nodded in return as shaking fingers touched her cheek.  “But I’ll fight.  For you.  You do make me stronger.” 

The last time he’d said those words to her, Rumplestiltskin had died, and Belle wanted to slap him.  But she couldn’t do that to him, not when he was trying so hard, not when the man who had lived so long beneath the darkness was trying so hard to do the right thing.  So, instead she pulled him in for a desperate and hard kiss.  Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around her immediately, and they clung to one another for dear life for a long moment.

“I love you,” Belle whispered.  “Don’t you forget that.  And I’m not saying goodbye, because you’re not going to die.  Merlin doesn’t get to banish your soul.”

Truth be told, Belle didn’t know if Rumplestiltskin could let the power in and survive with his soul intact, but she knew him better than anyone.  If anyone could find a loophole, he could.

“I love you, too,” he whispered in return.  _At least we got a taste_ , he didn’t say, but Belle could see it on his face.  But a taste of love before the end was nothing, and she wanted everything.

Rumplestiltskin pulled away, regret making his features haggard, and only then did Belle realize that Henry had approached to stand next to them.

“Here’s the staff, Grandpa,” the boy said quietly.  “Are you sure this is the only way?”

Emma was glowering; Regina actually looked worried.  David did, too, though he looked a little torn because it was plain that he hoped Merlin’s help was close at hand.  Belle couldn’t blame him for that, particularly because David didn’t look like he relished the method by which that help would come.  Killian, on the other hand, looked far more at ease with the situation, and even hopeful…but then, Belle understood that he still held a grudge.  Henry, however, looked absolutely broken.

“I am,” Rumplestiltskin said in the same soft tone.  “I wish there was another way.”

“I think my dad would be proud of you,” Henry replied, and Belle felt her husband shake.  Henry smiled.  “No, I know he would.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin said hoarsely, and Belle squeezed his hand.  She could see what that meant to him, could see the way he swallowed hard, remembering the son he had loved and lost—and whom he had always feared saw him as a coward, even in the end.  Belle knew what those words meant to him, and she could have hugged Henry for saying them.  After a slight hesitation, Rumplestiltskin started to move forward, but she held onto him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Come back to me?” she whispered brokenly, despite her resolve not to make this harder for him.

Rumplestiltskin gave her a strained smile.  “I will if I can, Belle.”

She let him go, and Rumplestiltskin stepped into the street, using Merlin’s staff instead of his cane.

* * *

 

Cowards were not supposed to do this.

Cowards were supposed to run.

Cowards were supposed to find the nearest corner to hide in, so why was he _here_?  Rumplestiltskin knew his hands were shaking, knew he looked more terrified than brave, but Henry’s words kept echoing in his mind.  _My dad would have been proud of you._   Belle’s plea came right on their heels.  _Promise me you’ll fight for us._   He had promised, even though Rumplestiltskin was not certain it was a promise he could keep.  But he loved her more than anything—he loved her almost enough to drop the staff and run to her, bad ankle or no, branded again as a coward or not—so Rumplestiltskin would do his best.  Even if the last time he’d tried to do the _right_ thing, he’d lost his beloved son and then ended up caged and hurt by a psychopath, he would do his best.  _Don’t think about that, now,_ he told himself firmly. 

_Fight for Belle.  Fight for Henry.  Fight so that Baelfire was right, and you aren’t just some coward who turned to darkness because you couldn’t have strength otherwise._   Tears filled his eyes, but Rumplestiltskin blinked them aside resolutely.  Just this once, he’d do something that those he loved could be proud of, regardless of the personal consequences. 

Whistling filled the air, and he looked up to face the cloud of golden power as it cascaded down upon him, filling the air with magic that crackled like lightning.  The wind picked up until Rumplestiltskin felt like he was trapped in the middle of a tornado that slowly tightened around him, the power swirling so close that he could not take a step in any direction without touching it.  He could _feel_ the magic swelling around him, could feel it searching, assessing, _wanting._   But it did not tear at him.  It did not try to force him.  Not yet.  He still had a choice.  Rumplestiltskin could remain a coward and try to run away…or he could stay and save those he loved.

_Do the brave thing and bravery will follow,_ Belle had told him so long ago.  He had never understood that philosophy until now. 

So, Rumplestiltskin chose to be brave, and he let out a shaky breath and gripped the staff harder.  “Merlin…I summon thee.”

Merlin’s power crashed down.

* * *

 

Belle watched the cloud slam into Rumplestiltskin, a brilliant golden light that filled the air.  The whistling stopped, replaced by a crack as loud as thunder, and the ground shook beneath her feet.  Emma snarled while Henry grabbed onto Belle for balance; she clung to him, too, because this was nothing like any of them had ever seen before.  She had once thought the bright flash that came when Rumplestiltskin had killed Pan was powerful, but this was a thousand times more so.  The power obscured her husband, now.  She could only see the barest outline of his dark suit as golden tendrils twisted closer and closer to him, reflecting their own light so brilliantly that it hurt to look.

She watched anyway, holding her breath as the earthquake continued, and then afraid to let it out when it stopped.  The power lingered for a moment, twisting ever tighter and completely concealing any view of Rumplestiltskin—until it vanished as if sucked into a vacuum, and he collapsed.

_“Rumple!”_

Belle ran forward before she registered moving, rushing to his side.  He’d landed in a heap, with his eyes closed but his breathing steady, the staff laid out by his side as if it had been put down gently and not dropped.  Quickly, Belle dropped to her knees, pulling his head into her lap and watching his face for any sign of life.  He was breathing, but very shallowly, and his features were incredibly pale.  At least he hadn’t disappeared this time.  He was still here.

_I’ll know if it’s him,_ she knew.  He still wasn’t moving.  _I’ll know if he’s gone._

“Rumplestiltskin?” she whispered desperately.

Nothing happened.  He didn’t even move.  Henry, David, Regina, and Robin approached, but Belle barely noticed them.  She was distantly aware of the fact that Emma was staying back, watching Rumplestiltskin’s unmoving form warily, and of Hook parked halfway between Emma and the others.  But her attention was on her husband, and after several agonizing seconds, his hands twitched slightly.

“Rumple?” Belle repeated, her heart leaping into her throat hopefully.

His eyes opened, blinking slowly at first and then rapidly as he took in his surroundings.  Gold flashed through them, the same color as the cloud had been, highlighting his pupils with miniature sparks.  The sparks whirled around his irises, once, twice, and then three times, and then he sat up so quickly that Belle almost toppled backwards.  But when he turned to face her, his eyes were the wrong shade of brown.

_This isn’t him,_ she realized with horror, just as he said:

“Who’s ‘Rumple’?”

She’d known they were coming, but those words still made her heart plummet, particularly when she heard them spoken without Rumplestiltskin’s distinctive accent.  Something in Belle broke upon hearing him say that, leaving a howling emptiness inside her.  She felt just like she had when she had known the darkness was consuming Rumplestiltskin, like the other half of her soul had been torn away and she would never get it back.  _No,_ she thought, white-hot fury replacing the heartbreak. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” she said her True Love’s name very precisely, looking this interloper straight in the eye.  “My _husband._ ”

He blinked again, the golden sparks in his eyes fading to simple flecks around the irises.  “The former Dark One…had a wife?  Why?”

“Because I love him,” Belle snarled, shaking with anger.  “And I am _not_ going to lose him like this!”

“What’s done is done,” he replied, staring at her in confusion.  “I am here now.  I am _needed_.”

“Can you help us?” David interrupted before Belle could say another word.  “You are…Merlin, right?”

His body language was all wrong as he turned to face David, movements smooth and a little languid.  He studied David with his head cocked, sitting on the street with all the dignity of a king.  “I am.”  Merlin glanced down at his hands—at _Rumplestiltskin’s_ hands—turning them over and looking perplexed.  “I am Merlin.”

“Can you help us?” Hook stepped forward to demand, his voice rough and desperate as Belle watched this impostor pilot her husband’s body.  “Emma took on that darkness.  It isn’t her fault.”

Merlin got to his feet, stumbling clumsily as Rumplestiltskin’s bad leg tried to fold out from under him.  Belle reached out automatically to catch him, but Merlin straightened suddenly, seemingly fine.  “The Dark One?” he questioned, glancing at Hook.

“She’s my daughter,” David replied before Hook could answer.  “She took that on to save everyone.  The Apprentice said you could help us defeat the darkness.”

“The only way to destroy the darkness is to destroy the host,” Merlin replied, glancing Emma’s way as if she meant nothing.  His eyes were flat. 

“You can’t mean that!” Hook burst out, looming several steps forward, his eyes wide and furious.  “Your bloody Apprentice took the darkness out of _him!_ ”

“That was different.” Merlin blinked again, and for a moment, Belle thought she saw something change in his eyes.  “The host has to want to let go of the darkness—”

“And I don’t,” Emma cut in.  “If you pull it out of me, the darkness will only get lose again and find someone else.  I’m best suited to face it.  I _know_ that.”

“Please, you have to help her,” Henry spoke up.  “She’s my mom.  She needs help.”

“He’s not going to, Henry,” Emma said, and Belle actually thought she sounded a little regretful.  “He’s not interested in _helping_ the Dark One.”

A sad but smug smile crossed the face that shouldn’t belong to Merlin, and somehow that expression—the one that told Belle that Merlin already ‘knew’ every answer, that he didn’t give a damn about Emma Swan—made pain twist in her stomach.  _It’s like the way everyone always judged Rumple.  Guilty, no innocence.  Like the Dark One can’t possibly have a soul._

“She is lost already,” Merlin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

“No.”  The word grated out of Belle before she could think, cold and furious.  “Emma isn’t lost, and neither is Rumplestiltskin.”

Merlin looked at her like she was some lovestruck fool.  “My lady, you are better off without—”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me that!” Belle snarled, grabbing the front of her husband’s suit and pulling Merlin close.  “I am sick and tired of people telling me that I should not love him!  No one decides who I love but me, and I am _not_ losing him like this!”  Looking directly into the wrong-colored brown eyes, she leaned in close.  “Do you hear me, Rumplestiltskin?  I know you’re in there, and you made me a promise.  Please don’t break it.”

Merlin shook his head.  “I know what you’re trying.  It won’t—” Suddenly, his eyes changed, going from golden-flecked to brown, and the next word that came out was a shaky whisper.  “…Belle?”

“Rumple,” she gasped, and Belle could _see_ the battle happening inside him.  “I need you.  Please don’t—”

Rumplestiltskin stumbled forward, and Belle could see him reaching for her face, only for his hand to freeze halfway.  The tender expression on his face vanished, drowning under that same aloof expression.  “I am not”—the voice changed again, now rough and desperate—“Help me—I can’t—”

He managed another step, and Belle finally realized what Rumplestiltskin was trying to do.  So, she met him halfway, throwing caution to the wind and ruthlessly suppressing her own doubts.  Ever since the curse had broken, Belle had wondered if her love was not enough.  She had wondered if Rumplestiltskin had married her because she was weak, because he knew that he could manipulate her.  She had wondered if his True Love was simply power, not her.  But Belle _knew_ differently.  She knew the truth in her heart, could see it shining in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes as he struggled to fight back the interloper who was trying to steal his body.

She didn’t care what the price of his survival had been.  Belle didn’t care if things were _supposed_ to happen this way.  They had been separated often enough.  Not this time.  So, she leaned in and kissed Rumplestiltskin with all of her strength, pouring every ounce of love she felt for him—for all of him: good, dark, strong, and weak—into that kiss.

Lightning ripped through her system.

* * *

 

Well, _that_ was unexpected.

Widow Morton backed up a step, blending into the crowd that had formed.  Her old friend had reasserted himself, just as she had expected—despite the different looks, she could detect Merlin’s body language, could hear Merlin’s voice.  And yet that little brunette appeared to be more of a player than she had thought, for she’d stepped forward and _kissed_ the former Dark One.  What had happened was clear enough: any practitioner of magic could recognize True Love’s Kiss, and she was one of the oldest.  _The former Dark One fought back,_ she mused, tapping an irritated finger against her lips.  _That was not expected._   Nor was the fact that the man genuinely had a True Love to pull him back from the edge, and that made her frown.

Yet it _could_ serve her well, couldn’t it? Oh, she would miss Merlin.  She had wanted him back, had wanted to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with him once more.  The old pieces were moving into place, and it was clearly time for the original battle to begin anew.  Yet Merlin was not there.  Worn thin as his soul was, there was no way he could withstand the most powerful magic of them all.

“Disappointed, ‘Widow Morton’?” a mocking voice came from behind her, and she turned gracefully to face her old foe.

“Morgan le Fae,” she smiled, looking the other woman up and down.  Oh, the years hadn’t been kind to Morgan, had they?  Half-power and Half-fae though she was, her magic was dissipating, and one of her prized sons was gone, his heart used up in a battle already lost.  She knew that heart well, of course.  _Too well_.  “Watching as well?  Have you learned something this time?”

Morgan frowned, and the expression turned her face uglier than ever.  “You look disappointed,” she sneered.  “Missing your old lover?”

“I might ask you the same,” she replied, laughing softly.  “It seems _our_ old fight is no longer relevant, doesn’t it?”

“My fight with you was never over Merlin,” Morgan spat, and the ‘Widow’ laughed louder.

“Oh, of course it wasn’t.  Was it about your stepbrother, then?  I forget.”

Morgan’s scowl would have frightened anyone else away, but she knew the secret Morgan had ignored.  They had always been tied together through a complicated web of family, friends, magic, and hatred, but now their fates seemed doubly intertwined. 

“I _told_ Arthur that you were manipulating him!”

“But, like Merlin, he never listened,” she purred.  “You do seem to have that luck with men, don’t you?  Particularly the ones you sleep with.”

“At least I’ve never lied to them, _Guinevere_ ,” the other woman retorted.  “Or shall I call you by your real name?  I’m sure your sister would be glad to know you’re in Storybrooke.”

“She’d be no happier to see you—or that miscreant son of yours.  Shall I have someone tell her that Mordred has already arrived and you’re working with him this time?”

Morgan looked ready to attack her then and there, but they both knew they were at an impasse.  Each knew secrets about the other, and if they _did_ try to betray the other’s identity, it would be all too easy for either to discredit the other.  The ‘Widow’ knew Morgan’s secrets—even ones that Morgan did not know—and Morgan knew hers.  Or most of them, anyway.  And neither of them was particularly eager to allow others to interfere in their centuries’ long vendetta against the other.  Still, it might have come to battle had a sudden _crack_ not filled the air, shaking the very ground they stood on.  Both women turned to watch as Merlin’s staff shattered, light flaring outwards and _power_ burning in.

_Well,_ she thought.  _There’s a new player in the old game, now._

* * *

 

His mind was a mess of voices, of his thoughts battling with Merlin’s, of a battered soul struggling for purchase on a slippery slope that another tried to claim.  Merlin was stronger than he was, and far more powerful, but for once in Rumplestiltskin’s life, he had not wanted to give up.  He’d accepted the price of his survival, had understood that he _had_ to take that power in or it might destroy them all.  Yet he didn’t _want_ to die—even if fate herself told him he should. There had been a time when he had wanted nothing more, but the six days since Belle had woken him had changed that.  Most of all, he didn’t want to leave her alone again.  Belle had fought so hard for him, so many times…now Rumplestiltskin would fight for her.

Yet he’d know that he needed a magic more powerful than even the Sorcerer to fight Merlin back.  Merlin’s soul hadn’t been scrubbed clean, blasted _raw_ , the way Rumplestiltskin’s had been, but it was still the soul of an original power.  Merlin should have been able to displace him, particularly given how the Apprentice had worked that exact eventuality into place, but as he fought back, Rumplestiltskin found the cracks.  The weaknesses.  The _loopholes_. 

This was Merlin’s last chance, and he was as incomplete as Rumplestiltskin was—more so, even because he was alone.  Merlin had waited centuries for this moment, his soul dissipating all the while, lost bit by bit and inch by inch to the ravages of time and magic.  So, Rumplestiltskin bludgeoned him into submission with the purest magic _either_ of them could imagine, letting the power of True Love’s Kiss roar through his body.  That kiss tied him to Belle, and Rumplestiltskin to his own body, relegating Merlin to a back corner of his mind, shoving the Sorcerer into a place where he could be heard without taking over.  Had he been able to, Rumplestiltskin would have banished Merlin completely, but he had already made his choice.  He’d welcomed this power in, and now he was stuck with it.

_You know not what you do!_ Merlin’s voice inside him roared as Rumplestiltskin let his eyes slide shut, resting his forehead against Belle’s.  He just needed a moment, needed to center himself and adjust to the utter whirlwind of power tingling through his bones.

_I’m not leaving her again,_ Rumplestiltskin told his interloper firmly, and much to his surprise, he could feel the way his love for Belle gave Merlin pause.

_You love her.  How do you love?  You were—_

Trying to ignore Merlin was pointless; for now, at least, the old enchanter was nestled within his consciousness, and Rumplestiltskin could feel Merlin watching _his_ thoughts and feelings, could feel the Sorcerer’s surprise as he realized that a Dark One could indeed love—and even find True Love, despite the nature of the darkness.  The assessment seemed to take an eternity, even if only a second or two passed outside Rumplestiltskin’s mind.  Eventually, he felt the equivalent of a sigh, and the battle for control ceased.

_What’s done is done,_ the other relented.  _I had best help you to become what you must, then, before I fade._ They both knew Merlin would fade, too; the realization hit both at the same time, and Rumplestiltskin found that sharing his mind—or perhaps the dregs of his soul—with another man’s consciousness was far less appealing than sharing it with the darkness had been.  There was no telling how long it would take, but the more Rumplestiltskin asserted himself, the more Merlin withered away.  _You are the Sorcerer, now._

“I’m _what_?” he stuttered without meaning to, making Belle jerk back.

“Rumple?  Are you all right?”

“I’m—I’m fine,” Rumpelstiltskin managed after a moment, straightening and finding that Merlin actually _had_ healed his leg.  It was genuinely healed, too, not just magically braced and ignored, and he could feel a distant smugness that Rumplestiltskin immediately pushed aside.

“The staff shattered,” Belle said quietly, pulling back to look in his eyes.  “Does that mean Merlin is gone?”

“More or less,” he answered slowly.  “I have his memories, his thoughts—or some of them.”  Rumplestiltskin twirled his right hand thoughtlessly, searching for words.  “It will take me time to sort through everything.”

_You have no time.  You must destroy the darkness,_ Merlin insisted.  _This was my mission, and I failed.  You must complete my life’s work, since you are so determined to displace me._

  _Shut it, dearie,_ he thought irritably.  _There’s time enough to discuss what you feel_ I _must_ _do later._

“But you’re you?” she asked, looking at him with worried blue eyes that broke his heart.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “I made you a promise.” 

The fact that he’d needed Belle’s help to keep that promise made Rumplestiltskin feel distinctly ashamed—he hadn’t even been able to _fight_ for her without Belle helping—but the smile that split Belle’s face was almost enough to erase that feeling of disgrace.  But how would she feel when she understood more?  Terror suddenly drowned out the feeling of having fought for her and won; Belle had wanted an ordinary man, or one who had a little magic, controllable magic.  How would she feel now that he was the—

“Sorcerer,” someone hissed from behind him, and Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t recognize Emma Swan’s voice behind the fury ringing in the air.

Turning slowly to face her, Rumplestiltskin found himself looking at the Dark One in a new and different light.  He’d always _seen_ magic, ever since he’d taught himself sorcery, visualizing it level by level.  As the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin had been known to be the most skilled active sorcerer in any magical realm, and he’d worked very hard for that title.  Then, he’d seen magic in as many as five or sometimes six layers…but now he saw eight.  He could see the power swirling around Emma, could see the darkness latching onto her heart.  There were tiny swirls of light in the bottommost layers, deep in her soul where Emma clung to her sense of self.  A child of True Love still existed under the Dark One, but now she was also a creature of anger and pain.

“You lie,” she spat, and Rumplestiltskin blinked.

“Actually, no,” he replied.  “I hate to disappoint you, if you were hoping to meet Merlin, but you’re going to have to settle for just plain Rumplestiltskin.”

“You can’t be,” Emma protested, glaring suspiciously.  But she could see him as he could see her, couldn’t she?  Perhaps in less detail, but she had enough training to be able to see magic if she wished to.  Magic crackled through Rumplestiltskin, growing more and more powerful with every passing moment.  He could feel it tingling down to his fingertips, felt the power settling in, bubbling, _changing_. 

“I’m afraid so.”

There they stood, the Sorcerer and the Dark One, opposed as it seemed fate would have them be— _So it has_ always _been,_ Merlin supplied unhelpfully, and Rumplestiltskin tried to push that thought aside.  _You must destroy the darkness,_ the other voice insisted, and ignoring him was hard.  Merlin had created the Dark One, but he had been the darkness’ implacable enemy before that.  There was something, right on the edge of Rumplestiltskin’s consciousness, a vague memory that Merlin did not want to share.  The darkness had been _used_ for something before he chained it to a fillable human soul—and it had threatened _everything._ So Merlin had created his own monster, praying that the goodness of a human heart could overcome even the elemental darkness.  He’d been wrong, and had thus set up the eternal conflict between the Sorcerer and the Dark One.

Yet he was not Merlin.  And Emma was no typical Dark One.

They watched one another, Emma glaring and Rumplestiltskin calculating, each nominally on opposite sides once again—yet maybe, just maybe, working at diagonals instead.  Emma looked ready to attack, and the swirling magic within Rumplestiltskin kept _surging_ ; his head was aching and his vision wanted to swim, but somehow he kept his gaze locked with Emma’s.  Did she understand how they could literally change fate between them?  He wasn’t sure.

A swirl of black smoke filled the place Emma had been before he could ask, making Hook call her name belatedly.  Rumplestiltskin was rather glad to see her go, however; resisting Merlin’s incessant demands was giving him a migraine, and the power still tearing through him was making his muscles ache.  Blinking, he looked down to find his hands shaking with a tremor he could not will away, and he let out a shaky breath as Belle touched his arm.

“Rumple?” she whispered.

“Still me,” he managed, giving her a tight smile.  “Just…different.”

He was the _Sorcerer_.  He had expected to die, not become _this_.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say or do, didn’t know how to wrap his mind around the crushing responsibility and magic raging through his system.  Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

“Wait a minute,” David said, stepping forward hesitantly.  No one had wanted to get between him and Emma before, but now that she was gone, Rumplestiltskin supposed that the posse of heroes had to start talking.  They always did.  “You were Merlin a few minutes ago.”

“A temporary disability, brought about by that lovely golden mess of power you just watched consume me,” Rumplestiltskin said as lightly as he could, but his head felt like it wanted to split open.  With an effort, he focused on the prince, blinking hard.

“So…you’re Rumplestiltskin again.”

“I did say that, yes,” he retorted, trying not to sound testy—and failing. 

“Emma said you were lying,” Robin spoke up.  “How can we be certain this isn’t some trick?”

“Listen to the accent, mate,” surprisingly, it was Hook who spoke up.  “Merlin sounded like a bloody nobleman.  The Crocodile never has.”

“Really?” David looked like the difference in accents had never occurred to him, and for the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin found himself meeting Hook’s eyes in mutual exasperation.  That moment, however, passed quickly.

“What the hell are you, then?” Regina demanded.  “Was destroying that staff all it took to destroy Merlin’s power?”

Rumplestiltskin found himself chuckling until the pain in his head was too much; then he cut himself off with a wince.  “Oh, no,” he said softly.  “That was merely…oh, call it an act of rebellion.  My refusal to be controlled.”  Destroying the staff had come automatically, an act of sheer instinct as he struggled to regain ownership of his own body.  Of his soul.  Just thinking of someone controlling him was enough to make Rumplestiltskin feel sick.  “I’ve had quite enough of that.”

The last words slipped out on their own, and Rumplestiltskin hated himself for being unable to stop them.  He still wasn’t very good at playing his cards close, still too honest and still too raw.  _At least I’m not as bad as before,_ he thought, only to have Merlin pipe up immediately: _You need to stop the Dark One, not trade explanations with these people.  Tell them you are the Sorcerer and do what must be done_.

Regina was studying him closely.  “The Apprentice said that we needed Merlin to destroy the darkness.  Is that you, now?”

“I’m not Merlin, dearie,” he snorted.

“But you have his power.”  She was smart, Regina was, and Rumplestiltskin could tell that although she didn’t like this realization one bit, Regina wasn’t going to shy away from the truth.  His former student had truly come a long way.

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  “Yes.”

He could have evaded the question a second time, could have lied.  He’d never much liked lying, but he’d certainly done a lot of that in the past months, and Rumplestiltskin found himself oddly hesitant to admit that he was now the Sorcerer.  Yet everything came at a price, and magic most of all.  He could not hide.  He could not run.  He had fought for this, had refused to be consumed.  So now he would have to live up to it.

“You’re the Sorcerer now?” Henry piped up immediately.  “And now you can help Emma like you said you would, right?”

_The only way to destroy the darkness is to destroy the host._ “I hope so, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin answered.  There had to be another way.

“Good.”  Hook stepped forward, looming over him with burning blue eyes.  “It’s about time you owned up to what you did to Emma.”

A few days ago, Rumplestiltskin would have flinched away.  Now, he still wanted to, but he knew he didn’t have to.  Hook couldn’t harm him—and he didn’t feel the need to prove that, either.  That was a strange feeling.  There was no burning rage because the pirate had dared to try to intimidate him.  Rumplestiltskin only felt a strange pang of pity for a man who was desperate to save the woman he loved.  In his past, magic had always come wrapped in darkness.  Yet here he was now, with magic—and the opportunity to use it _right_.

“I didn’t shove that darkness into her, Captain,” he said quietly, forcing himself to take a step forward and look Hook right in the eyes.  “Emma made her choices, and she’s not wrong.  Of everyone in this town, she’s best suited to contain the Dark One while we figure out a way to destroy it forever.”

“I’m not letting you destroy _her_ to do that!”

“Of course not.”  Merlin howled in protest inside him, but Rumplestiltskin ignored that, even when it made his stomach heave dizzily.  “I’m many things, dearie, but I know—better than anyone—that Emma Swan isn’t simply a vessel for that darkness.  You know she’s in there.  You know she’s fighting.  And we’ll help her until we find a way to separate the darkness from Emma without killing her.”

Hook looked torn between hope and hatred; Rumplestiltskin knew how he felt all too well.  “Why the hell would you want to help?”

_Apparently, it’s what I’m supposed to do,_ he didn’t say, because Merlin’s idea of _help_ was far from palatable.  “Because I know how it feels to be where she is,” Rumplestiltskin said instead, his voice rough and honest.  “And I won’t let anyone fall as far as I did.”

A hand slipped into his own, and Belle squeezed his fingers gently.  Her touch was like a temporary balm for his aching head, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help closing his eyes for a moment.  He could still feel the magic ripping through him, could feel something inside him shifting, changing, _growing_.  Merlin had been an original power: human, but with a magical core.  Was that what he was becoming?

Rumplestiltskin certainly hoped that explained the tightness in his chest, because otherwise another heart attack was brewing, and he had no desire to repeat that experience. 

“Great, so what do we do now?” Regina cut in.

“I need…the rest of those books,” Rumplestiltskin managed breathlessly, opening his eyes.  “Merlin’s memories…are bound to be biased.  I need to learn more than I know about the Dark One.”

“What, there’s something you don’t know?” his former student snorted.  “And you’re admitting it?  Are you all right?”

“I’m—” Despite his best efforts, Rumplestiltskin swayed.  Belle caught his arm, but the buildings around him were starting to bounce drunkenly.

“Sucking in all that power has got to be hell on your system,” Regina said, sounding surprisingly concerned.  “Come on.  Let’s get you into the shop before you fall down.”

Rumplestiltskin tried to nod, but doing so almost made him topple.  Regina grabbed his other arm before he could, and between his wife and his protégé, Rumplestiltskin stumbled two steps—and then passed out.

* * *

 

He’d watched as Robin and Charming helped carry the former Dark One into the pawn shop, trailing behind a little aimlessly as Regina, Henry, and Belle all made sure that the crocodile was fine.  Killian wasn’t certain what to make of this situation—every instinct he had told him that anything that gave Rumplestiltskin more power was dangerous and not to be trusted, and yet the man seemed _different._   Killian knew him better than most, and although he didn’t usually think of the spinner who he had met so long ago (save to excuse his actions because the other man had been _such_ a coward and such a letdown to his Milah), he was starting to see a bridge between that man and the Crocodile. 

_“He was such a_ good _man,” Milah complained, running her fingers over Killian’s chest.  “Good, hardworking, generous, and a coward.  Can’t you understand why I had to get away?”_

_“Of course I can, love,” Killian replied, offering her a sip of rum from his flask.  “But…your boy.  Will he be safe with such a coward?”_

_“Oh, he’ll be fine.  Rumple’s a weak little thing, but he’s got a heart of gold.  The fool.”_

Shaking his head, Killian pushed the memory away.  They’d rarely talked of Milah’s former life—except when she wanted to point out how much better being a pirate was—and he hadn’t really cared about her husband.  Killian had been far more interested in learning about Baelfire, but Milah had never wanted to go back.  Still…much though it pained him to admit it, he knew that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t always been evil.  And now, unless the man was lying, he wanted to help Emma.

Perhaps that was worth calling a genuine truce for, but first he needed to know something else.

“Belle,” Killian said softly, after the others had settled Rumplestiltskin onto the cot.  “May I have a word, please?”

She glanced worriedly at her husband—Killian _still_ wasn’t sure how they’d repaired the mess of that marriage—but Henry piped up.  “I’ll sit with him.  I promise.”

“We’ll stay, too,” Regina said unexpectedly, exchanging a glance with Robin.

“I’ll go make sure that cloud didn’t do any other damage, and then check on Snow,” David spoke up, and he headed out as Belle nodded and led Killian into the front of the shop.

“What is it?” she asked, looking both concerned and relieved.

“I…I need some advice,” he admitted. 

“About Emma,” Belle said immediately, understanding filling her eyes.  “And about loving the Dark One.”

“Aye.”  Killian swallowed hard.  “Two days ago…I tried to save her.  I tried to break that curse with True Love’s Kiss, but nothing happened.  And I don’t understand why.”

A gentle hand landed on his arm.  “I’m not sure it works like that.”

“But why the bloody hell wouldn’t it?  Any curse can be broken with True Love’s Kiss,” Killian objected, struggling not to shout.  “I used to assume that he didn’t love you enough, that the crocodile didn’t _want_ to be free, but Emma…Emma’s still the Dark One.”

“Do you want me to ask Rumple when he wakes up?” Belle asked.

The scowl was automatic; Killian had hoped Belle would have the answer.  “I suppose,” he said slowly.  “I just don’t know how you did it.  I tried to turn my back on my past, tried to be better.  But when I’m with her, now, I just…I just want to revert to the man I was.  The pull towards darkness is so bloody strong.”

“And you don’t like that about yourself.”

“Not anymore.”  Talking to Belle was terrifyingly easy; Killian hadn’t really known her until their efforts to free the fairies had thrown them together, but now their lives ran in disturbing parallels.  She had loved and married the Dark One.  Belle had just proven that their love was deep enough, true enough, for True Love’s Kiss to work.  Yet it hadn’t when Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, which meant that maybe Killian’s greatest fears were unfounded.  Maybe the problem wasn’t the depth of his love for Emma, or hers for him.  _Maybe…_

Somehow, Belle seemed to read his mind, saying: “The fact that you can’t free her doesn’t mean it isn’t True Love.  I always knew that Rumple and I were because he started to change when I kissed him back in the Enchanted Forest.  But…one kiss wasn’t enough, and I think that means something.  I was so naive then, but looking back on it, I wonder if the darkness might have gotten free, just like it did when the Apprentice tried to put it in the Hat.”

“You don’t think even True Love’s Kiss can destroy it?”

“I’m not certain, but no.  I’ll ask Rumple when he wakes up,” she promised.

“Thank you, Belle,” Killian made himself say, pushing aside his worries to give her a smile.  She’d tried to help him more than once, and she’d saved his life.  The least he could do was say thank you, particularly now that he understood Belle far too well.  _Could I exile Emma the way she did her husband?_ he wondered, suddenly feeling cold.  _I love her.  I love all of her, even when I’m terrified of how her darkness draws me in.  Could I save someone who hated me at Emma’s expense?_   For the first time, he really appreciated Belle’s strength, and it made him feel terrible.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Belle said with a sad smile.  “I’ve been where you are.  Loving the Dark One is hard, even when you _know_ who they are underneath the monster.”

“Emma’s no monster,” he protested automatically.

Surprisingly, Belle laughed.  “Rumplestiltskin always wanted to wear the mask of the monster.  I think Emma’s going a different road.”

“I fear it’s not going to be a less dark path,” Killian admitted in a whisper. 

“We’ll help,” she promised, and somehow, Killian believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Rumplestiltskin survived, but Merlin is going to be an ongoing problem, isn’t he? Do you think that Belle is right about True Love being unable to destroy the darkness, or do you think there’s something else at play?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fourteen—“Strong Enough to Choose Not To”, in which Widow Morton goes spying, Merlin rears his head again, Hook’s past comes out, and the Sorcerer and the Dark One face off.


	14. Strong Enough to Choose Not To

There was an enormous amount of magic and magical potential in that shop, too much for even one such as her to sort it out.  She might not have dared come so close or try such spells if the former Dark One turned Sorcerer had been conscious, but the transition from mortal to original power was surely enough to jar _any_ human body, so there was no chance of him interfering.  That had given her the time to slip into the alley behind Mr. Gold’s pawnshop and try to determine which amongst those inside might be the one she sought, but the level of magical potential inside that little building was staggering.

Widow Morton had, upon awakening from the first curse, kept a careful eye upon the Dark One.  She’d been powerless for some of that time, yet she’d still been fascinated by Rumplestiltskin.  Upon their return after the second curse, she had contemplated approaching him with an offer of an alliance (a guise, of course, under which to determine the dagger’s location), but he had quickly followed the path of his predecessors, with the darkness overcoming what little humanity he had.  That, of course, had made him less than useful, and she had been glad to see the power transferred to another. _Well, we knew that resurrection was a_ possibility _when Merlin created the Vault of the Dark One,_ she thought with a shrug.  _I assume that being amongst such concentrated darkness merely sped up the process and the Dark One consumed the host that much faster._

Still, before she sought out the new Dark One and determined where Emma Swan had hidden the dagger, she needed to learn who the Truest Believer was.  That little piece of crucial information was the hinge upon which all of her plans depended, particularly now that the previous one was _finally_ dead.  Her spell—cast shortly after Merlin had failed to consume the former Dark One—had brought her here, of all places, and while that didn’t mean that the Truest Believer was currently inside the pawnshop, it did mean that _something_ here would lead them to him or her.

Detecting the Truest Believer was incredibly difficult, but she already had her suspicions.  So, she narrowed her eyes and _looked_ at the various threads and streams of magic filling the air, focusing beyond the walls of the shop and letting the answers come to her.  But she did not find what she was expecting, and the sheer overflow of magical potential almost knocked her back a step.

There was at least one person in that shop descended from a previous Truest Believer, and that alone was enough to make her heart skip a beat.  _Could the present Truest Believer be a descendant?  If so, that makes the Heart doubly powerful,_ she realized with a sinking feeling of dread.  _And if not…that may be magic in itself._   But that was not all.  Two potential sources burned out at her, _two_ people who believed and loved so strongly that they could change worlds with their belief.  One was certainly the tiny brunette whose fierce kiss had brought Rumplestiltskin back from the edge, but who was the other?  The pirate, the sorceress, or the boy?  Perhaps the outlaw?  She could not tell from here if the descendant was one of the two points of power, but she hoped that was the case.  Otherwise, there would be three humans who might present a potential threat, and that discounted the wildcard that had inherited Merlin’s power.

_Assuming Merlin does not rally and overcome him,_ she told herself.  She missed her old friend, and yet…perhaps it was better if Merlin did not win this battle.  If an inexperienced original power represented the last of humanity’s great magics, carrying out her plans would be _so_ much easier.  Add to that the fact that the new original power was a former Dark One, and she could almost predict which side of the spectrum he would fall upon.

Rumplestiltskin might not have been a typical Dark One, but he still _had_ been the Dark One, and that meant his soul would never be free of that darkness, no matter how clean the Apprentice had tried to polish it. 

Whomever the Truest Believer turned out to be, she could work with this.  And _win_.

* * *

 

“There it is again,” Henry said, and his mother gave him a droll look.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Regina said, rolling her eyes.  She was sitting on a chair in the back of the pawn shop, flipping through a book in some language Henry couldn’t read.  Robin had pulled a stool up next to her—there really were an amazing number of places to sit in the back, assuming you could pull them out from underneath the various piles of _stuff_ —but Henry had perched on the edge of the bed.  Henry had been watching his grandfather as Belle talked to Hook up front, his mind spinning with all the crazy possibilities.   Grandpa Gold had become the _Sorcerer_.  For one thing, that was cooler than cool.  But it was also really, _really_ , good, because Merlin hadn’t sounded like he wanted to help Emma at all.

“Neither did I,” Robin replied, and Henry tried to push the thought aside.  After all, he’d _felt_ the noise as much as he’d heard it, which probably meant he was imagining things.  Stuff like that hadn’t happened since he’d been in Neverland, anyway, but there was so much magic in the air right now that he was bound to feel weird.

Henry had always thought that whoever had created the original Dark One might be a little shady, because who thought that shoehorning that much darkness into a _person_ had been the right thing to do?  If it was hitting Emma this hard, corrupting her enough that she would do things she never would have before, that meant the darkness did that to _every_ Dark One.  Emma hadn’t had any darkness of her own before, and that probably meant she was better than most of her predecessors.  She was fighting it, but Henry knew in his heart that his mom was losing the battle, and he was terrified for what would happen when—if!—she gave up.

Thinking like that made Henry shiver.  Why would Merlin want to put that in a person?  And then he’d said—straight out _said_ —that the only way to destroy the darkness was to destroy the host, as if Emma didn’t matter at all.  Henry wasn’t going to let that happen, but at least if Grandpa Gold was the Sorcerer, he understood.  He wouldn’t try to—

Suddenly, his grandfather jerked upright, his eyes open and looking _wrong_.  “Where am I?”

“You’re in the shop,” Henry answered automatically, noticing how Regina lowered her book and was watching his grandfather warily.  “You don’t remember, um, passing out?”

“No.  I do not.”

What was it that Hook had said about his accent?  _Merlin sounded like a bloody nobleman._   Hook had been right!  Somehow or another, wherever Grandpa Gold had come from in the Enchanted Forest—Henry forgot the name of that duchy—he ended up sounding vaguely Scottish.  Merlin, who this _had_ to be, sounded very British.

“Mom, I think—” he started, only to have Merlin swing to look at his mother.

“And you are?” Merlin demanded, looking Regina up and down critically.

“A friend of the man whose body you’re busy stealing, so why don’t you go back to whatever ether you’re supposed to be in and leave us alone?” Regina snapped, and Henry couldn’t help smiling.

Robin was already fingering his crossbow, watching Regina out of the corner of one eye and not _quite_ aiming at Merlin.  Meanwhile, Regina rose, putting the book she’d been toying with down.  She approached Merlin with narrowed eyes,

“I am only here to—” Merlin cut off, looking confused, and Henry _watched_ his eyes change.  Rumplestiltskin’s body twitched hard, his eyes sliding in and out of focus.

“Grandpa?” Henry asked.  There was a battle going on there.  Was Merlin fighting for control?  _How can we stop him?_ he wondered frantically. _Does Grandpa Gold have to do this on his own?_

_Crack!_

Henry jumped as Regina smacked Rumplestiltskin hard, right across the face.  “Mom!”

“Owh!  What was that for?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, and now he sounded Scottish again.  And annoyed.  Henry tried to hide his grin behind a cough, but Regina answered, utterly unperturbed:

“You were going all Merlin again, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to kiss you to snap you out of it.”

 That made Rumplestiltskin blink.  “I’d prefer the slap, thank you,” he replied dryly, shaking his head.  He looked dizzy to Henry, though.

“You okay, Grandpa?”

“Better now, I think,” was the quiet reply; Rumplestiltskin was studying his hands instead of looking at any of the people in the room, turning them over again and again like he had never seen them before.  “I feel so…different.”

Henry watched in fascination, having never seen his paternal grandfather so unguarded.  Rumplestiltskin usually showed the world exactly what he wanted others to see and no more, but right now, Henry felt like he could see the man behind that outer façade.  Even more interestingly, he could see a slight glow forming on his grandfather’s fingers, white and then blue and then finally golden.  Rumplestiltskin studied that in silence, looking as breathless as he did dizzy.  No one said anything for several moments, until Regina broke the silence again.

“You’d best get a hold on that magic before it flies off the handle,” she said mildly.  “Or before Merlin pops up to take it back.”

“He won’t,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, blinking once more and then finally looking up.  He took a deep breath, which seemed to center him a little.  “Not for long, anyway.”

“What happens if he tries?” Henry asked curiously.

Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly.  “He already has.”

That was good enough for Henry; his grandfather was winning, which meant they wouldn’t have to deal with Merlin.  He hadn’t forgotten that Rumplestiltskin had promised to help Emma, whereas Merlin seemed to want to destroy her so that he could get rid of the darkness.  He opened his mouth to ask more, but Regina got in first, her voice flat.

“Why you?”

“Beg pardon?” Rumplestiltskin glanced at her, and Henry thought he saw faint golden flecks in his brown eyes.

“Why did that power want you?” she asked bluntly.  “It can’t have been just because the Apprentice marked you and left you empty, because your soul is still here.”

Henry twisted to look at his mother, realizing that she was _hurt_ by the fact that Merlin’s power didn’t want her.  But it hadn’t just rejected Regina, had it?  The cloud—Merlin—had rejected Zelena, Maleficent, Lily, _and_ Grandma Snow.  It probably would have spit Henry out, too, if Emma hadn’t gotten in the way.  On the surface, that didn’t make much sense.  If Merlin had taken over, the earlier explanation of the Apprentice’s plan would have been more than enough, but Rumplestiltskin seemed to be considering Regina’s question carefully, until finally he shrugged.

“It almost wasn’t,” he admitted.  “That…emptiness is still with me, and I suspect it will take a long time before it’s gone, if ever.  What little soul I have left may belong to me, but it’s a little battered and reduced after belonging to the darkness for so long.”

Henry had a feeling that ‘a little battered’ was a huge understatement, but he didn’t comment.  Instead, he glanced at Regina, who still seemed to be waiting for an answer.  After a moment, Rumplestiltskin continued:

“As for the rest…do you recall how the Cherbourg went after Emma instead of you?”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes.  “It was something ridiculous about the ‘greatest potential for darkness’.”

“Merlin’s power was drawn in the same way, save for it was looking for the opposite potential, I think,” Rumplestiltskin explained, making Henry and Regina both look at him in confusion.  Did he mean the greatest potential for _light_?  Before Henry could ask, his grandfather said: “You’re wondering why it wasn’t you?”

Regina grimaced, and Robin laid a hand on her shoulder.  “Maybe.”

“Potential is defined as the possibility of becoming something, dear,” he said mildly.  “You reached your potential for darkness long ago, which was why the Cherbourg went looking elsewhere for lunch.  Now, however, you are in the midst of realizing your potential for light.”  A strained smile.  “You’ve come a long way.  I, however, have not.”

“But you killed yourself to save everyone from Pan,” Henry objected.  He’d always wondered how the same man who had helped save him in Neverland, and who had killed Pan to save Storybrooke, could come back to life so _differently_.  Henry had suspected that it had something to do with his father’s death, but perhaps being resurrected had something to do with it, too.

“For every one step forward, I took a dozen backwards.  Being the Dark One didn’t help, of course—that much darkness makes doing the right thing extremely difficult—but I’ve always been a man who made wrong choices.  I always chose darkness, because it gave me power.”

“Well, you’ve got _that_ , now,” Regina pointed out, and did Rumplestiltskin look uncomfortable as he shrugged?

“I suppose I do.”

Suddenly, he blinked again, and Henry had to catch him before he toppled right off the bed.  “Grandpa?”

“I’m all right,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.  “It’s just…an adjustment.”

“What is?” Henry asked curiously.

“Merlin was what we call an original power,” was the soft and slightly uneven explanation.  “A human body wrapped around a core of magic.  That’s why I think the power needed someone familiar with magic, else the transition would probably have killed whomever it chose.”

“It looks uncomfortable,” he said quietly.

Rumplestiltskin only grunted.

“You could just sleep it off,” Robin spoke up for the first time Henry helped his grandfather lie back down.

“Not likely,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.

“I could brew you a sleeping curse,” Regina volunteered with a smile, and Henry twisted to stare at her.

“Mom!” He wasn’t sure if that was funny or not, but his mother shrugged innocently.

“What? Belle could just wake him up when the worst has passed.  She proved that earlier.”

“Very funny, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin rasped, but he did seem to drift off to sleep very quickly—or at least Henry didn’t _think_ he’d passed out.  He looked like he was sleeping, anyway.

A few minutes later, Belle and Hook came out of the front room, and Henry relinquished his seat by the bedside to his grandmother who didn’t want to be called that.  Hopping up, he headed over to explore the back room, tuning out Regina relating their previous conversation to Belle as the other woman held Rumplestiltskin’s hand worriedly.  Henry wanted to tell her that it would all be all right, but this kind of thing wasn’t anywhere in his book.  Still, the fact that Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer now had to be good, didn’t it?  Merlin hadn’t wanted to help Emma, but Henry had a feeling that Rumplestiltskin understood his mother entirely too well.

After a few minutes tinkering with a broken clock, Henry noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.  Someone was out in the alleyway, and were they trying to look through the window inside the back door?  Curiously, Henry pulled the door open, only to find himself face to face with the woman he’d known as Widow Morton.

“Hi,” he said with surprise, and she jumped.

“Oh, hello.”  Blue-green eyes focused on him, and for a moment, Henry felt like they burned straight into his soul before she blinked and smiled.  “Henry, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied.  “What are you doing here?”

Widow Morton—who had always seemed too young to be known by such a moniker, but that was Storybrooke for you—owned a dance studio near the hospital, but Henry hadn’t seen her very often, particularly once the curse had broken.  In fact, he couldn’t remember her ever having been in his book, and he had no idea who she had been back in the Enchanted Forest.  Now she looked a little different than he remembered her looking during the curse; then she’d worn glasses and her dark hair had always been up in a bun, and she’d always been dressed in baggy and frumpy clothes.  Now she was in a severe-looking business suit, with her hair down and wearing heels that looked as tall as Henry’s lunchbox.  Her hair had been black before, but were those streaks of red in it, now?

“I’m sorry.”  There was something odd in her smile, though the words were innocent enough.  “I must have taken a wrong turn.  I was looking for the stairway up to Doctor Hopper’s office.”

“It’s next door,” Henry replied, feeling a little odd but trying to push that aside.  “On the other side of the shop.”

“Thank you, Henry.”  She turned to go, but a voice came from behind Henry before she went three steps.

“ _Queen Guinevere_?”

Twisting around, Henry took in the shocked look on Hook’s face and then looked back at the Widow Morton, who had frozen in place—and then turned to the pirate with a gracious smile.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

“Captain Killian Jones,” Hook said, seeming to come back on balance as Regina and Robin strode up to join them.  “I was but a child during the war, but…I remember seeing your portraits growing up.”

“That’s terribly kind of you,” she smiled.  “I thought Mordred had destroyed them all.”

Somehow, that seemed to strike a nerve, and Henry couldn’t figure out why Hook flinched ever so slightly.  Camelot seemed to be a very unhappy topic for him; even when they’d been there, Hook hadn’t wanted to talk about his past.  Henry knew that the pirate had grown up in Camelot, but every time he asked questions, Hook changed the subject.  Yet this was Queen _Guinevere?_ Arthur’s queen?  That was beyond exciting—but how had she come over with the first curse?  Perhaps she’d run away when Mordred won the war?  Henry had so many questions, but it was Hook who answered quietly:

“Nearly.”

“Nearly,” Guinevere mused with a small half-smile that practically screamed ‘mystery’.  “Jones…I don’t know the name, but you look terribly familiar.  Did I know your father?”

_That_ blow struck home, and Hook jerked as if she’d actually struck him.  “Of course not.”

Even Henry could see that was a lie, but Guinevere either couldn’t tell or chose not to call him on it.

“Pity,” she said softly, her gaze shifting to look Hook up and down.  “I might have liked him.”

She didn’t look old enough to have been queen when Hook was a child, Henry realized.  Even though the curse had stopped people from aging at a normal rate, she still looked too young.  Yet Hook seemed certain.  Was there some sort of magic at play here?  _And why did she get named ‘Widow Morton’?_ Henry wondered.  _The curse always chose names for a reason.  She can be a widow because Arthur is dead, but I have to look up what ‘Morton’ means._   Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.  _Arthur is dead.  Le Morte d’Arthur?_ Terribly curious, he opened his mouth to ask—

“Emma, no!”

* * *

 

Belle’s cry made Rumplestiltskin’s eyes snap open; he’d been sleeping too deeply to notice the conversation happening around the back door, but when Belle’s hand was yanked from his and she yelped Emma’s name, he jerked into wakefulness, magic within him roaring to life.  He was on his feet in an instant—marveling at the lack of pain in his right leg, which Merlin had fixed—but Rumplestiltskin stayed the spells that his instincts had brought to the surface.  Merlin’s nagging voice protested against ever giving the Dark One the upper hand, but Emma had Belle by the back of the neck, her left hand hovering threatening over Belle’s heart.

“You don’t want to do that, dear,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, forcibly ignoring Merlin’s advice and watching the magic in the room build.  Regina had turned, too, her defenses flying up, but neither of them moved.  He wasn’t fool enough to think that Regina was worried for Belle—not after the stunt she’d pulled with Belle’s heart—but Regina played on Team Hero, now, which meant she’d usually try to defend people.

“Don’t I?” Emma said softly, and he could _feel_ the darkness burning in her eyes.  “You’re Merlin.  Don’t pretend you care about her.  I can tell that you’re lying.”

“Lying about what, exactly?”  He was fairly sure he could stop her, but Rumplestiltskin needed to drop a few spells into place, first.  So, he played for time, building a net of magic that even the Dark One couldn’t detect, operating on a level of magic that he hadn’t been certain _existed_ until an hour before. 

“You’re not Rumplestiltskin,” Emma spat.  “You’re the Sorcerer.”

“I’m afraid that the two are one and the same, now,” he replied, tying eight threads, then ten, then fifteen into place.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to trap Emma; no, she would have spotted that.

“They can’t be.  No former Dark One could ever become _him_.”

He could see the rage and the fear in her eyes—but was that loneliness, too?  Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin thought he understood.  Emma had come to him for help, had come to him to be someone who would not judge her and would understand.  Instead, now she thought she was faced by a man who had said—to her face!—that the only way to destroy the darkness was to destroy her, too.  _Not very politic, are we?_ he asked the annoyingly smug presence inside him.

Merlin was fading slowly, but the pompous enchanter was still existent enough to reply: _I only said what must be done.  To destroy the darkness—_

Yeah, Rumplestiltskin had already gotten that memo, and he was already looking for a loophole.  For now, however, he had to make sure that his successor didn’t harm his wife.

“I didn’t,” he said honestly.  “I’m not Merlin, Emma, and he doesn’t control me—”

“Prove it,” she cut him off, just as Rumplestiltskin slid the last thread of magic into place.

He flicked his fingers, and suddenly he was standing in Belle’s place and she in his, only Rumplestiltskin was facing Emma, their bodies only a few inches apart.  Immediately, the Dark One started to skitter back, dark purple power filling her hands in an attack, but Rumplestiltskin battered Emma’s spells down with the overwhelming force of his magic.  He over calculated as he caught her arm, and power exploded around both of them like a shockwave, _thrumming_ through the air and bursting outwards like a crater.  Tools and antiques shattered, rubble lining the floor of the shop, leaving an eerily empty area surrounding the Dark One and the Sorcerer.  The over-use of magic made Rumplestiltskin and Emma both jump; he hadn’t meant to let so much power out, but controlling it seemed impossible at the moment.

Emma tried to jerk away from him, but Rumplestiltskin found magic challenging into his hands, making his grip on her arm strong enough that even the Dark One could not pull away.  She snarled, the sound a soft sneer of fury, but their eyes locked and Rumplestiltskin held her gaze.

“If you ever threaten my wife again,” he said softly, “you and I are going to have a lot more than _words_ , dear.”

Rumplestiltskin could feel his rage building, and dark magic gathering with it.  The feeling wasn’t the same as it had been when he had been the Dark One; then, the rage had fed the darkness and the darkness had answered with _glorious_ power.  Now, however, the power was different.  It responded to his emotions, yes, but this wasn’t just darkness.  No, this was darkness and light in equal measure, love entwined with worry and rage, all sweeping around Rumplestiltskin and Emma like a semi-transparent tornado.

“Words?” she mocked him, and he could hear the imp coming out full-force.  “Is that all you have, old man?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, and magic lashed out before he could catch it, smashing into the shelves on the wall behind Emma and tearing them to pieces.  The merchandise that wasn’t immediately destroyed cascaded to the floor, making Hook and Robin jump away, but Rumplestiltskin’s wild magic still wasn’t finished.  Even as he frantically reached for thoughts and emotions to calm it, power ricocheted off the wall and rocketed towards the one behind Rumplestiltskin, narrowly missing Regina and burning a hole through to the alley outside. 

Then, _finally_ , Rumplestiltskin managed to calm the magical storm brewing inside him, shoving it down, bottling it up, and belatedly realizing that the power at his fingertips was unlike anything he’d ever dealt with before.  As the Dark One, he’d had a nearly bottomless well of power at his fingertips, one he rarely dug deeply into, instead preferring a finer touch.  But now— _now_ —he felt like he was staring into a vast ocean of power, one that he barely could wrap his mind around.  Every bit of magic he used seemed two or three times more powerful than Rumplestiltskin had intended it to, and that was more than unsettling for a man who had been incredibly powerful before.  _Until I had no magic at all, anyway,_ he thought, coming down out of the fury over Emma threatening Belle.  _Maybe that has something to do with my lack of control, now._

Emma, meanwhile, seemed to be the only one in the shop who _wasn’t_ alarmed by his display.  She just cocked her head curiously, a strange smile playing over her lips: “Temper, temper…” she drawled.

His head was starting to spin again; the power might obey him—if wildly—but Rumplestiltskin’s body still wasn’t up to hosting it.  “As I said,” Rumplestiltskin replied as levelly as he could.  “Don’t tempt me.  I’m no Merlin, and I know what you are.  I’ve been there.  Don’t lose control of yourself, and _don’t_ let that darkness goad you into doing anything you know better than.  You start letting that happen, and you’ll never stop.”

Uncertainty stole across her expression, and suddenly, Rumplestiltskin was looking at Emma Swan, and not the Dark One.  “I don’t know how to stop it,” she whispered.  “Do I…do I give someone the dagger?”

“No.”  Just hearing her ask that question—brokenly and yet so determined to do the right thing—made his throat tight.  “Not if you ever want to own your own soul again.  You have to learn how to stop yourself.”

Giving the dagger away was the easy answer.  He’d tried that with Belle, but by then the darkness had its claws in too deep and Rumplestiltskin had already lost the battle for his soul.  His heart was too dark, brought there by a combination of his own misdeeds, being resurrected, and then being controlled for too long, and he had lied to her time and again, abusing her trust and stealing the dagger back.  Could it work for Emma?  Perhaps.  But even Belle had given in to the temptation to use the dagger, and he suspected that Hook or Emma’s parents would be no better.  _They’d have the best of intentions, but…_ If Emma was ever going to come out of this on the other side as herself, she needed to cling to that with all of her soul, not have someone else do it for her.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Emma laughed bitterly.

“I did it for centuries,” he reminded her, grimacing.  His stomach felt ready to fold in on itself, and his body was alternating between too hot and freezing cold.  “You can as well.  Now—”

“We’ll help you, Emma,” a voice came from his left, and Rumplestiltskin and Emma both turned to see her parents watching from the doorway that led to the front of the shop.  Belatedly, Rumplestiltskin realized that they’d been there from almost the beginning, and wasn’t that just beautiful?

Emma’s feelings clearly matched his, because her lost expression turned hard.  “I didn’t ask for your help,” she snapped.

“We’re your parents,” David said.  “We’ll be here for you regardless—”

“Just like you were when I was growing up,” the Dark One cut him off, jerking her arm free of Rumplestiltskin’s grasp.  “Right.  I keep forgetting how you’ve _always_ been there for me.”

“Emma—”

“Forget it,” she snarled, and Rumplestiltskin’s senses filled with dark magic as she disappeared in a swirl of black smoke. 

_You should have stopped her,_ Merlin’s voice said, and just hearing it increased his headache tenfold.  _You’re the only one who can._

“What was that about?” Snow asked him, looking around the back room with wide eyes.  Rumplestiltskin took a moment to follow her gaze, blinking dizzily.  _I’ve just destroyed half of my own shop._   _Damn._

“Which part?” he asked, swaying slightly as Belle came to his side.

“Emma,” Snow said pointedly.  “What did you do to her?”

Of course it was his fault.  Of course he was still the villain of the piece.  Rumplestiltskin supposed he should not be surprised; these people had spent their lives assuming he would be in the wrong.  Once, that might have made him angry, but now it just made him feel tired.

“Nothing,” Rumplestiltskin replied, leaning more heavily on Belle than he wanted to the moment she took his arm.  “She was under the mistaken impression that I was Merlin…again.”

The last word came out wryly as Rumplestiltskin tried to blink the dizziness away, but that just made his head spin harder.  Wordlessly, Belle slipped an arm around his waist, and he fought to stop himself from melting into her.

“Why aren’t you?” Snow, as always, was as blunt as a battering ram.  “We needed Merlin’s help.  What did you do?”

“How can you ask that?” Belle cut in before Rumplestiltskin could answer.  It was probably a good thing that she did, because magic was beginning to crackle within him once more, his core growing ever warmer, feeling like embers burning towards a raging fire.  “Rumplestiltskin stopped the power that attacked you—and others—and he almost sacrificed his life doing it.  How can you ask such a thing?”

To give Snow credit, she started looking guilty before Belle even finished speaking.  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “I just…the Apprentice said that Merlin was the only one who could defeat the darkness.”

“Don’t give Merlin too much credit,” Regina spoke up.  “You missed him saying that the only way to destroy the darkness was to destroy the host.  He didn’t look too eager to _help_ Emma.  He just seemed to want her dead.”

 “But…” Snow blinked.  “Then how are we going to help Emma?”

“Ask the new Sorcerer,” Regina said helpfully, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t quite dizzy enough to miss the rude gesture she directed his way.

“The new…?” Snow trailed off.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin breathed before anyone could start another barrage of questions.  “Once…once the power is done settling in, anyway.”

“Yeah, you might want to learn to control that,” Regina said sarcastically, but he was too drained to even glare at her.

Rumplestiltskin scowled.  “Thanks for the advice.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Look, we can talk about this later,” Belle took control of the conversation as he sagged, magic racing through him and making _everything_ hurt.  Was he shaking?  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t tell.  Belle seemed to notice he was fading and helped him back over to the cot, where he sat down heavily.  “Right now, Rumplestiltskin needs to rest.  Regina, would you bring the rest of those books by when you have time?  We might need them.”

“It’s not like I can open them, so sure.  Why not?” was the dry response, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t notice as the others filed out, until Henry stopped to speak to him.

“You can be a hero, now, Grandpa,” the lad said, sounding so happy about it that Rumplestiltskin didn’t have the heart to say something sarcastic.

“I’m no hero, Henry,” he said softly.  “I’ll settle for just trying to be…a better man.”

“That’s how it starts,” Henry replied brightly, and his smile was huge.  “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and the boy finally followed his adopted mother out.  Then he finally let himself collapse into Belle, his eyes sliding shut and Merlin’s voice echoing in his mind:

_You’re going to have to get the dagger away from her, you know.  There’s no other way._

* * *

 

Shaken and more than a little angry, Emma headed home after her encounter with Rumplestiltskin.  She was fairly sure that he wasn’t lying, though that upset her more than she could express.  But Merlin would never have gone off the handle like that when Belle was in danger, which was why Emma had chosen to threaten the librarian.  It had been the fastest way to figure out who was _really_ in control of Rumplestiltskin’s body, and she didn’t regret doing so.  She just wasn’t sure why she was so _angry_ over the fact that Rumplestiltskin was now apparently the Sorcerer.

Part of her wondered if that was because she had been supposed to be the good one.  She’d been the Savior, the one who everyone turned to when they needed light magic and someone to do the right thing.  Now there was a Sorcerer in town, someone immensely powerful and it wasn’t even the legendary Merlin.  No, it was the man who had lost control of the darkness and left her to pick up the pieces.  Rumplestiltskin got that power like it was some sort of reward, and that didn’t sit well with the Savior side of her _or_ the Dark One side of her.  _It’s not that, though,_ Emma thought dejectedly, throwing herself down on her black leather couch.  _He was supposed to understand._

She’d gone to Rumplestiltskin for help because he had been the Dark One.  He’d been trustworthy because he was the only one who understood what was going on inside her, the only one who understood what it was like to be so thoroughly surrounded by darkness that you could no longer identify which bits of your soul were _yours_ and which tended towards evil.  But now _he_ was corrupted by something else, by a power that the darkness inside her raged against instinctively.  The Dark One and the Sorcerer were _meant_ to be opposed; she knew that as well as she knew her own name.  And that meant he wouldn’t help her.  He’d be like Merlin, and would want to destroy her, even if he claimed differently.

Emma must have spent an hour stewing before Killian showed up, but the moment she felt his presence at the door, she waved a hand to open it before he could even knock.  Unsettled though she was, however, Emma didn’t rush into his arms like she wanted to.  Her lover had proven untrustworthy, too, and the darkness inside her desperately wanted to make him suffer for it.  _Make him beg for forgiveness,_ the darkness whispered.  _Make him crawl on his knees to you and grovel_.  Indignantly, Emma pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present.  She loved Killian.  Angry though she might be, she would not hurt him.

“I wondered how long it would take you to show up,” she said, pointedly not rising from the couch and watching him darkly.

“There were many questions to answer after you left, love,” Killian replied, coming over as if he meant to sit beside her, but Emma stood before he could, taking a step away from him.

Hurt flashed through his eyes, and she felt a vicious pleasure roll through her.  Emma stepped on the feeling as hard as she could, but still asked sharply: “And how do you know ‘Queen Guinevere’?” she demanded.  “You never told me you were from Camelot!”

That made him blink.  “You never asked.”

“Never _asked_?” Emma hissed.  “You took _my son_ there!  You were from the place where this all began, and you never bothered to tell me.”

“Emma—” He reached for her, but she jerked away.

“No,” she said flatly.  “You’re going to tell me the truth.”

“Whatever you want to know.  Emma, I promise that I’ve never lied to you,” Killian replied, sounding desperate.   “You never cared about the past before, and Camelot is a place that I try very hard not to think about.  I never went back after my brother died, not until Henry and I went to try to find help for you.”

“Yes, and you brought back someone who wanted to destroy me.  Your idea of _help_ needs a little work.”

He flinched again, and part of Emma felt guilty.  The anger rolling through her wasn’t all her own, was it?  She had to get a handle on this.  Taking a deep breath, she added:

“I know you were trying to help,” she said more softly.  “I just wish you’d talked to me first.”

“You were rather hard to find at the time, love.”

That made her smile wryly.  “I suppose I was.”  Another deep breath helped quell her rage—or the darkness’—a little.  “Tell me everything.  Did your father really abandon you when you were a boy, or was that just a story to make us seem more alike?”

“No, he left when I was five.  My brother and I had accompanied him on a trip just as the war broke out, and he abandoned us on board the ship,” Killian told her, looking away with what seemed to be real pain.  “Our mother died a few years later, after we went into hiding.”

“Why did you have to go into hiding?”

He grimaced.  “Mordred wanted my father dead, and the rest of us with him.  My mother never would say why.”

“Tell me about your family,” Emma whispered, intrigued and stepping in closer.  Killian was being truthful with her, now; she had been a fool to mistrust him.  That was the darkness, of course.  It was paranoid and disliked love; Emma would have to find a way to overcome that so that she never hurt Killian the way Gold had hurt Belle.  So, now she stepped forward and placed her hands on Killian’s chest, looking in his eyes and smiling as gently as she could.

“My father was a knight…”

* * *

 

Belle wasn’t sure what to make of Rumplestiltskin.  He’d displayed an enormous amount of magic when Emma had threatened to rip her heart out, but now her husband seemed as weak as a kitten, leaning on her and shivering.  He seemed cold, so Belle wrapped a blanket around him and held him tightly, stroking his hair as he sweated and shook.  One moment he would seem to be burning with a fever and the next he was freezing; Belle could feel an echo of _something_ rolling through him.  Her best guess was that this was his body trying to adapt to the magic, like Regina had speculated earlier, so Belle just hold him and tried to help Rumplestiltskin weather the storm as best she could.

Nearly an hour passed before he said anything or even responded to her voice, and by then his shaking had at least slowed.  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was a scratchy whisper, and he still sounded a little dizzy: “Sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Lately, you keep having to take care of me,” he said, straightening with a grimace. 

Belle smiled.  “I don’t mind.”

“Even now that I have magic again?” was the immediate response, and Belle didn’t miss the flash of panic in his eyes.

“Of course not.  Rumple, are you _worried_ about that?” she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek.  Belle had always been good at reading Rumplestiltskin, and now she could see that he was downright terrified.  Hadn’t they talked about this?  Oh, she had hoped that his low self-esteem was at least in part due to the darkness that used to inhabit him, but Rumplestiltskin’s self-confidence still seemed almost non-existent.  Belle leaned in close, looking him right in the eyes as she continued: “I almost lost you, and you’re worried that I don’t like you having magic?  I am so proud of you for going out there—and for fighting for us.”

He looked away.  “I couldn’t even do that without help.”

“Rumple.”

“I just…I don’t know what I am, now, sweetheart.  I thought I was growing used to being powerless, to being…normal.  And now this,” he said softly.  “I don’t know what to do with it, or how to be the ‘Sorcerer’.  Everyone’s looking at me to do things, and I’m just trying to ignore Merlin prattling on in my head.”

“He’s in your _head_?” Belle echoed, and Rumplestiltskin snorted, sounding a little punch drunk.

“I don’t think he appreciated being displaced.”

“But…but is that like the darkness?  Something trying to possess you?” she worried, her heart jumping into her throat.  Rumple had been free of the darkness for so short of a time.  Was he now possessed by something _else_ , simply because he’d tried to save everyone from that destructive golden cloud of power?

“No, no, it’s not the same,” her husband replied quickly, and Belle wanted so badly to take that at face value.  But could he tell her the truth, or was _Merlin_ like the darkness, corrupting even his internal thoughts?  “It’s…I can hear him, but I can ignore him. More or less.  I expect he’ll fade with time.”

“Are you sure?  Really sure?” Belle whispered.

He nodded, looking away again as if he was ashamed.  “It might be easier if this power was something seeking to control me.  But…it isn’t.  Now, it’s just me, and I don’t—I don’t know if I know how to deal with that.  With the responsibility.  I’m the _Sorcerer_ , Belle.”

“I’ll help,” Belle promised, pulling him in to her arms again.  She feared he might pull away—Rumple was touchy when he went on his self-loathing kicks—but instead he melted into her, burying his face into her shoulder.  He still felt both hot and cold, still seemed uncomfortable and shaky, but she just held him tightly as Rumplestiltskin’s arms snaked around her waist in return. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Belle could feel him calming down as the minutes ticked by. 

While Rumplestiltskin got a grip on himself—and on the magic she could still see flirting through the air from time to time, she took a moment to look around the back room of the shop.  It really did look like a giant crater had formed in middle of the room; the power Rumplestiltskin had turned on Emma had actually dug into the floor a little bit, and the empty circle where they’d stood was surrounded by broken bits of shelving, antiques, and who-knew-what.  The hole in the wall above the bed was about the size and shape of a coffee table book, and it went straight through to the alley outside, allowing the setting sun to stream in, bathing the room in dark reds and oranges.  The alleyway was empty, now—Widow Morton, or Guinevere, had disappeared shortly after Emma showed up—but Belle could still hear cars out on Main Street every now and then.

They’d have to get that fixed, but with the way Rumplestiltskin’s magic seemed to be unpredictable, it was probably better to call Dove in to do the job than for him to try to fix it.  Checking a sigh, Belle turned her head to inspect the rest of the disaster.  A few shelves off in the far right corner seemed untouched, but nearly everything else had at least been knocked over.  The back of the shop had never been the most organized of places—even though Rumple always claimed he knew _exactly_ where everything was—but now boxes were overturned, books were scattered across the floor, and—

“Oh, no,” she breathed, noticing the fight’s latest victim.  “Your wheel.”

That made Rumplestiltskin look up, but when he looked at the broken spinning wheel, the mix of emotions that crossed his face was not the worry or sadness Belle expected.  “It’s no matter,” he said softly, glancing away as he sat up, straightening his suit.

“No matter?  Rumple, I know how important spinning is to you.”

“It isn’t,” her husband answered shortly, and before Belle could realize he was moving, he’d pulled away from her and stood. 

Rising, Belle couldn’t keep the confusion out of her voice.  “What?”

“I don’t spin anymore.”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice was flat, almost dead, and it took Belle a moment to realize that she _hadn’t_ seen him spin since…since they’d freed him from Zelena.  Since he’d come back to life?  _No, that’s wrong,_ she realized.  _There was a wheel in his cage.  There was golden straw on the floor.  Didn’t she have him spin a golden brain for her?_

“You can’t spin without thinking of her, can you?” she whispered, reaching out for his hands.  Fortunately, he didn’t pull away.

“No,” he whispered.  She always—she always—I don’t want to think about what she did.”

“Oh, Rumple.”  Belle just reached out and pulled him close, holding him tightly for a long moment while he shook.  No one else in the town ever thought about the damage Zelena had done to him, did they?  They just assumed it was fine, and they’d locked that witch away in the asylum like she’d only ever hurt Robin and Regina.  To be fair, Zelena’s vindictiveness had certainly not been limited to Rumplestiltskin, and she’d raped Robin as surely as she ever had Rumple, but part of Belle still burned over the indignity of it all.

Still, her husband was far more important to her than what anyone else thought, so she drew him away from the magically-caused carnage gently.  “Let’s get you home.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded wordlessly, and they headed out to the car together.  The Cadillac was miraculously intact, despite the spell that had gone straight through the shop wall and burned a deep mark into the wall on the other side of the alleyway, and they drove home in companionable silence.  Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin would need time to get used to being the Sorcerer, but he _had_ fought back when Merlin tried to take over.  He had fought for her, and she’d fight for him, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Widow Morton is revealed to be Queen Guinevere—but is she only Guinevere? And why would she want to find the Heart of the Truest Believer? And perhaps even more importantly, how will the fact that Hook is continuing to hide his past (now from everyone except Emma), impact our heroes? 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifteen—“Ride the Tide”, in which Arthur’s funeral bier appears in Storybrooke, Henry tries to connect with Emma, David and Hook meet Mordred, and Rumplestiltskin has a chat with Merlin.


	15. Ride the Tide

If magical worlds formed a wheel, the Enchanted Forest had once been the hub.  Two curses, however, had transitioned that central position to a town known as Storybrooke, and the barriers between that town and other realms was becoming increasingly easy.  Although Storybrooke was technically a part of the Land Without Magic, day by day it grew increasingly close to the Enchanted Forest, and the other worlds which had once been within reach of the old world were slowly entering the sphere of the new.  Once, travelers from lands such as Arendelle, Agrabah, and Camelot had been able to reach the Enchanted Forest, or Misthaven as it was sometimes known, by non-magical means…and now the barriers between Storybrooke and those realms were growing just as thin.

That was how a funeral bier came to float up on the shores of Storybrooke just nine days after Emma Swan took on the mantle of the Dark One.  Slowly and erratically, the boat found the shore, moving silently over the waves just as dawn broke over the sleeping Maine town.  The hull of the barge was made of shiny black wood, glossy and spotless, draped in black cloth from stem to stern.  Its upper edge was ringed in gold leaf, ringed with a looping blue script.  The boat was empty save for the bier upon which Arthur lay, dressed in the same battle armor he had worn during his last battle with his bastard son, Mordred.  The king’s hands were folded over a great broadsword, silver in color save for a brilliant red stone in the pommel.  He was alone, now, no longer accompanied by the queen spoken of in legend, and he did not move when the boat landed on the beach with a quiet _thump_.

Had anyone been there to see the script on the edge of the boat, it would have read:

_From the island-valley of Avalon, where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly; cometh the King, healed of grievous wounds.  Sleep shall claim him until a Queen awakes him, a sleep like death as his sister-queen bequeathed to him._

* * *

 

Henry returned to the book of prophecies that morning, hoping there might be something else useful in there.  He’d been a little hesitant when he brought Morgan le Fae’s Book of Prophecy to his mother’s house, but Henry _knew_ that Emma needed to stay in the loop.  If she stayed by herself, stayed lonely and aloof, she would find coming back from the darkness—and fighting it!—even harder.  The problem, of course, was convincing her of that.

“You’re not going to find some prophecy to save me, Henry,” she said impatiently, and Henry gave her a look.

“You don’t know that,” he retorted.  “There might be something in here about how to beat the darkness.”

“I don’t need—”

“Mom, I know you’re the best one to hold it for now,” Henry cut her off.  He’d read in his book about how his dad had handled his _own_ father as the Dark One, and he remembered what Grandpa Gold had said.  Even if he didn’t always think she was right, Emma needed to feel like Henry loved her and was on her side.  So…he would fudge the truth a little bit, hoping that would get Emma to go along with his ideas.  “You’re the Savior—or you were, anyway,” he added when she snorted.  “Anyway, you didn’t have darkness of your own, so at least it’ll take longer to consume you than it would anyone else.  But eventually, you’re going to want to get rid of it.”

Henry felt a little guilty for speaking so callously, but he didn’t think Emma would notice the difference.  And besides, he knew a little about manipulation, and in order to get Emma to play along, he had to speak to the _darkness_ , and not just to her.

“I can control it,” Emma said, but the words sounded automatic.

“Until it tries to destroy your ability to love and eats your soul, yeah.”

That earned him a glare.  “Then you can help me find the Hat.  _That_ would be useful.  If I use it, then I’m free, and the darkness can’t control me.”

“I don’t know where it is,” Henry replied honestly, not wanting to think about who Emma might be willing to suck into the Hat to power it.  “And besides, Grandpa Gold said that the Hat might not—”

“Rumplestiltskin is now the Sorcerer.  You can’t believe a word he says,” she snarled, and seeing the sudden fury in her face made Henry gulp.

“Sure,” he said quickly.  “So…in the meantime, you want to help me look at the Book of Prophecy?”

“Not really.”

Sighing, Henry flipped open to a random page—the prophecies seemed to move around, anyway, without any rhyme or reason to what was on which page each day—and started reading.  The first one he noticed he’d read before; it was a long one about a sleeping king.  But then he noticed a part he’d never seen before.

“Do you know if any of the kings were under sleeping curses in Isaac’s world?” he asked Emma curiously.

“None that I know of.”  She seemed curious despite herself.  “Why?”

“This prophecy talks about how the wakening of the Sleeping King will herald the beginning of the Final Battle.  It’s like it’s the second half of the Prophecy of the Sleeping King.  But isn’t the Final Battle what Grand—Rumplestiltskin—said would come after you came to Storybrooke?  It was in my other Book.”

“You’d have to ask my parents, kid.  I wasn’t born yet,” Emma pointed out, and Henry made a mental note to do so even as his eyes kept skimming the page.

“Look!  Here’s one that might help.  It’s in a different handwriting from almost everything else, but it says that a son of Morgan—or at least I think that’s the name, it’s kind of hard to read—will do something to the Darkness.  I can’t make that part out, either.  The ink is blotted.”

Emma sighed and leaned back on the couch.  “Again, not terribly useful.”

“Here’s one about the Black Fairy,” he said, continuing reading. 

“Not interested.”  Emma got to her feet and paced towards the window, but Henry’s eyes raced over the page.

_…only one of Arthur’s line will turn the power of the Original Fae back to its purpose.  The Foundation Wars shall be overturned, and the power of the Black Fae shall come to rest in a human of pure heart._

“Let’s go for a walk,” Emma said abruptly, just as Henry read over the Prophecy of the Heartless King again.  _A king will rise to unite humanity in the face of the greatest darkness, one born of humble origins and who will rise above his own heart being crushed.  Heroes will rise and heroes will fall, but the Heartless King will unite them to fight the darkness…_

“Why?” Henry asked curiously.

“I’m restless.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, figuring that if Emma wanted to take him along, at least that meant she wasn’t tormenting the poor cat.  Bandit _really_ hated his mom, and Henry was starting to feel really bad for him.  But the one time he’d suggested that he bring Bandit home with him, Emma had flipped out about how Henry still called Regina’s house ‘home’, and how he should stay with her where he would be safe.  So, he didn’t touch that subject anymore.

Besides, he could bring the book along to wherever they were going.

* * *

 

Hook looked torn between worry and heartbreak, and David knew exactly how he felt.  They’d headed down to the docks together because it was a good place to talk without being overheard, and Snow had slept in a little that morning while David was restless.  He’d run into Killian at Granny’s, and the two had headed out here without needing to exchange a word.

“I don’t know how to help her,” the pirate admitted quietly, and David tried not to sigh too loudly.

“At least she wants to see you,” he replied.  “Every time Snow and I see her, we just seem to make things worse.”

“She’ll come around.  She loves you both—she just has a hard time expressing it.  Emma always has.”

David grimaced.  “And being the Dark One only makes things worse,” he agreed.  “Snow…Snow keeps hoping that Emma will just ‘snap out of it’, that her innate goodness is so strong that she will overcome the darkness.  But I think she might be wrong, and that…that terrifies me.”

“Aye.  I know how you feel.”  Did Killian shiver?  It was hard to tell.

“I know this isn’t her,” David said softly.  “I know this is the darkness working on her mind, that it’s overwriting the best parts of her and leaving us with someone who doesn’t always care when she hurts others, but watching this happen to my daughter is so damn _hard_.”

He hadn’t meant to admit those words out loud, but if he couldn’t tell them to the man who loved Emma, who could he tell?  Snow didn’t want to hear it.  Much though David loved his wife, he felt she was being overly optimistic where Emma was concerned.  Snow kept _hoping_ , kept _believing_ , but sooner or later, they would simply have to act.  Snow was determined not to lose Emma to the darkness, but David was beginning to suspect that they already had.  _We can bring her back,_ he told himself firmly.  _But we can’t do that by ignoring what she is now._

“I knew it would be bad.”  Killian’s voice was just as soft.  “But I never imagined—damn it all, I’m not going to lose her to this, but I don’t know how to help her.  Merlin was supposed to be the bloody answer!”

“Yeah, well, I think the Apprentice was a little less than honest with _all_ of us,” he grumbled, nodding dejectedly.  “He—”

“He has a habit of that,” a new voice interjected from their right, making both men whirl.

At David’s side, Killian froze, his eyes going wide, but David just sized the newcomer up. He was a slender man, shorter than both the prince and the pirate, with black hair and brown eyes.  His hair was an artful mess of short curls, and he was clothed in one of the nicest suits David had ever seen, but the manner in which he wore it indicated that the clothing was new to him.  Still, it was a beautiful black suit, complete with a bright red shirt and a darker red tie and pocket square, cut perfectly to fit.  _What, did this guy find Gold’s tailor or something?_ David wondered as the other continued:

“As did Merlin, of course.  They both always tried to tell you how _right_ they were, but they tended to leave out pesky yet important details.”

“I’m sorry, do we know you?” David asked, glancing over at Killian, who still looked shocked.

“No, of course not.  My apologies.”  The stranger stepped forward, extending one elegant hand.  “I’m Mordred of Camelot.”

“Welcome to Storybrooke,” he replied, taking the hand and wondering if half the tales one always heard about Mordred were true.  David remembered hearing stories about this man as a child, remembering listening to his mother tell of the fall of Camelot, but David knew a thing or two about how stories could be warped over time.  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get here?  And when?”

“Recently, of course,” was the easy answer. 

“You’re the Sorcerer in the Forest,” Killian spoke up finally, his voice rough and sounding a little angry.

“I’ve never been one for inns,” Mordred confirmed with a smile.  “And I came through the doorway, as you’ve undoubtedly guessed—shortly after Merlin’s mess of power arrived.  I’m glad to see that’s been dealt with, though I pity the poor bastard who now has the Old Enchanter trying to consume his soul.”

“You knew Merlin,” David said before he could stop himself.

“I did.  He and my mother were…friends,” was the hesitant answer.  “I was young when he created the Dark One, but I remember it well.  That was one of the issues that brought about the War of the Dragons.”

“The what?”

“The war that destroyed Camelot,” Killian provided, and David threw another glance his way.  Clearly, there was something going on with Emma’s lover, but before he could ask, Mordred spoke up again:

“I saw what happened when Merlin surfaced.  He refused to help your…daughter, is she?  The new Dark One?”

“Yes.  Her name is Emma.  She took the darkness on to save everyone, not because she wants power,” he said quickly, and watched Mordred nod.  Unlike Merlin, this newcomer wasn’t dismissing the idea out of hand, and David felt an odd sort of hope upon seeing that.  _Maybe the stories are wrong.  If Mordred was opposing Merlin…_

“I’ve heard.”  Mordred’s dark eyes flicked between the pair of them.  “I assume, then, that you want to help her, not control her?”

Killian looked offended.  “Of course we do!” 

“Then we are all fortunate,” Mordred smiled.  “I have made it my life’s work to defeat the darkness, to undo the utter _injustice_ of binding it to an undeserving human soul.  I know how to separate your Emma from the darkness—whether she wants it or not.  I simply need your help.”

* * *

 

A night’s sleep helped center Rumplestiltskin, though he was haunted by memories and dreams he was quite certain were not his own.  Despite that, he woke earlier than Belle did, and after dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he headed down the stairs to sit in the living room.  He’d slept later than usual thanks to the dreams, but Belle had never been an early riser unless there was something exciting planned for the morning, and they’d already agreed to both stay home today.  Dove was heading over to see if he could repair the damage Rumplestiltskin’s out-of-control magic had done to the shop, but Rumplestiltskin’s first order of business had to be to understand the power he now possessed.

Quickly, he found one of the oldest books on magic he possessed, one he hadn’t read in years.  _Elemental Powers_ covered the foundations of magic and should contain enough information to jog his memory.  If not, Rumplestiltskin would dig out An Abridged Historie of the Formation of Magic by the long-winded and vague Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis, but the first book had been penned by the Lady of the Lake herself, so Rumplestiltskin preferred to trust the word of a woman who had been an original power herself rather than that of a former Author.

The first passage jumped right out at him:

_Although the original faeries refuse to divulge their origins, understanding the genesis of the four original human powers is simple.  Each of the four was born of the union between a human woman and an incubus—the elemental powers themselves, forces beyond human or faerie comprehension, without faces or voices.  Yet it seems all four paternal incubi died during the mating process, passing that power down to the human children whom the women later bore._

_It is theorized that any original power may pass down their elemental magic in such a fashion, though that has never been proven.  Rumor indicates that Circe’s power escaped her death, only to be trapped within the Great Sapphire, but the jewel disappeared.  Regardless, the rise of the four original human powers left the two faeries with human equals, a development neither appreciated.  Medea was slain in the first of the Foundation Wars, but three humans still outnumbered the ever-opposed Blue and Black Faeries.  Rumor indicated that this imbalance originally led the half-human, half-faerie ‘rebels’ of Lyonesse—who were allied with the Black Faerie—to call forth a Darkness they could not control.  This power was originally intended to be split amongst fourteen sorcerers, but it escaped and unified, creating an elemental darkness none could match._

_Only a union of the five remaining original powers was able to trap this darkness, henceforth known as The Darkness.  There it remained for several centuries, contained throughout the Second and Third Foundation Wars.  Lyonesse had collapsed into the sea, so it was to nearby Orkney that the original powers took the Darkness, burying it in a vault—_

The Vault.  Rumplestiltskin knew the vault, and reading words written by Viviane about it jerked him up short.  He had been there, he knew, banished by the Apprentice to make room for Merlin.  But someone else had—

 _The Vault would have held it for centuries more,_ Merlin’s voice informed him suddenly, cutting off that train of thought.  _Perhaps forever, had a young and heartbroken sorceress not released the darkness in hopes of revenge._

Hearing the regret in the other’s mental voice made Rumplestiltskin pause; this was not the man who had so callously dismissed Emma.  Or was it?  Concentrating for a moment, Rumplestiltskin decided that carrying on a conversation within his own mind might just drive him mad, so he channeled power—so carefully!—though his hands and watched golden smoke swirl around the armchair across from him.  When the smoke cleared, a mostly-corporeal form sat opposite Rumplestiltskin.

He took a moment to study Merlin as he had been: he appeared to be a young man, dark skinned and slender, but with eyes that spoke of age and determination.  This Merlin-form blinked, glancing at his own semi-transparent limbs in surprise, and then looked up at Rumplestiltskin without amusement.  “No one else will be able to see me, you know.”

“I’m aware of that.  I simply wanted to speak aloud instead of having you rattling around inside my skull,” he replied shortly.  _And I feel less mad talking to a magical construct than talking to myself._

“Then what is it that you wish to know?  I see you already have Viviane’s excellent work.  You’re unusually knowledgeable for a Dark One.”

“I would think that your experience with Dark Ones was rather limited,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.

“Hardly.  I _could_ see the worlds as I was, and my Apprentice kept me appraised.”

“Then why return now?” he couldn’t help asking a little snidely.  “Surely, somewhere along the way, you could have found some soulless body to inhabit.”

“It did not matter then,” Merlin shrugged.  “But the Final Battle approaches, and my power will be needed.  _I_ would have been more suited to fight it than you, but you have ensured that I will not be able to do that.”

Well, that was something of a relief.  Rumplestiltskin had been more than a little surprised—and relieved—to wake up as himself that morning, but hearing Merlin admit that he would not be able to take over Rumplestiltskin’s body was definitely  nice.  “I have a family to fight for,” he said, swallowing.

“True Love.”  The former Sorcerer shook his head.  “ _That_ I did not expect.”

A strange mix of emotions crossed Merlin’s face before vanishing entirely, and Rumplestiltskin began to wonder exactly how much of his soul Merlin had lost in the transition.  _Perhaps merely his humanity?  I know better than anyone how having that darkness inside you can blacken your soul, and he didn’t have someone trying to scrub him clean.  Merlin merely managed to eject his soul when his successor killed him._

“How much of your soul did you lose?” he asked bluntly.  “Becoming the Dark One—unexpectedly, I would guess—and then trying to preserve your power ate away at your humanity, didn’t it?”

“Possibly.  It is difficult to tell, as I am,” was the surprisingly forthright answer.  Again, Merlin shrugged.  “I expected to be whole once I took human form once more.  My purpose remains.  My power is now yours.  My memories are intact, though—and”—he cut off abruptly, his features slack—“and they tell me I am not who I was.”

That much was clear.  Rumplestiltskin was not known for his compassion, but Merlin’s aloofness and overwhelming focus on his _purpose_ made Rumplestiltskin look downright heroic.  It was an odd feeling, not being the most detached person in the room, but the longer Rumplestiltskin looked at his predecessor, the easier the cracks were to see.  Even now, Merlin was fading…and he might have died, anyway, even if he _had_ been able to inhabit Rumplestiltskin’s empty body.  _And then there would have been_ no one _to fight the darkness,_ he realized.  Being needed like this was an oddly heady feeling, as exciting as it was terrifying.

“Then tell me what I need to know.  Who trapped the darkness initially, and can it be done again?”

“You’ll need to destroy the host—”

“Just answer the question, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off, and Merlin sighed.

“Trapping it the first time took five of us: myself, Viviane, Circe, and both fairies.  Danns’ and Reul had not spoken in years, but creating the Vault to hold the darkness required all of our strength.  We were the only original powers remaining after Medea’s death, and we were still nearly not enough.  That feat cannot be repeated, even _if_ Reul and Danns’ were to mend their differences and help you.”

“Danns’?” he echoed, not recognizing the name.

“Danns’ a’Bhais.  The Black Fairy.”  An odd combination of affection, fury, and terror crossed Merlin’s face.  “Reul exiled her—again—after the Third War.  While in exile, she is powerless, and she is not likely to help you, anyway.  Even if she would, three would not be enough, not unless you are willing to banish the host as well.”

“Who let it out?”

“The first time?  We never knew.   The second was Morgan.  She was…angry.  With cause.”  This time, Merlin merely looked sad.  “Danns’ and I tried to contain the darkness after that—Viviane and Circe were both dead, and Reul was implacably against her sister—but we could not hold it for long.  When it escaped, the darkness began tearing people and places to pieces.  It leveled entire towns in its fury, albeit small ones.  Something had to be done.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach roll, wondering what he would have done in Merlin’s place.  Would he, faced with an elemental darkness hell bent on destruction, have sacrificed a human soul to trap it?  Now, free of that very same darkness, Rumplestiltskin liked to think he would not have been so callous, but he wasn’t sure.  “So you created the Dark One.”

“Yes.”

Swallowing that took a moment, and Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  Enough history.  He could ask those questions later—or simply dig into Merlin’s memories.  For now, he needed to understand what he was becoming, what this core of magic growing within him could and would do.

“You said I am the Sorcerer, now,” Rumplestiltskin said slowly. 

“As I was, yes.”

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

 

“Are you cold?” Emma asked fretfully, and Henry bit back the urge to groan.  Walking on the beach had been _his_ idea; he hoped it might remind his mom of coming here with Elsa, who had been a good friend for her.  But Emma still seemed distracted and unwilling to talk about the past, no matter how Henry tried to bring it up.

“Nope.  I brought my jacket,” he replied as cheerfully as he could.

They walked in almost-companionable silence for several more moments before Emma spoke up abruptly:

“Did you know about Killian’s family?”

“Not really.  I mean, he told me that he was from Camelot, but aside from talking a little about exploring the old castle with his brother, he didn’t say much,” Henry answered, watching Emma’s face relax.  “I don’t think he wanted to share.”

“I see.”

Why was it that Henry felt like Emma wasn’t saying something?  There was something _different_ about her, something scary, and it wasn’t just because she had a new hobby of tormenting her cat.  Watching her like this made Henry want to run off somewhere and ignore the world until she came back, but he knew that wouldn’t work.  Reacting like a little kid wouldn’t bring his mom back.  He’d have to fight for that, but Henry was going to do his best.

The wind whipped a little higher, then, and Henry thought he tasted something odd in the air.

* * *

 

Grumpy had come by the loft to find David, bearing reports of a strange boat on the beach.  David, however, had still been out, so Snow headed out with him to investigate, dropping Neal off with Ella along the way.  She was trying very hard to trust others with her son, now, even if walking away from him was doubly hard when they had failed Emma so thoroughly.  But Ella would take good care of him, she knew, and Snow needed to _help_.  Even if it was by investigating a boat that shouldn’t have been in Storybrooke, at least that was doing something.  And at least that helped assuage her guilt.  _Finding Merlin was supposed to help Emma,_ she thought sadly.  _But when we found him, he just wanted to destroy her._

Snow wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that Rumplestiltskin now possessed the Sorcerer’s power.  On one hand, he did truly seem different now that he wasn’t the Dark One—and Snow was beginning to see how that darkness could affect someone.  On the other, he was still _Rumplestiltskin_ , the man who had orchestrated so many wrongs and who had always been a great, dark presence in their lives, even when he’d helped them.  No one even _knew_ the names of the previous Dark Ones because he had been the Dark One for so long, and Snow found it hard to trust him.

“Wool-gathering, sister?” Grumpy asked gently, and Snow made herself smile as they headed onto the beach.

“I’m worried for Emma,” she admitted. 

“We all are,” her old friend replied.  “But she seems to be fighting it pretty well so far, right?”

“Of course she is.”  _If only you knew,_ Snow thought brokenly, her stomach a mess of regret and lies.  They were doing the right thing to keep the truth about Granny’s death from people, weren’t they?

“Well, being the Savior has to be good for something, right?” Grumpy smiled, and Snow only felt worse.   Desperately, she glanced down the beach, looking for something, _anything_ , to change the subject away from her daughter.  Grumpy wouldn’t understand.  No one would.

“There’s the boat,” she said with relief, pointing.  “It looks almost like a funeral barge.”

“Did your kingdom use those?”

“No,” Snow replied as they hurried down the beach towards the black-draped boat.  “But one of the neighboring kingdoms did, and I remember traveling to their king’s funeral as a child.”

“Well, this one looks pretty old,” Grumpy guessed as they approached.  The wood of the hull was black and shiny, though Snow could see where time had worn down the beautiful gold leaf on the upper edge and the intricate blue script beneath that.  Squinting, she stepped forward to read the words:

_“From the island-valley of Avalon, where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly; cometh the King, healed of grievous wounds.  Sleep shall claim him until a Queen awakes him, a sleep like death as his sister-queen bequeathed to him.”_

“That sounds kind of ominous,” her companion snorted.  “Be careful.”

But Snow’s heart was pounding as she walked around the boat, not caring that she was splashing through the surf to do so.  “Don’t you see who this has to be, Grumpy?  If Merlin’s power is here, this _must_ be Arthur.  That book of prophecy Henry has talks about the Sleeping King.  Arthur’s return is always supposed to herald a new beginning.  Legends say that he’ll return when he’s needed.”

“You say so, Snow.  I know it seems like we need all the help we can get, but you and Charming are enough monarchs for us.  Even Regina’s better than some stranger who lost the war for his own kingdom.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Snow protested, running her hands over the inscription as she pulled black cloth aside to study the sleeping form.

Arthur was a handsome man, with dark hair and a dark beard, clothed in battle armor and with a broadsword beneath his folded hands.  Snow’s breath caught; that _had_ to be Excalibur, the most magic sword in all the realms.  Or maybe it was Clarent, Camelot’s sword of peace?  Either way, Arthur had been a legend even when she’d been a child: a good king ousted through betrayal, a king who fought for what was right despite the personal cost.  Snow had always tried to model herself on him, because Arthur was the King of Kings, the standard by which all other monarchs were measured.  She remembered her father telling her about how Arthur had not died, about how he’d been sent to the mythical island of Avalon by his sister, there to rest and heal until he was needed again.

Lancelot had told her stories of Camelot when they’d traveled together, too.  Her friend—long before Cora had impersonated him—had shared stories about the early days of Camelot, when the Knights of the Round Table had been united and brave.  Lancelot said that Arthur had pieced together a kingdom out of warring tribes, had given them purpose and justice.  Snow and Charming had both wanted to know more, but they had been too busy fighting Regina to press Lancelot for details.  Still, when they had put _their_ kingdom back together, both had tried to do so on in Camelot’s image, striving to be monarchs worth of the man now lying before her.

And Arthur had known Merlin!  Maybe _he_ knew what to do about the Dark One, how to help Emma.  Yet he was barely breathing, barely seemed to be alive at all.  Was he under a Sleeping Curse?

“Maybe we need to find Queen Guinevere,” she mused.  “Henry said that she’s here.”

“You mean the woman who slept with his best friend?” Grumpy snorted.  “Probably not the one you need to wake him up from a sleeping curse.”

Sighing, Snow reached out to touch Arthur’s arm gently.  “Maybe you’re right.”

Lancelot had implied that he’d fallen out of grace because of a woman, but he’d never outright named Guinevere.  Personally, Snow could never imagine betraying her husband, so she wanted to believe there had been some misunderstanding.  Lancelot had been an honorable man, and—

“Did he just move?” Grumpy interrupted her thoughts, and Snow glanced down at Arthur.  He _did_ seem to be breathing more deeply now, but surely that was her imagination?

“I didn’t see anything.”

“He twitched.  I’m sure he twitched.”  The dwarf looked down at the inscription.  “Hell, maybe he doesn’t need a kiss. ‘ _Sleep shall claim him until a Queen awakes him’,”_ he read.  “You’re more a queen than anyone else here.”

“Except—”

Snow never had a chance to finish.  In one motion, Arthur’s eyes snapped open and the sword in his hands came up, thrusting towards her in a blur of silver and red. 

* * *

 

“What do you think that boat is?” Henry asked curiously, only to have Emma shut him down right away.

“Nothing you need to go near,” she said, and man, she really _was_ getting paranoid.  “I’m sure Mary Margaret and Leroy will deal with it.”

 _Great.  Now Grandma Snow is ‘Mary Margaret’ again instead of ‘Mom’,_ Henry thought with a sigh.  Emma was backsliding in a huge way.  Did she even realize it?  But before he could think on that further, one of the prophecies in the book he was carrying came to mind, and Henry stopped cold in surprise.

“But that’s got to be the Sleeping King!” he gasped.  “If he’s here, the Final Battle is about to—”

 _“Snow!”_ Grumpy’s cry split the air, and Henry and Emma turned together just in time to see the figure on the boat sit up and bury five feet of a sword in Snow’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been kind enough to leave comments and kudos! It means the world to me! I like you all so much that I left you with a very daunting cliffhanger. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifteen—“Fate is Not Just”, in which a crucial choice is made, Mordred steps in, Regina takes a beating, and Merlin reveals something shocking about Belle.


	16. Fate is Not Just

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character Death

Henry and Emma reached Snow’s side just as she crumbled, landing in the surf with an ominous sounding splash.  Henry rushed for his grandmother as the man who’d been on the bier leaped off, pressing his hands against the bleeding wound in Snow’s chest as Grumpy cradled her head in his lap.  Emma, however, lashed out immediately, her magic hurling the stranger back into the waves.

“Grandma?” Henry asked desperately, not liking how pale Snow’s face was or how shallowly she was breathing.  But her eyes blinked open even as Henry quickly put his hands over the wound, trying to slow the bleeding with pressure.

“Henry,” Snow whispered.  “Call Charming.  If I die…he needs the rest of my heart.”

“You’re not dying,” he swore, looking up to where Emma was stalking through the water after the man who had stabbed Snow.  The stranger was struggling to his feet, obviously weighed down by his armor, but couldn’t Emma see that he didn’t matter right now?  “Mom!  You have to heal Grandma _now!_ ”

Somehow, his shout broke through her fury, and Emma whirled around, moving to Henry’s side so quickly that he thought she’d teleported. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered.  “I didn’t—” she cut off, frowning.  A blue glow had enveloped both her hands, and Henry shifted his own aside to give her access to the wound, but it continued to bubble blood.  “It’s not working.”

“Why not?” Henry tried very hard not to sound panicked, but it didn’t work.

“I don’t know!”

“Emma…it’s all right,” Snow rasped.  “Just call your father.  He needs—”

“No!” Emma cut her off in a snarl.  “I’m not letting you die.  I’ll get Regina.  She can fix this even if I’m too dark.”

Emma disappeared in a whirl of smoke, but Snow turned pleading eyes on Henry.  “Call him,” she whispered.  “Please.”

“Okay,” Henry said quickly, relieved when Grumpy pressed his hands down on the bleeding wound.  Quickly, he pulled his own cell phone out of his pocket, glad to see that it wasn’t wet—and that his blood-covered hands weren’t shaking too hard.  Henry hit the speed dial button for his grandfather, his heart hammering against his chest.

One ring.  Two.  Then David finally picked up.  “Hi, Henry.  What’s up?”

“You need to come to the beach right now,” Henry said without preamble, desperation making the words come fast.  “Someone stabbed Grandma Snow, and—and—”

He couldn’t finish.  He couldn’t say the rest, not even though Snow wanted him to.  She _wasn’t_ going to die.  Emma was going to get Regina—they’d both just arrived in a cloud of purple smoke, with Regina looking confused—and his moms would fix this.  Henry knew they would.  Everything would be all right.

“Henry, slow down.  Where are you?”

“The beach.  A little south of the docks,” he said quickly, scooting over so that Regina had space.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” David promised.

Regina’s magic didn’t seem to be working, either, and Henry bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood.  “Please hurry.”

* * *

 

“I can take you there,” Mordred volunteered unexpectedly, making the prince and the pirate both look at him.  Mordred had been in the midst of explaining that he could pull the darkness from Emma with or without her consent—a concept that made David slightly uneasy, but did sound necessary.  Now, however, that subject was all but forgotten.

“How?” Killian demanded, eying Mordred suspiciously.

“Magic, of course.  I am a sorcerer, and it sounds like you have no time to waste.”

David wasn’t sure if he wanted to trust this man, but Henry had sounded so worried, and Snow was in danger.  He could already feel the tension building up in the half heart he shared with his wife; it was actually aching, and was it his imagination, or was his heartbeat slowing down?  He felt cold, almost wet, and for a moment, he felt like he was moving underwater.  His limbs didn’t want to properly respond to his commands, and the pain in his chest was only growing greater.

A hand grabbed his arm and shook him.  “Snap out of it, mate.”

“Right.  Thanks,” David said automatically, blinking hard.  The heaviness in his chest would not go away, but he managed to focus on Mordred, anyway.  “Please take us there.  Quickly.”

By the time Mordred’s magic deposited the three of them on the beach, David felt winded and light-headed—but the entire world snapped into brutal focus the moment he saw Snow bleeding out on the sand, with waves lapping gently at her prone form.

* * *

 

It wasn’t working.

Regina’s hands started trembling on her third attempt at healing Snow, and by the fifth time—using three _different_ spells that should have worked!—they were shaking uncontrollably.  Why wouldn’t it work?  Emma hadn’t been able to heal the wound, but the deeper Emma delved into darkness, the harder she would find healing.  Regina, however, was using light magic, not dark magic, and there was no reason why that shouldn’t work.  But the wound wouldn’t even close; despite the pressure Grumpy was putting on it, blood kept bubbling up around his hands, and Regina could tell by how pale Snow’s face was growing that she was losing far too much blood.  Again, she tried another spell, but that didn’t work, either.  It _should_ have.  Unless—

“Where’s the sword that made this?” she demanded, but Grumpy just gave her a wide-eyed stare before moving aside for David, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.  But there wasn’t time to wonder where he’d come from, or how Hook had appeared to stand next to Emma.  David took the dwarf’s place without a word, pressing down on the wound and giving his True Love a smile.  However, a man approached from her left, splashing forward with a sword in his hands.

“Here.  This is Clarent,” he said, and Regina’s heart sank.  “I didn’t mean to stab her.  I’m truly sorry.  The last thing I remember before sleeping was—”

“A magical sword,” Regina cut him off, willing her voice not to shake.

The stranger met her eyes and nodded, his face haggard.  “Yes.”

“Mom, what does that mean?” Henry interjected.

She didn’t want to tell her son this, not about his grandmother.  Not about _Snow_ , who Regina had come to care about all over again, after so many years resenting her and trying to kill Snow herself.  The words came out in a broken whisper.  “It means it might be too late.”

“If she dies, _you_ die.”  Emma had been pacing, but now she loomed over all of them, glaring at the man who had stabbed her mother.

“Now’s not the time, Emma!” Regina snapped, returning her attention to Snow.  She knew another spell or two, but she had to be quick.  It was obvious time was running out.

“Regina”—Snow cut off in a cough—“please…”

“Don’t try to talk,” she cut her stepdaughter off desperately.  “Save your strength.”

“It’s going to be okay, Grandma,” Henry added, and Regina wished she shared his confidence.

“Hang in there, Snow,” David whispered. 

“Stay still,” Regina ordered before anyone else could get sappy.  She didn’t have time for that; she was going to save Snow, not mourn her.  “I’m going to try something else, and it might hurt a little, but that’s just from how much power I’m going to use, all right?”

Snow nodded, pale and weak, and Regina could _feel_ her fading.  David didn’t look much better, though he seemed to be holding himself together, pressing down on the still-bleeding wound with hands that seemed as shaky as Regina’s own.  But she dug into her magic despite her own whirlwind of emotions, pushing David’s drawn face out of her mind and _focusing._   There was one spell left that Regina knew, a powerful healing spell she had only seen once.  It would require all of her strength and probably leave her dizzy for hours, but it would be worth it.  _Too bad Emma’s gone dark,_ she thought distantly as she willed magic into her hands.  _Two weeks ago, we could have done this together and been done already._

White light flashed beneath her fingers, and Snow gasped.  Slowly, too slowly, the wound started knitting together.  Regina’s hands spasmed as a tremor ran through her body, but she gritted her teeth and kept going, power rolling through her in waves.  She could feel the resistance from the wound; it had been made with magic and did not want to close with magic, but Regina was _winning_.  Little by little, the wound in Snow’s chest began to seal, and Regina began to think they actually might save Snow.

Until the wound in Snow’s back burst open, and the rattling gasp Snow made told Regina it was too late.

“David…” her stepdaughter whispered raggedly. 

“No,” David said immediately, but he looked almost as haggard and pale as Snow.  _They share a heart,_ Regina remembered, shivering hard.  _I split Snow’s heart in half.  If she dies, David may die with her!_   “No, this isn’t happening.  We can save you.”

His eyes were desperate when he looked at Regina, and she felt tears begin streaming down her own face as she shook her head.  “I think I’ve slowed it down, but…”

 Regina couldn’t finish.  She would _not_ sob.  Not with Henry there and needing her, not with David losing his True Love. 

“You have to give David my heart,” Snow whispered, looking at her. 

“I know,” she replied, blinking away her tears.

“Emma—” Snow coughed, reaching a hand out for her daughter.  For a moment, Regina thought Emma would continue glowering at the man who had stabbed Snow, but her expression changed abruptly, and suddenly Emma was on her knees next to Henry in the receding surf, taking Snow’s hand.

“Mom, no,” she whispered, and for the first time, Regina couldn’t see the Dark One.  Just Emma.  “We can fix this.  We can—”

“I think it’s too late,” Snow coughed again, and this time a little blood came out of her mouth.

Emma’s head whipped around to stare at Regina, but her eyes were desperate and broken, not furious.  “You were supposed to save her.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina choked out. 

“You can’t die, Grandma,” Henry whispered suddenly.  “Heroes aren’t supposed to die like this.”

Reaching out to put a hand on Henry’s shoulder, Regina pulled him as close as she could, even though they were separated by Snow’s legs.  Henry glanced at her, worried and broken, and the mother inside her wanted nothing more than to pull him away so that he didn’t have to watch this.  But Henry would never forgive her if she did that, even if Regina just wanted to shield him from this heartbreak. 

“I’m sorry,” Snow whispered, her voice growing faint.  “I love all of you.”  Then her eyes flicked up to her husband.  “You have to do this for both of us, now.”

“Snow, I _can’t_ ,” David sobbed, while Regina took a deep breath, trying to center herself.  Emma was crying openly, too, clinging to Snow’s hand.  She wouldn’t be able to do this, and that left Regina to pull Snow’s half heart out before it was too late.

The first spell she had cast was still feeding her information, and Regina knew that Snow had minutes left.  Maybe not that long.  Even now, Snow struggled to focus on David, gasping for air while blood flooded into her lungs.  _But her heart is fine.  Her heart is still pumping, still strong,_ Regina realized as bit her lip to keep her tears back.   _This will work._

_I hope._

“You have to.  Promise me you won’t give up.  Emma and Neal both need you.”

“I can’t do this.  Not without you.  You’ve always been the strong one,” David protested.

“I’ll be with you.”  Snow smiled gently.  “You’ll have my heart.”

Once upon a time, Regina would have said something cutting and snarky, would have told the lovebirds to stop babbling and get on with it.  Now she sat with them, feeling the pain radiating off of David and the calm acceptance from Snow, hugging her son tightly as he held his grandmother’s other hand.  If she could have reached Emma, she would have hugged her, too, but it was Emma who had the courage to put a hand on her father’s heaving shoulder, even though she was crying almost as hard as he was.

“I love you, Snow,” David said fiercely.  

“I love you, too,” Snow’s voice was so soft now that Regina had to strain to hear her.  But then green eyes burned into her own.  “Do it, Regina.”

If she hesitated, if she listed to the protest David and Emma were both about to voice, Regina knew she would never go through with it.  She’d torn Snow’s heart out once before to save David.  Now she would have to do it again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and plunged her hand into Snow’s chest.

The heart came out immediately, glowing red and beating steadily, and Snow didn’t even gasp.  She just bravely squeezed her daughter and her grandson’s hands, giving Regina a weak nod of thanks.  _There was a time I would have given anything to watch you die.  Now it’s too late for me to tell you what you mean to me,_ she thought, holding Snow’s heart for the third time and hating herself for it.  For a long moment, Regina could only stare blankly at Snow’s half-heart, and then she forced herself to look up at David, who was already shaking his head.  Did he even know that his breathing was almost as labored as Snow’s, that he was fading in step with his wife?  Regina doubted he cared.

“Can’t you wait?” he pleaded.

“If she dies before I put the whole heart in your chest, you might die, too,” she replied around the lump in her throat.

“I’ll take that chance,” David choked out stubbornly.

“David, no,” Snow whispered, but her eyes were barely open now, and Regina could see her losing the strength argue.

“I’m not going to be responsible for you dying faster than you have to!”

Snow gasped for air.  “David—”

Emma’s hand plunged into her father’s chest before either of her parents could say more, her face blotchy but her eyes determined. 

“Emma, no!”

“It’s what she wants,” Emma said bluntly, looking her father in the eye.  Then she faltered, and Regina could see her heart breaking, too.  “And I’m not—I’m not losing both of you.”  She held the heart out to Regina.  “Here.”

“I know you’ll…come back from this, Emma,” Snow managed to whisper as Regina took a deep breath, let go of Henry, and lined the two halves of Snow’s heart up.  “I believe in you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Emma whispered, and Regina took a deep breath.  There was no knowing what would happen when she rejoined the hearts.  This had never been done before.  It could kill both of them.  _Don’t even think about that.  Just do it!_

Channeling magic through her hands, focusing on the stubborn love that she somehow felt for Snow and David both, Regina fused the heart together.  Nothing happened for a moment, just a heartbeat when she thought everything might be all right—and then David sagged, nearly collapsing until Emma caught him.  He wasn’t breathing, and the light had gone out of his eyes, and Regina stole a hurried glance at Snow.  Snow’s eyes had shut, and the next cough that shook her body was weak, too weak.  The heartbeat was slowing, too.  _It’s now or never_ , she realized, and Regina met Emma’s eyes briefly.

Her adversary-turned-friend nodded, and Regina shoved Snow’s heart into David’s chest.

* * *

 

_ Camelot, Before the Final War of the Dragons _

Morgan sat between her only remaining sons, watching their faces as Mordred processed exactly what Gwaine had proposed. Her eldest son looked shocked by his half-brother’s selfless offer, and given that this was Mordred—her proud, conceited, and ambitious Mordred—that said quite a lot.

“I can’t do that,” Mordred said quietly, and for once, Morgan was _so_ proud of him.  Oh, she loved him and she’d always been certain of his purpose, his _destiny_ , but she knew that his shortcomings were at least partially her fault.  Usually, Mordred was not a particularly good man.  A driven one, yes.  One who tried to do the right thing, yes.  But not someone a mother could be proud of.

Gwaine turned to her.  “Will it work, Mother?”

“You have the Heart of the Truest Believer,” she said softly, swallowing hard.  Gwaine had always believed so strongly, first in Arthur and now in Mordred.  Arthur’s refusal to see the viper he had married for what she was—or to check the ever-encroaching darkness that sought to overcome Camelot—had poisoned the Round Table and had lost him Gwaine’s allegiance.  Yet, ever since Mordred had uncovered the truth about Guinevere, Gwaine had been his half-brother’s strongest supporter.  _Save Lancelot, who pays lip service to Arthur while he spies for my sons,_ Morgan thought distantly.  The dream of Camelot had soured, and there was only one way to save it.

“But will it _work_?” Gwaine demanded.  “Will it stop her?”

Gwaine was strong, bull-headed, and brave, but he was not a student of magic, so Morgan explained:

“The Heart is the most potent of all the Incidental Powers.  It can be used to grant immortality to someone if it is removed and placed within them…or it can control a magic user, no matter how powerful they are.  Even an Original Power would be bound by it.  The Heart would render their own magic useless, and force them to submit to the control of whomever had placed the Heart in their chest.”

“ _Her_ chest, Mother,” Mordred spoke up, hatred filling his eyes.  “Then we could send her away from Arthur before it’s too late.”

_And then we can free Merlin,_ Morgan didn’t say, knowing how neither of her sons approved of the Sorcerer-turned-Dark One.  They never had.

“Yes,” she confirmed.  “It will work.”

“And Gwaine will live?” Mordred pressed, suddenly looking ten years old and afraid.  Morgan knew how he felt; Gwaine was a far better person than _either_ of them, and the idea of sacrificing his heart—even if he would live for an unnaturally long time without it—made Morgan more than a little sick.

“What matters is stopping her,” Gwaine cut in before she could answer.  “If I die saving Camelot, it’s worth it.”

“It’s only been done once, but he will live,” Morgan promised.

_Until one of her followers hunts him down,_ she did not say.  She would do everything in her power to protect her second-born son, and she knew Mordred would do the same.

* * *

 

Snow White breathed her last as David’s eyes flew open, and Killian could _feel_ the collective heartbreak and relief hanging in the air.  He stood behind Emma’s crouched form, wishing he could hold her as she cried, feeling oddly like he belonged and like he didn’t.  He’d never been close to Snow, and though he’d mourn her, he was probably the most detached person there—aside from the king who he _knew_ he recognized.  For one thing, Arthur and his bastard son—who Killian abruptly realized hadn’t left and still stood off to the side—bore a strong resemblance to one another.  For another, what other king would arrive on a funeral barge, sleeping until woken by a queen?

Every child in Camelot knew of that legend, knew the story of the war that had ended when Killian was just a boy, and how Morgan le Fae had spirited her stepbrother away from their vengeful son.  Some stories said that Queen Guinevere returned to help, others that she and Arthur never saw one another after Mordred attempted to kill her and Lancelot swept her away, but either way, everyone knew that _Arthur_ wasn’t dead.  Killian’s mother had often told him and Liam that the stories of the war weren’t exactly accurate, that Arthur wasn’t as great and as noble as people wanted to believe, but they’d been boys in search of something to believe in, so they’d ignored that.

Now, realizing that King Arthur had just killed Emma’s mother, Killian devoutly wished he had paid more attention to what his mother had said.

“She’s gone, David,” Regina said softly, sounding broken and miserable.  “I’m so sorry.”

Grumpy, to Killian’s right, was openly weeping, but David took it far worse, utterly breaking down.  “She can’t be.  She can’t—I can’t—” he cut off in a sob, and Killian felt his own heart twisting in his chest.

When Emma didn’t move, Regina hugged David, with Henry shifting to pile onto the embrace.  Killian started to take a step forward, realizing that Emma had to be numb with grief, but she came to her feet before he could get there.  Wet tear tracks marred her face, and her eyes were red-rimmed and miserable, but her expression was as cold as ice as she turned to Arthur.

“You killed my mother,” the Dark One said softly.

“I know,” Arthur replied.  “But, please, my lady, you must believe it was an accident.  I stabbed her as I woke, yes, but I did not mean to harm her.”

“You didn’t _harm_ her,” Emma snarled.  “You _killed_ her!”

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he seemed smart enough to take a step backwards.  “I will face whatever penance you desire—”

“I don’t want you to face some penance,” Emma cut him off coldly.  “I want you dead.”

Killian’s heart—already in his throat—did a backflip.  He was on Emma’s side, of course, but she couldn’t do this.  He started to protest: “Emma—”

But magic burst out of his love’s hands before Killian could get the entire word out, hitting Arthur high in the chest and sending him flying into the water.  Fortunately, he landed in the shallows, which meant his armor wouldn’t drown him right away, but Emma stalked forward immediately, a black wind whipping around her.  _She wants to make this last,_ he realized with horror as Arthur struggled to his knees.  _She wants to make him suffer._

Emma’s right arm drew back, a fireball forming in the palm of her hand.  Killian had never seen her do that before, but that didn’t matter—he needed to stop her.  But how?  He couldn’t reach her before she lit Arthur on fire, even though he was already moving forward.  Then magic abruptly lashed out, tearing Emma off her feet and dumping _her_ into the waves.  Stopping and spinning around in confusion, Killian noticed Regina on her feet, her face a mess of grief and determination.

“I can’t let you do that, Emma,” the former Evil Queen said steadily.

Emma wheeled on her.  “Why, because you wanted my mother dead for so long?” she demanded.  “Are you going to congratulate her killer, now, _Your Majesty?_ ”

“No.”  Regina looked stricken, but she took a few steps forward, anyway.  “I don’t give a damn about him, but I’m not letting you kill someone else.  You keep doing that, and there’s no coming back.”

“I don’t care,” Emma sneered.

“Well, lucky for you, some of us _do_ care about your soul,” Regina retorted.  “So back off.  You’re not killing anyone today.”

“You gonna stop me?”

“If I have to.”

“Mom, please—” Henry started.  He and David had both struggled to their feet behind Regina, both looking broken and miserable.  Killian wasn’t sure which of his mothers Henry was talking to, but in the end, it didn’t matter, because Emma conjured up the same fireball and sent it sailing at Regina.

Regina blocked it, of course.  She was nothing if not an expert on fireballs.  But practiced and powerful though she was, Regina had no chance of standing against the Dark One, and everyone present knew that.  The fight was short and brutal; Emma pounded Regina into the sand, slamming her down once, twice, and then a third time.  She didn’t even seem to hear Henry’s pleas for her to stop, no matter how many times the boy shouted her name.  David, thankfully, preserved enough sense to hang on to Henry, though Killian found himself drifting in that direction in case David’s long looks at his dead wife distracted him enough that he let go of the struggling twelve-year-old.

_This isn’t your mother, lad,_ Killian wanted to tell Henry.  _This is the Dark One._   And the sight was terrifying.

He tried, too, of course, shouting for Emma to pay attention to them, but she stood over Regina now.  And when he took a few steps towards _them_ instead of Henry, Killian found a wall of magic rushing out to meet him, shoving him backwards.  It hit him more gently than anything that had been aimed at Regina, but it was still a very clear message: _Stay out of this._

“Emma, please!” Killian cried, but she ignored him.

Until a sudden wave of magic took Emma right off her feet, throwing her towards deeper waters, where she landed with a splash.  Turning—even as Henry sprinted for Regina—Killian noticed that _Mordred_ had stepped forward, magic swirling around himself.  Emma tried to teleport back to where she’d been pummeling Regina, but a well-aimed spell from Mordred shoved her aside, forcing her into waist deep water and as Mordred stepped between Emma and everyone else.

Killian could not have expected a less likely savior than this.

* * *

 

Belle had come downstairs and had been immediately fascinated by Rumplestiltskin’s Merlin-construct—which, contrary to Merlin’s prediction, she _could_ see.  The dead Sorcerer seemed a little awed by her as she joined them; he seemed to have no problem with the fact that she was a woman, although he was clearly surprised by the fact that Rumplestiltskin had married a non-sorceress.  Or that he hadn’t taught her magic to remedy that.

“I never thought about learning,” Belle admitted when Merlin asked her, shrugging.  “I know some simple potions and such, but Rumple’s always been the one with magic.”

Merlin blinked, puzzled.  “But you have magic in your blood.”

“I _what_?”

Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped around to stare at his wife, truly _looking_ at her for the first time since gaining this new and terrifying power.  Sure enough, there were subtle tendrils of magic surrounding her.  They were so soft and silent that they were almost impossible to miss, even for him, made of a nearly transparent silver.  Rumplestiltskin had never seen anything like that before, but if he had known that such magic surrounded Belle back when he’d first bargained for her, he knew he would have made a _far_ better deal.  _I would have demanded her as a student, not as a servant,_ he realized.  For a moment, he was struck breathless at the wonder of what might have been—how might things have gone differently if he had given Belle the tools to defend herself?  The possibilities were endless.

“You didn’t know?” Merlin asked, and Belle shook her head.

“Of course not,” she replied, glancing at Rumplestiltskin in confusion.

“He’s right,” he said quietly.  “There is magic there.  I don’t know how I never saw it before.”

“The darkness adds its own set of blinkers,” Merlin explained.  “It wasn’t…a single entity in the beginning, and thus there are things it does not understand.  Things it cannot see, and thus prevents the host from seeing.”

Rumplestiltskin knew—from far too much personal experience—that the darkness didn’t understand core human concepts like love, but learning that it had _also_ blinded him in other ways was particularly disturbing.  He had tried _so_ hard to fight it, for so long…and now he was learning that the darkness had twisted him to its ends even when Rumplestiltskin was not aware of it.  To say that the realization was disconcerting was an understatement…and yet he had bigger worries on his mind. 

“You said that the darkness _can_ be trapped,” he said before they could jump down an irrelevant, albeit fascinating, rabbit hole.  “You put it in the Vault.  The Vault of the Dark One.”

“That’s what we created the Vault for, yes.”

“It held me well enough when I died,” Rumplestiltskin mused.  Most times, he didn’t want to dig through his vague and hazy memories of his time in the Vault; it had been misery and battle, darkness and feeling no hope at all.  But the place had a _purpose_ , one that predated his former…well, if it wasn’t a curse, it certainly had been a condition. 

“When you _what_?” Merlin gaped.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I killed myself.  It’s a…long story.”  His voice caught as he remembered how and why he’d been resurrected, and not for the first time, Rumplestiltskin wished Baelfire had just left things well enough alone.  _Then Bae would be with his family, Emma wouldn’t be the dark one, and that wretched power would be gone from this world forever._

_Or until it broke out.  Would it have used me as a host, still, or would it have simply sought a new and living one?_

“He was resurrected,” Belle finished quietly when Merlin looked askance at Rumplestiltskin, clearly expecting answers.  “After that…the darkness seemed to be more in control.”

“You were the Dark One for how long?” Merlin asked, scratching his chin.

With an effort, Rumplestiltskin shoved his pain aside.  “Nearly three centuries.”

“That is longer than I would have expected someone to last without being consumed.”  The young-looking shade blinked.  “I don’t think any others lasted beyond a century.”

“They didn’t,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.  He knew that much.  Hell, he knew an enormous amount about the Dark One, had spent centuries researching it, but the origins of the darkness had always been shrouded in mystery.

“How did that work?”

“I fed it where I had to, and used magic to stave off the darkness consuming my heart.  It worked quite well until I was resurrected and then found the dagger in another’s hands for nearly a year.”

“Someone who wasn’t interested in keeping the darkness from consuming you.”  Merlin caught on quickly, and then shook his head.  “That is immaterial. Why did you ask about the Vault?”

“Well, if it _can_ hold the darkness, the only question is how to shore up its defenses so that the Vault can do so indefinitely,” Rumplestiltskin mused, his mind turning the problem over.  “Unless the darkness can be destroyed?”

“No,” was the immediate answer.  “The core of the darkness is the elemental darkness itself.  The power was…. _amplified_ by ambitious fools, but you cannot truly destroy the darkness without altering the fabric of reality.”

Somehow, Rumplestiltskin found the certainty in Merlin’s voice absolutely hilarious—or maybe it was because of the heroes’ rush to run to this man, to trust this stranger with Emma’s fate, and that of the world.  Unable to stop himself, he snorted in laughter.  “You have no idea what to do with this, do you?”

“There is one way.” Even Merlin sounded hesitant, and if a man who had admittedly lost most of his humanity did not like the ‘only’ course of action, Rumplestiltskin knew no one else would.  _Probably not even me, given the fact that I seem to have re-grown a conscience other than Belle,_ he thought, no longer amused.

“What is it?” Belle asked when Rumplestiltskin remained silent.  His stomach had already tied itself into a knot, because he thought he knew what Merlin was going to say.

“If you can...bring the host low enough for them to enter the Vault willingly, you could then seal the Vault and bring it out of step with time,” Merlin said slowly.

“Like was done with Camelot,” Belle supplied immediately, but then Rumplestiltskin saw the enormity of what Merlin had said sink in.  “But—but the host—would they be stuck there forever?”

“Yes.”

“And let’s not even discuss what _bringing the host low enough_ would consist of,” Rumplestiltskin put in, his voice harder than even he expected.  “I can imagine.”

Belle threw a worried glance his way, but Merlin merely shrugged.  “If I had known then what I know now, I would have done it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “You had all the tools when you were the Dark One, and you still had someone else kill you so that you could separate your power and your soul from your body and _not_ go to the Vault like everyone else.”

Merlin blinked again, and Rumplestiltskin knew he’d hit on the truth.

 

* * *

 

“Mom?  Mom!”  Henry had helped her sit up, but Regina had still spent several moments in a daze, barely aware of what was happening and still coughing up water.  She’d used up enough power trying to save Snow, and then _Emma_ had tried to hammer her into the ground.  _Ungrateful bitch,_ Regina thought before she could stop herself, even though she knew the thought was uncharitable.  Emma had just lost her mother, and she was the Dark One.  Those two factors were bound to make her emotional and unpredictable.

“ _Mom!_ ”  Henry’s third try finally made it through the cloud in her head, and Regina turned to look at him, blinking.

“I’m all right,” she told her son.  “A little banged up, but I’ll be fine.”

She would have liked to sleep for a week, but she was alive.  Wait a minute—how _was_ she alive?  Emma had been—

_Oh, shit._

“You have to help her,” Henry said worriedly.  “I know she didn’t mean to attack you, but he’s—he’s—” his voice broke, and Regina instinctively squeezed her son’s hands.

Yes, the stranger was winning.  Handily.  Emma kept hitting back, but somehow he was never where her attacks went, teleporting back and forth as giant swaths of power filled the air.  The amount—and the skill—of the stranger’s sorcery was enough to take Regina’s breath away.  She had never seen anyone fight like this, never imagined anyone could.  _He could have gone toe to toe with Rumple on one of his best days,_ she realized.  _Maybe even beat him._  

“Who the hell is that?” Regina demanded, struggling to her feet with Henry’s help.

Meanwhile, Emma went flying _again_ , splashing into still deeper water, and Regina could see the giant weight of magic holding her down as she struggled.  Black sparks of power boiled the water around her, turning it into a steaming mess, but the stranger still held her there, raining magical blow after magical blow down upon her.

“Mordred,” Hook volunteered, his voice low and conflicted.  Regina hadn’t even noticed he was there, but now she gave the stranger another look.

“Great, just what we need.  _More_ idiots from Camelot,” she grumbled.  She could guess who the stranger from the bier was—she and Daniel had often wished they’d lived in the golden age of Camelot when they were younger—and Regina _really_ didn’t want to deal with this crap.  But she didn’t have a choice, did she?  “Fine,” she growled.  “Henry, stay out of the way.”

Waiting for her son to nod—he was _really_ good at trouble and Regina didn’t want to make this worse than it already was—Regina shrugged off her aching body and strode forward.  Walking through the surf in heels wasn’t the best idea, so she shrugged off her shoes and took a deep breath, calling up her power and begging it to last just a little bit longer.  Magic was emotion, so she dug deeply into her worry for Emma, her love for Henry…and even into how losing Snow burned.  That loss boiled deep in her gut and made her want to scream at the universe for the injustice of it all, and Regina used _that_ to fuel her the spell she flung at Mordred.

It hit the darkly-clad sorcerer right in the back, sending _him_ toppling face-first into the water and giving Emma time to scramble to her feet.  The new Dark One seemed dizzy and a little waterlogged, but Emma met Regina’s gaze, anyway, her eyes blazing with fury.  Regina just nodded, and they raised their hands together.

The second spell hit Mordred just as he teleported himself to his feet, blinking at the two women in confusion.  But they didn’t even have to look at one another again; their next attack came in unison, too.  _Bad luck, bozo,_ Regina thought viciously.  _We’ve played this game before._

Mordred managed to dodge most of that next assault, but the poor bastard looked confused.  He turned on Regina.  “I just saved your life!”

“She wasn’t going to kill me,” Regina shrugged, even though she hadn’t been terribly sure of it at the time.  “Our son would never forgive her.”

“She’s the _Dark One,_ ” Mordred spat.  “She doesn’t care about that.”

“Wrong again, buddy,” Emma snorted, throwing a wave of fire at Mordred that the other sorcerer dodged.  But then Regina joined it with one of her own, and between them, they caught Mordred in a neat, fiery trap—until he teleported away.  Again.

_He’s way too good at that,_ Regina thought, spinning around to face where Mordred had landed to her right.  The three of them formed a triangle, now, with Mordred at the tip.  Instinctively, Regina drifted towards Emma, her stockings splashing softly in the water.  One of them tore, and she could feel sand between her toes, but that didn’t really matter.  What mattered was that she and Emma were going to take this stranger down, because whatever the hell he wanted, he wasn’t going to be allowed to get in the middle of this. 

“I can help you,” Mordred spoke to Regina again, and his expression was strangely earnest.

She snorted.  “I don’t know how things work in Camelot, but here you don’t jump in fights when you haven’t been invited.”

“I’m not—”

Emma hit him with a black and purple wave of magic, but again, it barely connected before he brushed it aside.  Mordred paused to glare at Emma, but then _Regina_ threw a fireball his way, and he looked between the two of them like he had no idea why Regina would ever fight next to the Dark One.  _She’s my friend, you idiot.  And we’re going to save her, one way or another,_ Regina didn’t tell him.

She almost opened her mouth to say something else, but Mordred vanished in a swirl of maroon smoke before she could, leaving Emma and Regina standing in the surf.  Cautiously, Regina glanced at Henry’s other mother, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you done trying to kill me?” she asked pointedly.

“Yeah.”  Emma looked away.  “I’m sorry—I just…”

“You just lost your mother,” Regina said as kindly as she could.  “You counted on me to save her, and I couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” Emma replied quietly.  “I can’t…I can’t control this.  When I’m emotional…” She trailed off, looking miserable.

“It’s okay, Mom.”  Suddenly, Henry was there with them, and Regina had never been so proud of him.  “We’ll get through this—through _all_ of this—together.  Because we’re a family.”

Emma turned to look at their son, and for a moment, Regina thought she might break down and cry, that she might be _Emma_ instead of the Dark One.  But she could see the rage bubbling under the grief, could see how Emma wanted to destroy something, or someone, in revenge for what she had lost.  _I’ve been there,_ she knew.  _It’s so much easier to ignore your pain if you can make someone else hurt just as badly._   But it never really helped.  Regina knew that, too.

“I have to go,” Emma whispered, clearly not wanting her destructive tendencies anywhere near Henry.

“Mom, don’t—”

Henry cut off as Emma disappeared, leaving Regina to deal with his heartbroken expression.  Wordlessly, she stepped forward to hug her son tightly.  It made her body ache, but she didn’t care. 

“Why’d she leave?” Henry whispered, sounding so very young.

“She wants to protect you,” Regina replied heavily.  _It’s not the right way to do it, but this is the only way she knows._

“She wouldn’t hurt me,” he argued, but there were times Regina wondered.  Emma had been damn bloodthirsty when she’d been pounding Regina into goo.  Or the Dark One had, anyway.  _We’ve never been bosom buddies, but I thought we understood one another.  Was I wrong, or does it control her that much?_

“Come on,” she whispered, avoiding saying anything more about Emma.  There were a thousand things that needed taking care of, including David—who was sitting in the sand again, cradling Snow’s body close—and King-freaking-Arthur, who had just killed Snow White.

Regina squared her shoulders as she approached where Hook and Grumpy stood uneasily, eying Arthur and David both.  Of course, the pirate had to speak up.

“You’re just going to let her go?” he demanded, and Regina wanted to carve his eyes out with a spoon.

“What do you think I should do, chase her down and try to lock her in a cage?” she snorted, rolling her eyes.  “Emma needs space.”

“She’s grieving!  She needs her family.”

“Well, then why don’t you go track her down, Guyliner?” Regina snapped.  “Emma knows exactly where her family is if she wants to be here.  Until then, I’m going to take care of things.”

Snarling wordlessly, Hook met her eyes, glaring like he wanted to kill her, too.  Given how dizzy Regina felt—and how she was using magic just to stay on her feet—she wasn’t sure he couldn’t manage if he tried then and there, but the brooding pirate finally looked away.  He glanced at Charming one more time, and then stalked off, presumably to go find Emma.

Great. That left her to deal with a grieving man who had just lost his True Love, her heartbroken son who had just lost his grandmother _and_ had his birth mother leave without so much as an apology, and a damn king she didn’t know who had just killed her stepdaughter.

“You’d better be worth saving,” she snarled at Arthur, needing a target for all her pent up anger.

“I cannot thank you enough, My Lady,” he replied, all courtesy.  It made her want to vomit.  “And I am so terribly sorry—”

“Save it,” Regina cut him off and turned to the dwarf.  “Can you take him to Granny’s or something?  Just get him out of here.  Get him a room.  I’ll…deal with everything else.”

“Sure,” Grumpy replied, for once not arguing with her.  Fortunately, Arthur went along quietly, leaving Regina to coax David away from Snow without breaking down.  Henry tried to help, but he wound up in tears again, and the three of them sat on the beach for a long while before they got up the gumption to take Snow’s body into town.

Only later did Henry realize that his book of prophecies was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, please don’t kill me for killing Snow. I thought long and hard about doing so, but in the end, Snow’s death is an enormous game changer for almost all of our characters—and I also really want to explore how David is going to survive without his own heart, and without his True Love, whose heart he now has. I promise that I haven’t just killed her for fun, so please stick with me to see how this works out!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Seventeen—“Once in Misery”, in which Blue digs for information, Mordred finds himself attracted to a certain sorceress, David tries to go on, and Snow’s funeral is held.


	17. Once in Misery

Blue had suspected what the golden cloud of power had been, but she had not wanted to tell the heroes in case they acquired false hopes.  Merlin was _dead_ , after all, missing for years after his own misdeeds had finally caught up with him.  Oh, she’d known that he’d ejected his soul and his power from his dying body, living onwards in a sort of half-life, but Blue had not thought that the heroes needed to know that when they had started their search for the Author and the Sorcerer.  The Sorcerer was dead and gone; searching for him was a fool’s errand.  Just as hoping he would find a new form in Storybrooke had been.

However, she had not expected the Apprentice to attempt to use the former Dark One as said new host, and she certainly had not anticipated Rumplestiltskin attempting to sacrifice himself.  She knew what kind of man the spinner had been before becoming the Dark One, and she knew what the darkness did to a person.  Whatever goodness he’d had was lost forever once he killed Zoso, and Blue actually hoped—in a non-confrontational way, of course—that whatever was left of Merlin’s power might actually destroy both of them.  _It would be for the good of all,_ she had told herself while she watched the golden cloud sucked into Rumplestiltskin.  _Such power does not belong in_ any _human.  Our world has moved far beyond that._

 Now, however, two days had passed and Rumplestiltskin lived.  Belle, the foolish and brilliant girl that she was, had pulled him back from the edge with True Love’s Kiss, and although Blue had not wanted to believe that Rumplestiltskin had been able to feel such pure love while he was the Dark One, he clearly could now that he was human once more.  Happy though she was for Belle, who certainly deserved better than to have a demon for a husband, Blue wished that Belle had not done that.

Because that meant Rumplestiltskin was now the Sorcerer, and Reul Ghorm knew what _that_ meant.

Why could it not have been some innocent child, ignorant in the ways of magic and meddling?  Rumplestiltskin was a _manipulator_ , a strategist of extraordinary foresight.  The man had been born to be no more than a pawn, yet he had made himself into a player, and now with Merlin’s power at his fingertips...he could become a far greater danger to Storybrooke than the Dark One ever had been.

* * *

 

He waited, Morgan noticed, until the day _after_ Arthur arrived to tell her about it.

“I found your book of prophecies, Mother,” Mordred said by way of greeting, sweeping into her backyard as if he were his own.  But Mordred had always been prone to theatrics, to trying to act regal.

 _You let him make himself a king,_ she reminded herself firmly.  _You supported him in that war.  Now you get to reap the rewards of those choices._   Yet she would do it all again, based upon what she had known at the time.  Arthur had become little more than a puppet on strings, and her dear little stepbrother had been steering Camelot—nay, the magical world—towards darkness and destruction.  But that was not a topic to dwell upon at the present.

“I knew where it was,” she told her son archly, holding her hand out for the book without rising from where she sat on the rocks next to her pond.  She had never bowed or scraped to either of her acknowledged sons, even if both had, technically, been kings.  Morgan would not start now.

“Here.”  Mordred put the book in her hands almost eagerly, and Morgan felt the magic inherent in its pages.  Someone had _opened_ it!  She had not expected that; the pages had been bound by blood magic.  Of course—Mordred was her son.

“You know better than to read about the future,” she chided him, and Mordred looked startled.

“I didn’t.”

“It’s been opened.  You know that lying to me is a fool’s errand.”

“I didn’t open it, Mother.  I swear,” he replied quickly, sitting down next to her.  “I fetched it from that boy, the Author.  I can’t tell if he’s the Dark One’s boy or that rather enchanting sorceress’s, but he’s clearly related to both.  They might be sisters.”

Ah.  Emma Swan and Regina Mills; Morgan knew who both were because she _always_ tracked magic users, and she had even gone to a bit of trouble to determine which one was actually young Henry’s mother when she’d first come to Storybrooke during the second curse.  _That_ family was a tangled web of obligations and magic, but she wouldn’t bother to tell Mordred that both women were Henry’s mothers, and that they were most definitely not sisters.  No, her son had said something much more interesting.  “You fancy Queen Regina?”

“Queen?” The title made Mordred perk up immediately, just as Morgan had known it would.

“Dowager,” she shrugged.  “Her father was a younger prince, I believe, though her mother a queen in Wonderland.”  Morgan hadn’t been paying much attention at the time, but it was amazing what careless citizens in Storybrooke would share when you appeared innocently curious.  _That young Princess Ella is really a bit of a twit._

“Still a queen.”  Mordred’s eyes shone for all too long before he seemed to remember why he’d come.  “Arthur killed someone, I presume another queen.  She woke him up, anyway.”

“That would take a queen, yes.”  Morgan _had_ enchanted the bier, and Arthur, that way.  Though she’d intended for the waking queen to be herself, not some random stranger whom Arthur could murder.  _Oh, Arthur.  You_ always _start off on the right foot with people, don’t you?_   “I presume he stabbed her with Clarent?”

“You _did_ leave him with a Secondary Power in his hands,” Mordred grumbled.  “I was just in the midst of making friends with her husband, too—the woman Arthur killed was the Dark One’s _mother._ ”

“Oh, dear.”

Morgan listened in fascination as her son told her the tale of his battle with the Dark One, and how Queen Regina—my, he was found of that title, already!—had jumped in on Emma Swan’s side when he had stepped in to save her life.  Of course, Mordred was perplexed by that, but given how he felt about the Dark One (and his history with what, six of them?), Morgan was not surprised.  Mordred felt it was his moral obligation to rid the world of the Dark One, not to mention his destiny, and that did tend to skew his perspective more than a little.  Mordred hated the Dark One more than almost anyone, even if it was an entirely cold-blooded hatred.

For Mordred to have made that hatred personal, he would have had to recognize the Dark One as a person.  Which Morgan knew he didn’t.

“There’s a new Sorcerer,” she told her son when he was finished, and _that_ made Mordred sit up straight.

“Merlin’s back?  In whose body?”

“No, I do believe Merlin lost that battle,” she said regretfully, knowing that her son would not share her feelings on that matter.  _I had hoped, but…but I knew he was lost when True Love’s Kiss failed to free him._ Not that she had been sure if Merlin had ever felt True Love.  He’d had far too many lovers—often concurrently—to be certain of that. 

“Then someone else is the Sorcerer.”  Mordred blinked slowly, thoughtfully.  “That changes everything.”

“ _If_ you can convince him to work with you.”

“With us, Mother.  You are on my side this time, aren’t you?”

Morgan sighed.  “Your vendetta against the Dark One is your own, Mordred.  I’ve been telling you that for ages.  Literal ages, if you count the years that passed since you stopped time in Camelot.”

“You told me that I’m supposed to—”

“Yes, I know,” she cut him off, wishing that she’d never told him about that prophecy.  But Viviane _had_ Seen that a son of Morgan’s would banish the darkness, although Morgan never, _ever,_ should have told Mordred about her grandmother’s prophecy.  It only further inflated a sense of ego and purpose that did not need feeding.  “The Dark One is a nuisance.  A distraction from our true enemy, the one who seeks to enslave all of humanity.  In case you’ve forgotten.”

“She’s exiled,” he waved a hand.  “Powerless.  You ‘dropped’ the last Truest Believer in Reul Ghorm’s lap, and she sent her to some pocket realm.”

“She’s here.”

“She’s _what_?” Mordred’s eyes went wide, and Morgan resisted the urge to sigh in relief.  Her son could be remarkably single-minded about the Dark One, but at least he remembered who the actual threat was.  “Danns' a'Bhàis.  _She_ is here?”

“I saw her two days ago,” Morgan confirmed.  “I don’t know if she has her magic back or not, but are you going to bet against her?”

“Then it’s even more imperative that we get the Dark One out of the way so that she can’t repeat what she did with Merlin.”

Now Morgan did sigh.  She didn’t want to get in this argument with her son.  Not again.  So, she’d let him play games with the silly mortals, let him go after the Dark One and try his damnedest to find a way to destroy that darkness once and for all.  Perhaps he would even succeed.  In the meantime, she would keep an eye on her old enemy, and she would play the long game, just as she always did.

Before Mordred left, she made certain to give him the name of the new Sorcerer, but not to mention that he had been the Dark One until very recently.  That would only get Mordred’s hackles up, and the last thing she needed was for her son to start picking fights with the Sorcerer. 

Again.

* * *

 

The back of the shop was still a bit of a disaster, but Dove had done his best.  The broken antiques were gone, the floor had been swept, the shelves repaired, and the hole in the wall patched, though Dove had been wise enough to leave the still-broken spinning wheel where it was.  Belle didn’t miss the way her husband still avoided it, but she knew that he would fix the wheel when he felt ready.  The fact that he’d stopped spinning—and she had somehow failed to notice!—just broke her heart.  They had started their marriage off so terribly, with both their secrets, his lies, and her optimistic obliviousness, that it was a wonder that they had somehow come out the other side, but they were both determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past.

 _I’ve spent my life finding him,_ Belle reminded herself, feeling a small smile cross her face as Rumplestiltskin grabbed a pair of books and headed towards the front of the shop.  She would remember her own words, this time, and never imagine that she knew everything there was to know.  Love was a mystery, after all, and it would have been boring if Rumplestiltskin had been simple.

Though she had to admit that she’d never imagined being married to a sorcerer— _the_ Sorcerer—who could conjure up a talking, coherent, Merlin-construct of the dead Sorcerer who was currently sharing the back of his mind.  Yesterday’s conversations had been terribly educational, if a tad creepy, and Belle was glad that Merlin was back inside Rumplestiltskin’s head for now.  Talking to him had been thrilling and fascinating, but she was still a little creeped out by sharing her living room with what was functionally a ghost.

“So, research?” she asked as Rumplestiltskin put the books down on the counter, letting her smile grow a little.

“Research,” he confirmed.  “Merlin’s knowledge is dated.  There has to be some way to disconnect the darkness from the host and _then_ shut it away.  The darkness has more sentience now than it did when Merlin was the Dark One, and we’ve both seen that it made a _choice_ when it went for Regina.  If we can free it, and then manipulate the choice it makes…”

“Then we can drive it elsewhere,” Belle finished for him, loving the quick little smile Rumplestiltskin gave her.

“Exactly,” he replied, and she leaned in impulsively to kiss her husband’s cheek.

Part of the reason Belle had grown to love Rumplestiltskin was that he truly appreciated her intelligence.  Even in the beginning, when he’d been mocking her and threatening to turn her into a snail, Rumplestiltskin had never once discounted her intelligence.  Gaston had wanted her to be a brainless beauty, smiling her way through whelping his large brood of children, but Rumplestiltskin had wanted conversation.  He’d been lonely, and Belle always thought he’d been pleasantly surprised by how _intelligent_ her conversation was, but that had quickly given way to long tea times where they discussed some book or another, dinners that went until midnight while they argued about history, and friendly shouting matches when they disagreed about philosophy.  Now they made an excellent team when they actually were able to work together, and Belle knew they’d find the answers.

“So, why can’t you just pull the darkness out of Emma like the Apprentice did for you?” she wondered.

“I was unconscious,” Rumplestiltskin answered, flipping one of the books open.  “And…at that point, I would have given anything to be free of the darkness.  Emma doesn’t feel that way.”

“Are you sure?”  Emma was the Savior, after all, and her own parents had stripped her natural darkness out of her.  Surely that had to change _something_.

“Oh, yes.  Now that it’s got its claws in her, Belle, the darkness is in deep.  Emma might tell herself that she wants to be rid of it, but she’ll be certain that she _needs_ it to protect those she loves.”

“But she already had magic.”

“Nothing like that, I promise,” Rumplestiltskin replied darkly.  “Besides, it isn’t logical, that need.  It’s more primal than that.”

“Why wouldn’t True Love’s Kiss work?” Belle asked, remembering her conversation with—and her promise to—Killian.  Belle had asked once, so very long ago, and he’d told her that magic was different in Storybrooke.  But had that been the truth, or was the _need_ for that darkness too much? 

“Magic isn’t the same here as it is in the Enchanted Forest,” he said.  “Someday, it will be—particularly since this iteration of Storybrooke was created _with_ magic rather than without—but it’s still not the same.”

Part of Belle wanted to accept that at face value, but she had to know.  Still, her voice was quiet when she asked: “Do you have to _want_ it to work here?”

That made Rumplestiltskin turn to look at her, his eyes wide.  “Oh, no, sweetheart, it wasn’t like that at all,” he whispered, reaching out for her.   Belle took his hands immediately, nodding for him to continue.  “When the curse broke—when I suddenly found _you_ alive, all I could remember was the promise that I made Bae.  Back, before I let him go”—his voice cracked—“I promised him that, if I could find a way to be rid of the power without dying, I would.  And there I was.  I’d rejected you once because I needed the power to find him, but I was already in this world.  So I thought…I thought I could do it.  I thought I could kiss you, and I could finally be free of it.”

“Would the darkness have sought someone else, like it did when the Apprentice pulled it out of you?”

“I hoped not.  In the Enchanted Forest, it certainly would have…but magic was different here.”  He smiled a sad, crooked smile.  “I hoped it was different enough that the darkness might dissipate, leaving me free and no one else the Dark One.  But I was wrong.  Instead…it merely meant that even True Love’s Kiss could not free me.”

“Oh,” Belle said softly.  He’d never told her.  Part of Belle felt devastated that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t trusted her with something that had clearly affected him greatly, but part of her knew why.  Would she have understood?  Or would she have assumed he was clinging to his power, and that he didn’t love her enough?  Belle thought she would have believed him, but in Rumplestiltskin’s mind, with his low self-esteem…she knew what he’d _assumed_ she would feel.  And with the darkness whispering in his mind the entire time…

Whatever else she might have said was cut off by the door opening and Regina walking in.  Belle still hadn’t forgiven her, not completely, but Regina _had_ helped Rumplestiltskin after he’d opened himself up to Merlin’s power, and that did help decrease Belle’s anger a little.  Still, she might have been a little more frosty than friendly had Regina not looked utterly _terrible_.  There were dark circles under her eyes, and she moved like her limbs were too heavy, like something terrible was weighing her down.

“What happened?” Belle asked.

“Snow’s dead,” Regina said without preamble.

 _“What?_ ”  Shock had forced the word out of both of them in unison, and Belle had to swallow hard.  She’d never been terribly close to Snow, and they hadn’t always understood one another, but Snow had always been kind to her.  And poor baby Neal had just lost his mother, too, a fact that made Belle’s heart twist painfully in her chest.  The next question was a whisper: “How?”

“King Arthur’s in Storybrooke,” was the dry reply.  “He showed up yesterday on some floating funeral monstrosity.  It was…an accident.  A pointless, _messy_ , accident.  He stabbed her with an enchanted sword, and I couldn’t heal the wound fast enough.”

Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin, who seemed to accept that as the truth, though an interesting expression flickered across his face that it took her a moment to grasp.  “Next time, you might want to call me,” he said mildly.

Regina blinked, and Belle could see that calling Rumplestiltskin had never occurred to her.  Yet it would have, once.  Back before Rumplestiltskin had killed himself to kill Pan, before Zelena controlled him and the darkness sent him spiraling off the edge from consensual villain (who often helped) to a man who was so desperate to keep that darkness inside that he would sacrifice anyone and tell a thousand lies.  Once, he would have been the first person Regina called with a magical problem, because they had all known he’d make a deal and help.  Now, however, even though he wasn’t the Dark One…the old habits of distrust died hard.

“Right,” Regina replied quietly, and it was obvious that she didn’t want to ask.  _Could_ Rumplestiltskin have healed Snow before it was too late?  That hardly mattered now, but…

“How can we help?” Belle asked when Regina trailed off.  A lot of things had changed since this woman had held Belle in the asylum, and although she might never _trust_ Regina again, she could recognize that Regina was trying to be better—and that she was mourning for Snow.  _Once, she wanted Snow dead more than anything.  Now she looks ready to cry._

“I, um, hate to ask this, but do you have your Merlin problem under control?”  That question was directed at Rumplestiltskin, who snorted.

“Yes,” he replied simply.  “Unlike the darkness consuming Emma, Merlin is merely a voice and memories.  A nuisance, but a knowledgeable nuisance.  Why do you ask?”

“I, uh, think that someone might need to be around to keep her from flying off the handle.  She won’t talk to anyone, even Henry.  Henry, Hook, and I have all gone out to her house, but she won’t even answer the door.  I know she’s in there, but she’s stewing.”

“It’s hard to blame her,” Belle reminded Regina gently.  “Her mother just died.”

“That’s not the point.”  Regina glanced at Belle’s husband.  “Do you want to explain what that does to a dark magic user, or do you want me to?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “If Emma doesn’t find a way to let her emotions out…she’s likely to, well, explode.  There’s little more dangerous than a grieving Dark One.”

“I understand,” she replied, thinking back on how Rumplestiltskin had lied to her—by omission, of course—so that he could kill Zelena.  He’d been grieving for Bae, just as Emma was grieving for her mother.  “Do you think she’ll try to kill Arthur?  Assuming she hasn’t already.”

“He was still breathing last I checked.”

“She didn’t try to kill him already?” Rumplestiltskin asked, sounding surprised.

Regina grimaced. “No, she did.  I just stopped her.  Then Mordred—who is apparently _also_ here, because we’re now Camelot, version two-point-oh—jumped in.”

“Mordred is here?  You’re certain?”

“Why, do you know him?”

 _Rumple was right.  He must have taken the gauntlet,_ Belle realized.  In everything that had happened after their initial plan of using the gauntlet to discover the power that had been Merlin’s weakness, Belle had allowed that fact to slip her mind. 

“Yes.”

Regina waited a moment to see if Rumplestiltskin would say more, and then shrugged.  “Anyway, I can’t deal with Emma _and_ Mordred on my own, so you’re nominated.”

“I’ll help in any way I can,” Rumplestiltskin promised, and that made the former Evil Queen blink.

“What, no deals?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m a different man, now, dear,” he smiled sadly.  “I think I have enough to make up for without muddying the waters up with deals, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so sure,” Regina snorted.

“Do you need help planning the funeral?” Belle put in quietly, reaching for her husband’s hand and squeezing it.  “I…I handled a lot of it when Baelfire died.  I know Blue will help, but there’s no way David’s in any shape to deal with this.”

Regina looked surprised, but Belle was only half paying attention to her.  She could feel the pain radiating off of her husband as they both remembered how he’d been forbidden to attend his own son’s funeral, could feel Rumple’s regrets and self-recriminations.  He’d looked away, too, suddenly fascinated by the countertop, but at least Regina was polite enough not to point that out.

“That…that would be nice,” Regina replied, sounding hesitant.  “We’re taking turns sitting with David right now, because he’s not doing well.  But we want to hold the funeral tomorrow, if we can.”

“I’ll help,” Belle promised.  It was the least she could do.

* * *

 

Snow was dead.

_Dead._

She was dead and nothing would ever be the same.  David didn’t remember how he’d gotten back to the loft, barely remembered Regina pulling Snow out of his arms—oh, so gently; what an irony for the woman who had vowed to destroy their happiness.  He hadn’t slept the night before, had just sat up in the dark and stared at the wall, unable to even crawl into the bed he had shared with his wife.  His _late_ wife.  Robin had come over to help watch over Neal, spending the night on the couch downstairs, and David tried to remember if he had thanked the outlaw or not.  Regina had been in and out frequently, Henry close by her side, but Henry was here now.  Where was Regina?

David wasn’t sure he cared.  Snow was _dead._

“Gramps?”

Snow was gone.  He’d never see her again, never hold her again.  He’d never see her smile, never laugh with her or cry with her.  They’d never argue again or just sit in comfortable silence—

“Gramps, are you okay?”

A hand shaking his arm finally brought him back to the present, and David blinked.  “Henry,” he whispered, his voice scratchy.

“Robin says that you should take a shower.  He’s made lunch,” his grandson said, looking almost as worn and broken as David felt.

“I’ll…get moving in a moment,” David said heavily, glancing back at the empty bed.  Snow would never sleep there again.  He was alone, utterly alone, for the first time since he’d met her.

 _“Promise me you won’t give up,”_ Snow had asked the impossible of him, but David could feel her heart beating more strongly even as he remembered the words.  _“Emma and Neal both need you.”_

He had children to live for, but how could he go on without his True Love?  They had _literally_ shared a heart, and Snow had sacrificed any last minute chance that she could be saved to make sure that _he_ could go on.  _Just like she gave me half of her heart, when I was ready to die to make sure we could save our children._ David would have done the same for her—without even hesitating—but had he failed her, now?  _She wouldn’t let me go then, but I let her die.  I let her go._

 _“I’ll be with you.”_   He couldn’t get her last smile out of his head; it was such a _Snow_ smile, gentle and strong.  _“You’ll have my heart.”_

He had her entire heart, now.  Snow’s chest was empty and lifeless; the two half-hearts had been merged together, and they now lived in David’s chest.  _Lived_.  He didn’t know how he was going to do that.

“Gramps?” Henry whispered again, and it was only because Henry was his grandson that David finally managed to rouse himself.  The concern on Henry’s face reminded him _so much_ of Snow, and David reached out to wrap an arm around the boy.

“I’m here,” he whispered.  _And so is Snow.  I can feel her inside me, just a little._ “Sorry.  It’s…hard.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Henry said, his voice breaking.  “If I hadn’t broken the pen…I could have changed this.  I’m the Author.  I could have _saved_ her.”

That statement was a bucket of cold water on David’s grief, a shock to his system that even a broken-hearted True Love could not ignore.  “This isn’t your fault,” he said as strongly as he could, pulling back to face Henry.  “You did the right thing when you broke that pen, and I _know_ that your grandmother would agree with me.  You did what heroes do, Henry.  Snow”—his voice broke before he could catch himself with a deep breath—“Snow wouldn’t want you to use that power, even to save her.”

“It’s not fair.  She shouldn’t have had to die!”

“I know it isn’t, Henry,” David whispered, hugging him close again.  “I know it isn’t.”

And it wasn’t.  Fate _wasn’t_ fair.  Of all the dangerous things Snow had done in her life: defying an Evil Queen, waging war to put their kingdoms together, facing off with wicked witches, monsters, and other horrible creatures, waking someone up should not have killed her.  The worst part was that David knew that Arthur hadn’t even _wanted_ to kill her; David might not have been at his best, but he could remember that Camelot’s king had been horrified.  _Snow deserved better than to die because of a misunderstanding,_ he thought, but the anger that had bubbled up the first thousand times he’d had that thought was curiously numb, now.

Snow had deserved better, but so did many other people.  She had asked David to fight on, for her, and David would.

Somehow.

* * *

 

Belle had always gotten along well with the fairies, much though her husband had always disliked them.  She liked Astrid and Tink best, of course (who didn’t?), but she had a congenial enough relationship with Blue, which was why she met the senior fairy at Storybrooke’s funeral home that afternoon.  They’d exchanged a few calls in the meantime; Belle was already organizing the wake, with which Leroy was helping since they didn’t want to have to bother Ruby with it, not so shortly after her own grandmother had died.  Granny’s own wake and funeral had been less than a week ago, and Ruby had taken Snow’s death _very_ hard.  Tink was still with her, Astrid had said, and Belle felt her heart break for her friend all over again.

But the best way to manage her own grief had always been to help, so Belle met Blue after the undertakers finished preparing Snow’s body.

“It’s such a shame,” Blue said quietly.  “Snow was always so… _good_.  Her presence always gave hope to others.”

“I know,” Belle replied.  She’d gotten the rest of the story out of Leroy earlier; the dwarf had been there and had seen the entire mess.  “How can I help?”

They spent the next hour or so working on details for the funeral; Storybrooke had mourned surprisingly few people, given the number of villains that had shown up since the curse broke, but there were still plenty of procedures in place.  Belle had discovered that when she’d had to arrange everything for Baelfire, trying not to weep for the stepson she would never have and wishing Rumplestiltskin could be there.  But, no, _Zelena_ had forbidden him to go, one of the many cruelties she had subjected him to.  _She’s back, but I won’t forget what she did,_ Belle promised herself.  _I want Rumple to be a better man for_ his _sake, but that does not mean Zelena should be forgiven._

Fortunately, the Witch was safely locked away, and she had not caused this death, though those facts didn’t make Snow’s death less tragic.  Belle was determined to help because of that; the Charming family was reeling, and she knew how it felt to lose your True Love.  Her heart went out to David most of all.  When Rumple had killed himself, she had wanted to—

“May I ask you a question, Belle?” Blue interrupted her thoughts gently as they finished setting up the last of the flowers.

“Of course.” Forcing back her depressing thoughts, Belle managed a smile.

Blue gestured her out of the room, and Belle followed, curious despite herself.  She didn’t always _trust_ Blue, though she did genuinely believe that the senior fairy wanted to help people.  _Most people, anyway,_ she corrected herself silently.  

“I wanted to ask you how Rumplestiltskin is doing,” Blue said once they were outside, and Belle stopped, her eyes narrowing.

“You’ve never much cared for him,” she said suspiciously.

“I never much cared for the _Dark One_ , child, and I believed your husband to be irreparably damaged by the darkness,” Blue corrected her primly, but Belle still felt there was something she wasn’t saying.  “Now that he is free, of course I am concerned.”

“For his health or something else?” Belle asked before she could stop herself.

Blue blinked.  “For his health, of course.  I saw Merlin’s cloud attempt to consume him, and I saw your kiss.  You saved him from that, and I simply wish to know how he is doing, now.”

“He’s fine,” Belle shrugged as casually as she could.  “Getting a little better every day.  The transition has been…hard.”

“And Merlin’s power?” Blue pressed, and _that_ sent alarm bells to ringing inside Belle’s mind, even when the fairy clearly tried to use the next words to reassure her:  “I would hate to see it do lasting damage when Rumplestiltskin has so recently regained control of his soul.  Would you like me to take a look, perhaps?”

 _Oh, yes, Rumple would_ love _that,_ Belle didn’t say.  _He’d probably prefer to have Emma casting spells on him than you, which is saying quite a lot, given how angry she is._   The Blue Fairy was quite possibly the _last_ magic user Rumple would want near himself—unless, of course, that had changed now that he wasn’t the Dark One.  Belle hadn’t thought to ask him if his attitude about fairies was different, now, but she wasn’t going to let Blue lead her into something stupid, either.

“I think he’ll be fine, thank you,” was what she said.  Whatever Blue was looking for, Belle was _not_ going to let her find it.

* * *

 

The next day dawned cold and dreary, with a sky full of dark clouds that threatened to erupt at any moment.  There was a brisk wind that smelled like rain, and as far as Emma was concerned, if the universe wanted to cast black thunderbolts down from the heavens, it would have been perfectly fitting.

Her mother was _dead_.  Some worthless king from Camelot had killed her, and Emma’s blood boiled every time she remembered the feeling of Snow’s blood on her hands.  _Regina stopped me from killing him,_ she thought furiously.  _Regina must pay for that._   But not yet.  And not in any way that would hurt Henry.  She loved Henry, even if the darkness scoffed and tried to tell her that her son would betray her.  _Not Henry,_ she told herself, and the darkness, firmly.  _Never Henry._

But Emma had never felt more like the Dark One than when she walked up to her mother’s gravesite, cold fury whipping through her bones.  Arthur was not there, and neither was the other sorcerer who had stepped in.  Yes, she’d kill them both in time—Arthur, for her mother, and the other one because he was clearly a threat to Storybrooke.  Whoever he was, he wasn’t going to last long in _her_ town.  Emma might not have been the Savior any longer, but she wasn’t going to let some rogue sorcerer run around wreaking havoc.  _Feed the darkness,_ she remembered Rumplestiltskin saying.  This new sorcerer was a threat.  She could feed _him_ to the darkness, and thus preserve her soul.  A little.

“Emma,” a soft voice said, and she turned to face her father.  _He’ll be happy when I kill Mom’s murderer_ , she thought.  At the moment, David looked terrible.  He clearly hadn’t slept and he looked half-dead.  Looking at him made the anger vanish from her heart, just for a moment, and Emma stepped forward without a word to hug her father.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her,” she whispered, biting her lips to keep tears inside.  Dark Ones did not weep.

“It’s not your fault,” David replied, his voice catching.  “And we’ll…”

He trailed off, but Emma nodded.  “Yeah.”

She pulled away abruptly as Hook, Henry, and Regina approached.  Glancing at her son, Emma realized that he hadn’t been taking care of himself, either, and that made her heart clench painfully.  Tentatively, she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he answered glumly, stuffing his hands in his suit pockets as Archie stepped up next to the coffin.  Emma didn’t want to look at her mother, but she still did, her chest tightening as she looked at Snow’s still form.

 _She was my first friend, my first real friend.  I swore I wouldn’t get close to anyone after Lily got me in trouble, after Neal left, but then I got here and Mary Margaret was so sweet…_ Emma felt light years away from the woman she had been back then, the woman who believed in nothing and loved no one, but she could remember moving in with Mary Margaret so clearly.  Even when Snow didn’t know who she was, she’d still opened her heart to Emma, and Emma would never forget that.

“I’ll avenge her,” Emma promised, and _that_ made Henry look up.  Much to her surprise, he looked shocked—and a little horrified.  But he should have been relieved.

“Vengeance won’t bring Grandma back.”

“No, but it’ll still be worthwhile.”  Emma managed to hold back most of the smile that wanted to rise; perhaps the darkness was right.  _Vengeance can be sweet.  Protect those you love by killing someone who would hurt them.  Isn’t that a noble goal?_

“No, Mom, it won’t,” Henry said.  “You can’t kill someone for something they didn’t mean to do!”

 _Sure you can,_ the darkness said.  _Henry loves Regina despite her misdeeds.  This won’t cost you his love._

“Don’t worry about it, Henry,” she shrugged.

“This isn’t _you_ talking,” he retorted bitterly.  “This is the Dark One.”

“I am the Dark One,” Emma pointed out, but Henry just pulled away from her, moving closer to Regina, his expression petulant and hurt.

She let him, of course.  Emma wasn’t a monster to hold onto her son when he wanted to be elsewhere, and she’d learned enough to know that she _shouldn’t_ just try to teleport him places.  It only made Henry angry, and then he was prone to wander.  She’d protected her house with blood magic when the darkness suggested it, but Emma hadn’t counted on wanting to keep her son _in_ when she did that.  She had worked more protective spells that morning, so that if she did need to keep Henry inside she could, but for now, she would wait.

But watching Henry whisper with Regina only made Emma narrow her eyes.  What was he saying?  Was he tattling to Regina about how Emma wanted to kill Arthur?  Had Regina turned _her_ son against her?  She wouldn’t put it past the former Evil Queen to do that; Regina knew how to fight dirty.  Even as she watched, Regina turned to meet her eyes, and the other woman’s glare was angry and protective.  _I’ll make her pay,_ Emma decided, glaring back.  _She stopped me, and now she’s trying to steal Henry._

 _She’ll take him away,_ a voice inside her said, and Emma wasn’t sure if it was hers or the darkness’.  _Regina will do whatever it takes to keep him from you.  She always has.  She’s never thought you were as much Henry’s mother as she is._   But she could fix that, couldn’t she?  She could kill Regina and make it look like an accident, Emma mused.  There were so many ways.  She could even let Zelena ‘escape’ again and have her do the dirty deed; Emma imagined that it wouldn’t take much convincing to get the Wicked Witch to kill her sister.  _Then Henry will be all mine._   It was a serviceable idea.  Then Emma could kill Zelena, so that the witch could never tell who put her up to it, and everyone would see Emma as a—

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ she thought, a cold chill ripping through her body.  This wasn’t her.  This was the darkness, trying to trick her into murdering her own _friend._   Archie had started his speech, and people around her were crying, but Emma never heard a word.  _I thought I could control this,_ she realized, wrapping her arms around herself to try to keep the cold away.  _I thought I could fight it, but the darkness is winning._   Gold—Rumplestiltskin—had told her that it would, that it would eat at her piece by piece.  She could slow the process down, but never stop it.

In that moment of fear and clarity, Emma—Emma Swan, not the Dark One, knew that made her a danger to her family.  Particularly to Henry.  Henry would _never_ forgive her if she allowed Regina to be hurt.  She was lucky that he didn’t hate her for what she had done to Regina two days ago on the beach!  Emma had hurt Regina, had nearly killed her, without even thinking.  She still wasn’t overly horrified at the thought of killing the man who had murdered her mother, but Regina was her friend.  Regina was Henry’s other mother.  _I have to stay away from them,_ she decided, her eyes flicking over to Henry once more. 

_Particularly Henry._

Those thoughts—and other plans, plans she couldn’t seem to stop forming in her head—carried Emma through the rest of the service.  When her turn came to drop a shovelful of dirt on the grave, she did so dry-eyed and proudly, not letting her heartbreak show.  Her father was not so self-controlled; David looked so very lonely when he did the same, with tears streaking down his face.  Emma wanted to comfort him, really, she did, but she kept herself away.  She had to protect her family from her darkness, and the best way she knew right now was staying away.

“Emma,” a voice said to her as she turned to walk away when the service was over, and Emma turned to face Killian.  He was a weakness, she knew, but he was one that she _needed_.  She could still use lust and seduction to feed the darkness, and Killian knew what he was doing.  He understood darkness, and he wouldn’t flinch away like Henry did.

“Killian.” She gave him a slight smile, the type she knew drove him crazy, hoping that maybe she could bury her grief under love.  But he didn’t respond with passion, only with concern.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, reaching out to put a hand on her arm.  “Henry said…”

“That I’m angry?” she picked up when he trailed off, thoughts of lust forgotten as pain reared back up.  “That I want revenge?  Of course I do.  He killed my _mother_ , Killian!”

“Aye.  I know.  But perhaps you should grieve before you start worrying about vengeance,” Killian said gently.  “It might help.”

“ _Nothing_ will help,” Emma snarled.  “I took on this darkness to save everyone, and yet I couldn’t even save my own mother.  What use is power if it can’t protect those you love, or if you can’t control it?”

Heads were starting to turn, and out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Rumplestiltskin drifting forward, his dark eyes on her, unflinching and watchful.  He looked like his old self, now, clad in an expensive suit and his features were utterly inscrutable, but the Sorcerer had clearly come in case Emma _did_ lose control of herself.  But she wouldn’t.  She wouldn’t dishonor her mother’s memory like that, even if part of Emma wished Arthur had come so that she could bury him on top of Snow like a pagan sacrifice of old.  _Not now,_ she told the darkness as firmly as she could. 

“You can control it,” Killian replied to her outburst.  “I know you can.  You’re better than this, Emma.  You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He stepped forward to embrace her, but Emma stopped him with a hand to his chest.  “No,” she said firmly.  “I’m not that strong.  If yesterday proved anything, it proved that.  I’m dangerous.  Even to those I care about.”

“You’d never hurt us.”

“Yeah.  I would.”  Emma stepped back. 

Killian gave her a look that spoke volumes.  “I can handle myself, love.”

“You can, but others can’t,” Emma agreed.  _Don’t look at Henry,_ she told herself firmly.  That would only make things harder.  “Keep Henry away from me.  I’m too dangerous.”

_“What?”_

“You heard me,” she growled, and disappeared.

Emma did not attend the wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will pain turn Emma towards the light, or make her delve more deeply into the dark? And will David be able to live without his own heart when Snow is gone? 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighteen—“Once in Silence”, in which Blue corners Rumplestiltskin for a talk, Arthur approaches the rapidly-fracturing heroes, Hook’s parentage is revealed, and Mordred proposes an alliance with the new Sorcerer.


	18. Once in Silence

The damn fairy had tried to talk to Rumplestiltskin at Snow White’s wake, but he’d avoided her.  Two tense days later, however,she caught him in broad daylight, soon after he and Belle sat down for breakfast at Granny’s. 

Rumplestiltskin was making a concentrated effort to—much though the introverted spinner inside him hated it—get out and about more.  He’d attended Snow’s funeral and her wake (which, truth be told, he probably would have done even in his Dark One days), and he planned on keeping himself…well, available.  Like it or not, he was the Sorcerer, now.  Rumplestiltskin was still incredibly uncomfortable applying that title to himself, but he didn’t need Merlin’s whispers in the back of his mind to tell him what the right thing to do was.  For the first time in centuries, finding the _right_ path was not a struggle.  Following that path might still be challenging, but he really did have the opportunity to be the kind of man he had always wanted to be.

“Rumplestiltskin,” the Blue Fairy greeted him primly, and much to his surprise, another voice immediately piped up from inside his head: _Don’t trust her.  Reul has never wanted humans to have power that might equal hers._

Wasn’t _that_ interesting?  Rumplestiltskin had not expected Merlin—the great and powerful Sorcerer, the last human Original Power—to dislike the Blue Fairy so intensely.  Reul Ghorm was supposed to be the ‘original good’, and he had simply assumed that Merlin’s ‘trap the host to trap the darkness’ plan would sit well with her.  The fact that Merlin didn’t trust her, however, actually made him rather fond of Merlin.  _My distaste for the blue bug never just came from being the Dark One,_ he thought, turning to face his old adversary.  _Does she not remember the many times I called for her, begging her to help my son?  She ignored me as the spinner, and then looked down her nose at me when I was the Dark One._   Rumplestiltskin had never been worthy of help, not in her eyes.  First, he’d been too unimportant.  Then, he’d been too dark.

“What is it that you want, dearie?” he asked bluntly.  “You’re interrupting our breakfast.”

They would have been eating already if Belle had not wanted to take time to give Ruby a hug and visit with her friend, but he at least had a cup of coffee.  Blue, however, seemed to have little time for social niceties.

“I thought I should ask you directly,” Blue replied, her patented maternal smile in place.  It made Rumplestiltskin want to sneer.  “Since you are no longer the Dark One and can be trusted to answer truthfully.”

Oh, she was clever.  Her implication trapped Rumplestiltskin neatly; if he wanted to earn any degree of trust, he had to answer truthfully.  Still, he merely raised an eyebrow.  “Answer what, exactly?”

“What happened to Merlin’s power when you allowed it to consume you?  You are not Merlin.”

“No, far from it.”

_Not as far as you may think,_ Merlin supplied, but Rumplestiltskin shoved him aside.  He had a feeling that Merlin meant that as a compliment, but he still didn’t want to hear it.

“Then what happened to the power?  You were not as affected as the others, and now the cloud is gone.”  Blue’s face remained unreadable, but Rumplestiltskin could tell she already knew the answer.  She just wanted to make him say it.

Well, if she expected him to hesitate, Rumplestiltskin was not going to oblige.  The timid spinner he’d been—or the self-loathing Dark One he’d become—might cringe away from this terrifying responsibility, but he’d learned to project confidence he didn’t have.  Besides, Belle was giving him a sweet little smile, one that said she was proud of him, and that smile could help Rumplestiltskin move _worlds._

“Merlin’s power is now mine,” he answered honestly.  “I didn’t…expect to survive, but Belle brought me back when my soul might have been displaced.”  Returning his wife’s smile, Rumplestiltskin reached across the table to take her hand.  “So, I am the Sorcerer, now.”

“Is that so?”  Blue’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Belle spoke up before Rumplestiltskin could respond.  “No one else could stop that cloud from destroying more of Storybrooke, and I didn’t see _you_ trying to help contain it.  Rumple did what no one else could.”

Hearing her praise him like that made Rumplestiltskin swallow, but Blue’s reaction was far more interesting than his own embarrassment.  The senior fairy swallowed, too, as if she had been uncertain about her own suspicions, and now wasn’t sure what to think of the truth.  “No…I have no problem with that,” Blue said, and almost everyone in the diner could tell it was a lie.

“I’m ever so glad to hear that,” he replied, giving her a benign smile.  “Now, if you don’t mind, my lovely wife and I were about to order breakfast.  Unless you’d like to join us?”

Of course, Blue did not want to join them—but he did hear Merlin’s soft laughter in the back of his mind.  Still, the former Sorcerer left them alone for breakfast, and no one else bothered them.  Even though the other patrons kept trying to pretend they weren’t watching him, Rumplestiltskin managed to enjoy breakfast.  _Get used to the stares, dearie,_ he told himself.  These people watched him for a different reason, now, but he was never going to have a normal life again.

Not that he would have known what to do with one if he had.

* * *

 

Henry was having a hard time deciding which family member to worry about most.   His grandfather remained quiet and heartbroken, spending most of his time with little Neal, telling him stories of Snow and all the adventures they had had.  But his birth mother was missing, and hadn’t returned _anyone’s_ calls—as far as Henry knew, anyway—since the funeral two days earlier.   David was all right, or at least physically, but Henry was really starting to worry about Emma.  So, he’d managed to convince Regina to take him to Granny’s for breakfast so that they could talk to Hook about Emma.  His mom had complained about having to spend time with a ‘brooding, leather-clad fishhook’, but she and Robin had still come along.

“Emma isn’t ready to see anyone,” Hook told them, making Regina sigh.  “She’s…she doesn’t trust herself right now.”

“You’ve talked to her?” Henry asked.  “She won’t even answer my calls.”

“I, uh, yes.  I have,” was the evasive response.  Henry opened his mouth to call Hook out, but Robin got in first:

“You’re still living with her.”

“ _What?_ ” Regina demanded, but Hook’s nod made Henry’s heart sink.  

_Emma wants to see him but not me,_ he thought, suddenly numb.  _She won’t even pick up the phone or listen to my voicemails.  Am I not good enough?_ He knew that Emma loved him.  She might have given him up, but she’d done that so that he would have his best chance.  Hadn’t she?  _The Dark One makes people selfish.  Was she only paying attention to me and caring about me because she felt she was_ supposed _to?_   Henry was too old to cry, but for a moment, he wished he was ten again and could just throw himself into his mother’s arms.

“All right then, Guyliner,” Regina snapped.  “You tell your little Dark One lover to pull her _head_ out and start taking care of her family.  I don’t care if she trusts herself or not.  Becoming the Dark One didn’t absolve Emma of responsibilities, and she’s pouted long enough.”

“She just lost her mother!” Hook snarled.  “I would think that _you_ would have a little pity for her.  Or are you just reveling in Snow White’s death?”

“How _dare_ you?” Henry’s mom’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.  “I did my damnedest to save Snow—and to keep Emma from doing something she’d regret—and your girlfriend nearly killed me for my pains.  She’s being stupid.  Tell her that.”

“You can tell her that if you want, _Your Majesty_ , but I’m not so much of a fool.  I’m on her good side right now, and I’ll stay there.”

“Stop it.  Both of you, please,” Robin cut in, much to Henry’s relief.  His mind was still spinning with questions, still wondering why Emma would see Hook and not him, and he couldn’t handle this spat right now.  “Killian, Regina, we’re all on the same side.  We’re trying to help Emma.  Let’s not lose sight of that.”

Regina subsided immediately; Hook glared.  “Fine,” the pirate growled.  “I’m—”

“Killian?” a voice interrupted, and all four swung to see King Arthur standing not far away, staring at Hook.

The pirate drew back, watching the king of Camelot warily.  “Why are you asking?”

“I knew a boy named Killian once, in Camelot,” was the reply.  “And his father looked very like you.”

“My father left when I was a child.  I wouldn’t know,” Hook replied defensively, and Henry could see the way his entire posture tensed up.  He looked almost…frightened. 

“You knew _him_ as a child?” Regina demanded, and Henry wanted to kick his mother.

Hook glared; Arthur spoke up: “My Lady, I did want to apologize—again—for what I did to your…sister?”

“My stepdaughter,” Regina grated out.

“Of course.”  If that fact discombobulated Arthur, he gave no sign, instead continuing contritely: “There is, of course, no excuse for what I did, and if I could do anything to change it, I would.  Last I remembered, I was in battle, and I awoke assuming my enemy was still before me.  I am sorry.  If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

Regina glowered, and Henry swallowed hard.  Grandma Snow deserved so much better than what had happened, but he knew that she would have wanted them to keep fighting and to stay together.  She _wouldn’t_ have blamed Arthur, not for an accident he hadn’t meant to happen.  That didn’t mean Henry didn’t want to blame Arthur, but he knew what Snow would have wanted, so he spoke up hoarsely when the adults were silent:

“Thanks.  We, uh, we will.”

Arthur’s eyes swept over him curiously, but the king only nodded before turning back to Killian.  “Are you the son of Gwaine of Orkney?” he asked pointedly.

“Why must you know?” Hook retorted, and Henry could tell that meant it was a _yes_.  But if so, then Hook was—

“Because if you are, you are in danger,” Arthur replied.  “I saw Mordred on the beach.  I know not how he came to be in this world, but I know that he will stop at _nothing_ to gain power.  Whatever help he has offered you, do not believe him.  Mordred cannot be trusted.”

“Wait, do you mean we are all in danger, or that Killian is?” Robin spoke up.

“All of you.  Everyone in this realm,” Arthur confirmed.  “But Killian most of all.”

“Why me?” Hook asked roughly.

“Because Mordred ripped your father’s heart out.  He was willing to take his own brother’s heart to further his ends, and Gwaine died because of him.  He will hunt you down as well.”

Hook rocked back in his seat, his blue eyes wide and shocked; Henry could tell that this was information he didn’t have.  _He told me once that his father abandoned him and his brother when they were kids.  I remember that Sir Gwaine’s seat was empty at the burned round table, but if Gwaine was his father…_

“We appreciate the warning,” Regina said, clearly trying to brush Arthur off, but Henry got in first:

“Wait, isn’t Mordred your son?” he asked, just to make sure that the legends were right.  For all he knew, stories could be wrong.  The second question made him make a face.  “With your sister?”

Arthur grimaced.  “Stepsister.”

“Aye, that makes it all so much better,” Hook muttered, and Arthur threw him a look that seemed both confused and hurt.

“Mordred…Mordred was my mistake.  I thought that by acknowledging him and raising him in Camelot, I might teach him to be better,” Arthur said heavily.  “Instead, I merely embraced my own destruction, and that of my people.  He attempted to kill my wife, and in the end, even arranged my dear friend Merlin’s death.”

“Mordred says that he knows how to free someone from the darkness,” Hook spoke up abruptly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “That he knows how to undo the Dark One.  Is that true?”

Henry twisted to stare at Hook.  When had Mordred said that?  Why hadn’t Hook told anyone else?  If there was a way to free Emma, if Mordred knew one, they should all have known about it, not just Hook!  _Maybe he was going to tell us before Arthur interrupted,_ Henry tried to tell himself.  _Mom trusts him.  I should, too.  Even if she doesn’t want to see me._   The last thought hurt, hard though Henry fought to push it aside.  _She just wants to keep me safe.  Doesn’t she?_

“It might be, though in my experience the Dark One is best…contained,” Arthur answered slowly.  “Merlin was the only one I knew who could turn the darkness to his own ends, and even he failed in the end.  But you _cannot_ trust Mordred.  Whatever promises he makes will come with a price you cannot pay.  Believe me, I know.”

“Then how do we free her?” Regina demanded.  “Frankly, if it’s a choice between the guy who killed Snow and the one who hasn’t killed anyone, I’m leaning towards the guy who says he can help.”

The look Arthur gave Regina indicated that he thought she was mad for even considering siding with Mordred, but Henry thought his mom had a point.  After all, most of this world’s legends turned out to be wrong.  What if Mordred was the good guy, and Arthur the villain?  They had no one else to ask, other than Hook, who looked like he’d rather be in any conversation other than this one.

“I don’t know if you can,” Arthur shrugged.  “I’m not sure why you’d want to.  The darkness would only get free and wreak havoc once more, as it did in the past.  Perhaps that’s what Mordred wants.  I wouldn’t put it past him.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin and Belle had listened to Arthur’s conversation with the others; their booth wasn’t far away from where Regina, Henry, Robin, and Hook sat.  Neither had made any move to join in, since they were both well accustomed to not being part of the heroes’ team.   Sometimes the others wanted to include Belle, and others they didn’t, but the pattern hadn’t escaped Rumplestiltskin’s notice.  _They want us when we’re useful.  The rest of the time…well, I suppose I can’t be bitter on my own behalf.  I’ve done plenty of harm to these people._   Still, holding back a scowl was hard.  _Belle, on the other hand, has never done anything but help them, and still they ignore her._

But thinking like that was not going to help matters, so Rumplestiltskin merely offered Belle his arm as they rose.  Arthur wandered away from the others as they did so, but his back was turned towards them as Belle and Rumplestiltskin walked out, which meant Rumplestiltskin didn’t get the good look at his face he’d been hoping for.  Still, there would be plenty of time for that.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t think that was entirely truthful?” Belle murmured as Rumplestiltskin opened the door for her.

His wife’s cleverness always made him smile.  “No, not at all.  There’s something missing, I think.”

“Is your, uh, guest adding anything to that?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “My, that was an eloquent way of phrasing it.”

“Better than calling him the devil on your shoulder,” Belle shot back with a grin.

“No, I’m quite done with having that,” he replied as lightly as he could.  Irritating though Merlin was, the other Sorcerer seemed to be learning when to shut up and stay out of Rumplestiltskin’s life, which was quite nice.  He’d pop another Merlin-construct out that evening, which was both educational and seemed to keep Merlin satisfied enough that he kept his metaphorical mouth shut.  “But, to answer your question, he’s strangely silent on the matter of Arthur.  We should ask about that later.”

“All right,” Belle agreed, and then gestured right with her head as they turned onto the sidewalk, heading towards the shop.  “Who’s that?”

Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t recognize Mordred when he was dressed for this world, clad in a dark suit, red shirt, and darker red tie.  But on second glance, the clothing choice—eerily close to his own as it was—was rather reminiscent of the red and black robes Mordred wore in their one meeting, so many years ago in Camelot.  Now, however, Rumplestiltskin could see him differently, could see the magic swirling in the air around the other sorcerer, tinged with darkness and yet a surprising amount of light.  It wasn’t wild magic, oh, no, not this.  Mordred’s magic was tightly contained and always controlled.  His power came from knowledge as much as it did his blood, and Rumplestiltskin found that fascinating.

“Mordred,” he answered quietly, watching those tight spirals of magic.  They were almost motionless, unlike those surrounding Regina, which were ever active and restless, rather like Regina herself.

“That might be a problem,” Belle said, and Rumplestiltskin turned to look at her questioningly.  “Arthur just came out with the others.”

* * *

 

More appropriately, Arthur had _followed_ Killian, Regina, Robin, and Henry out of the diner, much though Killian really didn’t want to talk to the man.  He didn’t like discussing his father, particularly since Killian knew there was an enormous amount that he didn’t actually know about Sir Gwaine.  _I was five when he left us,_ he thought helplessly.  _I barely even remember his face.  I just remember that he left Liam, Mother, and I alone for_ no _reason, off chasing glory or something.  Mother was so hurt that she never talked about it._

“So, your father was one of the Knights of the Round Table, huh?” Robin asked, _not_ helping matters.

“Yes,” Killian growled.  He’d told Emma that much, and told her the name of his father as well.  He’d also told her about how Gwaine had left his wife and two boys to fend for themselves, about how a woman of noble birth had been forced to flee court and set up a small home in the city, taking on the surname “Jones” so that they would blend in with the more common people.  He’d even told Emma about how Lord Thrasher—one of Mordred’s thugs—had taken even _that_ modest home from them after Ragnelle “Jones” had died, even though it had been Liam’s by right.  But Liam had only been thirteen, and Thrasher had plenty of men to force the boys out.  They’d become cabin boys in the Navy after a week on the streets, lucky to even have that opportunity.  _It was a hard and unfair life, and one my ‘heroic’ father left us to,_ he thought angrily.

No, his father wasn’t anyone to be proud of, even though Robin looked fascinated at the idea.

“You’re King Arthur’s great-nephew, then.  Did you know?” the outlaw asked, and Killian wanted to punch him.

“I never thought of it, mate,” he snapped, and then Robin finally seemed to get the hint.

“It’s true, though,” Henry spoke up, and damn it all if Killian couldn’t stay angry at Emma’s son.  When he’d seen her the night before, she’d been all but frantic with worry, terrified that she’d hurt someone else without meaning to and furious that Regina had stopped her.  Emma didn’t want to see Henry, but Killian had a feeling that Henry was the best person in the world for her right now…if only he could convince _her_ of that.  “And it’s pretty cool.”

“Perhaps in concept,” he allowed, but only for Henry’s sake.  “But there’s nothing ‘cool’ about what happened to my family, lad.  All I know is that my father left my mother with two young boys, and _nothing_ else.”

“Oh.  That’s…not very nice.”  Henry looked abashed, and Killian sighed.

“No, it wasn’t.”  _And my mother was never the same again.  Liam said she died of a broken heart, and I never could disagree with that._

“Killian!” that annoyingly familiar voice called his name, and Killian turned to face Arthur.  He _did_ have vague memories of meeting him—or someone very like him, he thought—but that had been in the late days of the war when no one had known who was on what side, and Killian could not imagine why he would have met the king _then._  

“Yes?” he tried not to snap, looking Arthur up and down and deciding that someone ought to get the poor bastard something other to wear than armor. 

“I know you may not want to see me, and I understand that,” Arthur said, and damn it all if the man couldn’t make himself sound so reasonable and sympathetic.  “The woman I killed, she was…?”

“I love her daughter,” Killian replied, answering the implied question.  “So, aye, she was a friend.  And if you’re looking for some lovely family reunion out of me, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.  I’ve chosen my side, and it isn’t yours.”

Arthur blinked.  “I never meant to imply that it should be.  But there is one thing.  I am told that people from across all magical realms ended up in this strange world due to a curse, and there is someone else—a family member—whom I seek.  I was hoping you could help me.”

“Perhaps,” he said slowly.  But of course Arthur was looking for Guinevere—assuming she hadn’t already found him.  Killian hadn’t previously considered how odd it was that she’d been in Storybrooke the entire time, or at least since the second curse.  _How_ did _she escape Camelot, and how did she wind up so far in what should be the future for her?_

“Thank you,” Arthur said feelingly, and for the first time, Killian got the feeling that the other man truly meant that.  “She’s a girl.  I don’t know how old.  She was taken from us as a child, with chestnut hair and—”

“Still looking for her, Father?” a new voice interrupted, and both men spun to face Mordred, who was smiling smugly.  “Good luck.  I never could find her, either.”

_We were sent after a chestnut haired girl, tied to magic and of indeterminate age,_ Killian remembered.  Liam had been annoyed to find the _Jewel of the Realm_ sent off on such a vague mission, complaining that it was his status as the Navy’s junior captain that landed them with the job.  Mordred had been king by then, and had sent them on that mission.  But _Arthur_ sought the same girl?  A chill ran down Killian’s spine, and suddenly he was very happy they’d never found the poor girl at all.

“Mordred,” Arthur all but snarled, and Killian felt the air between the two men—father and son, mortal enemies, who legend had said had killed one another (or at least tried very hard to)—grow heated with tension.

“It’s been so long.  Did you sleep well on the funeral bier?” Mordred’s smile remained in place.  “Mother sends her regards, by the way.”

“Did she bother telling you why she wouldn’t let you kill me?” Arthur retorted, his hand on his sword already.

“I never asked.  She can be strangely sentimental,” the other shrugged, and Killian backed up a step, glancing over at Regina, who had turned from her conversation with Robin and Henry to watch the confrontation.  It didn’t take magic for Killian to know that things were about to get ugly, and he _really_ didn’t want to get in the way of a probably-evil sorcerer who was dead-set on killing his own father.

“She also knew that I was right,” Arthur said, and Mordred laughed.

“I’ll ask her later, shall I?”  He gestured dismissively.  “She might chide me for finishing the job without consulting her, but I’ll take that risk.  You can draw your sword if you like, but I don’t plan on dueling you this time.”

“That’s because you know you’d lose.  Again.”

“All right, boys, put the testosterone away,” Regina cut in, striding forward.  “Nobody’s starting any fights, particularly _you_.”  She glared at Arthur.  “We’ve had quite enough of your sword already.”

Arthur looked a little abashed, but Mordred was looking at Regina like she was utterly amazing, and Killian had to do a double take. 

“Queen Regina, I presume?” Mordred asked.  “I remember you from the beach, and I apologize for not making a proper introduction there.”

“I go by ‘Mayor Mills’ here,” she retorted dryly, but the fascinated expression Mordred wore did not waver. 

“Of course.  If you’ll just let me complete this bit of centuries-old unfinished business, perhaps I can help you with your problems.”

He _had_ offered help before everything had gone down, Killian knew, which really was one up on Arthur, who had just killed Snow.  Regina, however, did not look convinced.

“It’s a nice offer, pretty boy, but I’m still not letting you kill someone on the street,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.  “We have laws against that here.”

“With all due respect to you and your laws, _Mayor Mills_ , you can’t stop me,” Mordred said with an apologetic shrug.  “Believe me when I say this entire town will be better off without my…father.”

Regina turned to look at Killian.  “Get him out of here before things get really messy, will you?”

“I’m always glad to be your errand boy,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying, but Killian did have to admit that it was probably a good idea to drag Arthur out of here before magic started flying.  Camelot’s king might have had a sword that was magic enough to kill Snow, but that didn’t mean he could stand against the sorcerer who had stolen Camelot from him.  Killian turned to take his great-uncle (and wasn’t _that_ a pleasant thought?) by the arm, but his hands froze when yet _another_ person interfered.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Lo and behold, the Crocodile—or former Crocodile, Killian supposed—had decided to put in an appearance.  He couldn’t quite hold back the instinctual flare of hatred that reared up in him upon facing Milah’s killer, even though he did now understand that things were…different.  _Now that I’ve seen what that darkness has done to Emma, I think I can accept the fact that he was a different man when he killed Milah,_ Killian thought, shivering.  _Not that I’ll forgive him.  But I do know that he’s not the same, now._

“Nice of you to join us, Rumple,” Regina said dryly, giving her former teacher a hard look.  “I was starting to wonder if you were going to tell me this wasn’t your problem.  Again.”

“You forget that I’m Ms. Lucas’ landlord, dear,” Rumplestiltskin replied lightly.  “Which means I dislike property damage to the diner and the surrounding buildings.”

“And you are?” Mordred broke in before Regina could say more.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

Watching the pair size one another up was interesting, and Killian found himself wondering who would come out on top if this came to a fight.  Sure, Rumplestiltskin had supposedly inherited Merlin’s powers, but from what he’d heard, Mordred had given Merlin a run for his money more than once—and Arthur claimed that Mordred had actually orchestrated Merlin’s death.  The Crocodile, however, didn’t seem fazed by that in the slightest, merely meeting Mordred’s eyes.

“You’re the new Sorcerer,” Mordred said after a moment, and Rumplestiltskin nodded.

“I am.” 

“Well, then I suppose I will delay seeking justice,” Mordred smiled easily, and nodded to Regina.  “In deference to your laws, of course.”  His eyes hardened as he looked Arthur’s way.  “Until then, Father.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Arthur retorted, but he only got as far as the second word before Mordred disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

Regina swung to face Arthur.  “You got any _more_ enemies around town that want you dead?”

“Legions, I’m sure,” he said dryly.

“Well, then go inside and stay there until we figure out what the hell to do with you,” she said crankily, and Killian couldn’t blame her.  So far, the legendary king of Camelot had _definitely_ been more trouble than he was worth.

Arthur obeyed, but even as he turned away, Killian didn’t miss the strange look the king threw Belle.

* * *

 

He really was an angry little cat.  Not that he _acted_ like a cat.  She’d tried giving him an enchanted light to follow around, hoping he’d leap on it like any cat, but Bandit just ignored it.  He also ignored the toys she made, snarling and spitting at her when she tried to be nice to him, so Emma just sat back on the couch and started shooting sparks at him, instead.  Sometimes she flicked miniature fireworks at him, too, just for variety.  Tormenting Bandit made her feel a little better, even if she was doing her best to make herself miserable.

Emma punched in the password for her voicemail again.

_“Mom, it’s Henry.  Why won’t you pick up?  I know you’re there, because the bug is out front, but you won’t answer the door.  I just want to talk.  Will you pick up, please?  Or at least call me back when you get this?”_

That had been the first voicemail, when Henry had come by after the wake.  Emma had almost called him back, but she’d steeled herself to ignore the other messages until now.  _I can’t put him in danger,_ she told herself for the hundredth time.  _I would have killed Regina if that other guy hadn’t shown up.  I can’t stop myself._

_Of course you can,_ the voice within her whispered.  _You just don’t want to._

Gritting her teeth, Emma tried to ignore the voice—only to discover that a wave of powerful magic had snapped out of her palm instead of the harmless little sparks, smashing into Bandit and sending him flying into the wall.  The cat yowled in pain and anger, but all Emma could feel was the darkness coiling up within her.  She remembered how _good_ it had felt to attack Regina, how furious she’d been that Regina had tried to interfere with her attempt to avenge her mother.  How _could_ Regina dare?  But of course, Regina wanted to be The Hero now, and she thought she could do it because Emma was the Dark One instead of the Savior.  _She’s probably glad that my mother is dead,_ Emma fumed.

Her hands were shaking with fury, and shoving down that feeling was hard.  Regina’s punishment would come.  Emma would make sure of _that_.  She already had a few ideas in mind, none of which Regina would enjoy.  _Your life is safe because Henry loves you,_ she thought towards the woman she had once believed was her friend.  _But_ nothing else _is._

Thinking of Henry again brought a cold rush of pain and worry that banished some of her anger, and Emma tuned in just in time to hear her phone playing the most recent of Henry’s voicemails.  This one was from just that morning:  _“…Gramps isn’t doing too well.  I think seeing you would help.  He just keeps telling Neal stories about Grandma.  We’re all still trying to find a way to help you, but it’s really hard when you won’t come out.  Please, Mom.  We need you._ I _need you.”_

Closing her eyes tightly, Emma tried to will those words away.  _I need you._   She needed Henry, too, but she had to keep him safe.  Until Emma could trust herself, she had to stay away from her family.  She shouldn’t have sought them out before.  She’d been weak and needy.  _I won’t make that mistake again,_ she promised herself, and almost couldn’t hear the laughter of the darkness inside her.  _I’ll stay away until I’m sure that I won’t let myself hurt Henry._

* * *

 

“So, um, ‘Pretty Boy’?  Is that what we call evil sorcerers these days?” Robin asked her once they’d gotten home, and Regina laughed despite herself.

“What, are you worried?” she teased him, and Robin gave her a smile.

“I’d be worried if you told him that he smelled like forest,” he replied. 

“No,” she snorted.  “I bet he smells like overpriced cologne and aftershave.  Mordred looks like he spent three hours in front of the mirror getting his hair _just so_.  Looking at him, he probably doesn’t even like _women_ , Robin.  Don’t worry so much.”

“Ah, I saw the way he looked at you, Regina.  Take it from someone who knows: he’s attracted to you.”

Once, Regina would have doubted that _anyone_ could be attracted to her—after Daniel, all she’d cared about inspiring in people had been fear, and sometimes loathing.  Now, however, she was more secure in who she was, and in who she loved.  So, she was able to shrug casually, despite the little thrill that ran through her.  She loved Robin, but it was nice to know that another man could find her attractive, too.  In an abstract sense, anyway.  “Well, then it’s too bad for him that I’m already taken.”

She leaned in to kiss Robin as the front door swung shut behind them, just to underscore her point.  Robin kissed her back fervently, and for a moment, Regina wondered who she was—after everything she had done—to be able to find a man like this.  Robin wasn’t the _only_ part of her happy ending, but he was an integral part of it.  Having someone by her side day and night, not being alone, and knowing that there was a shoulder to lean on when the world became too much…well, that was priceless.  And so very precious to her.

“I almost feel sorry for the man,” Robin mused.  “Almost.”

Regina laughed.  “I love you,” she whispered.  “You are…you’re wonderful, Robin.  Just having you here makes everything so much better.”

“Even when Roland breaks your prized horse sculptures?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Even then.”  She shrugged.  “Besides, I can fix them easily enough.  Magic _does_ have its uses.”

“Well, we have an hour before one of us has to pick Roland up from daycare,” Robin said, his eyes gleaming suggestively.  “And Henry’s not home, so…why don’t you show me some more of those uses for magic?”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, it is.”

* * *

 

Belle had headed over to the library while Rumplestiltskin dove back into Merlin’s books.  He was tempted to pull the Merlin-construct out while in the shop, but hesitated; Merlin had been convinced that no one else would be able to see him, and yet Belle had.  Rumplestiltskin really wasn’t in the mood to explain why he couldn’t keep Merlin running around like that all the time (any longer than three hours and he developed a splitting headache that no amount of magic could fix), or why the ghost-ish Merlin couldn’t do magic at all.  He also knew, instinctively, that if he let the heroes turn to Merlin for their answers, they would never, _ever_ trust him…and part of Rumplestiltskin genuinely wanted to earn their trust.

The part of him that had been the Dark One despised that about himself, of course.  He’d grown hard—at least outwardly—and had told himself that he was accustomed to fear and scorn.  He’d even told himself that he _liked_ it when people feared him, but even at the time, Rumplestiltskin had known that was the darkness talking.  Towards the end, separating himself from the darkness had been so very hard.  He hadn’t been able to tell what were his wants and what were the darkness’ desires, and he’d hurt so many people when he’d been out of control.  Now, looking back on it, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t imagine how he’d been willing to put his _grandson’s_ mother into the Sorcerer’s Hat…but he knew how the darkness could corrupt even the best of intentions.  _I wanted freedom, and I thought the Hat could banish the darkness forever.  What a fool I was._

The ringing of the bell broke him out of his thoughts and made Rumplestiltskin look up from Merlin’s spell book to find Mordred framed in the doorway.

“A…shop,” the so-called King of Camelot said, looking around curiously.  “Not the abode I would have expected for a sorcerer.”

“The first curse gave us all interesting professions,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a shrug.  “You missed that by staying in Camelot.”

“Indeed.”  Mordred strode into the shop, looking at the guitars with great interest, then sliding his eyes over other items as if they were not there.  He focused on the boat hanging from the ceiling for a long moment—it had once ferried Snow White to meet the Dark One—while Rumplestiltskin studied him.  Focusing past the magic surrounding Mordred, he considered the _man_ beneath that, on the image Mordred wished to portray.

He was clad in reds and blacks: power colors.  They made him unapproachable, regal, and highlighted how Mordred felt he was above nearly everyone else.  Dark colors were foreboding by nature, not welcoming, and that was exactly why Mordred wore them, wasn’t it?  _The same reason Gold chose expensive black suits,_ Rumplestiltskin realized.  He’d continued the habit for the same reason, because what self-respecting Dark One wanted to be _approachable?_ He’d been pleased to be anti-social, because it fit the nature of his power and the shyness of the spinner hidden underneath that.  But now…now he was not the Dark One.

Perhaps a wardrobe change was in order.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Mordred said his name slowly, rolling it over on his tongue experimentally. “It’s an unusual name.”

“So I’ve been told,” he replied easily.  This was a mental game of chess, utterly unlike their previous battle, all those years ago.  Then Mordred had been supremely confident that he knew how to beat _any_ Dark One—and had almost done so with ridiculous ease—and Rumplestiltskin had been the one on the defensive.  Now, however, Mordred was more cautious.  Respectful, even?

“I had my differences with Merlin, as I’m sure you know,” Mordred continued after a moment.  “I can’t imagine that you inherited his power without at least some of his consciousness and memories bleeding through—though I do have to congratulate you on ousting the old enchanter.  He always was the stubborn sort.”

Rumplestiltskin’s lips curled up in what might have been charitably called a smile.  “Thank you.”

_He’s sly,_ Merlin’s voice pointed out, rather needlessly, Rumplestiltskin thought.  _He’s got a tongue of silver and he’s not afraid to compromise.  But be careful you don’t give too much away._ A pause.  _Then again, you two are not terribly different, are you?_ Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

“I understand,” Mordred said very slowly, pursing his lips while he watched Rumplestiltskin intently, “that you were the Dark One until not very long ago.”

Ah.  So he _did_ know.  Rumplestiltskin had half hoped Mordred didn’t, but his former status had hardly been a secret in Storybrooke.  “I was.  Is that going to be a problem?”

“For how long?”

“A bit over three centuries.  Longer, if you count the curse.”  He could see Mordred trying to equate that over to how much time had crawled by in nearly-timeless Camelot, and Rumplestiltskin decided to save him the effort.  “We’ve met before.”

“I was wondering why I found my gauntlet in this shop,” Mordred answered, and now he looked almost amused.  “You were the only Dark One to ever get the better of me.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Excepting Merlin, of course.”

Oh, _that_ made rage flash through Mordred’s eyes, even made slight tendrils of his magic go dark red, but the other covered the emotion—and controlled it—quickly.  “So, you know about that.”

“Indeed I do.”  _Let’s keep him guessing on how much I do or don’t know, though, because if this becomes a contest over who has the most knowledge about the Dark One and Merlin’s history, I am going to lose,_ Rumplestiltskin thought.  Mordred had lived through those events, and influenced many of them, so he felt no need to play that game.  Instead, he continued: “So, now that we’re acquainted, what brings you here, Mordred?”

He intentionally omitted the other man’s title, just to see how Mordred would react.  And Rumplestiltskin could see that Mordred didn’t appreciate it, although he did not comment.

“I would not usually wish to work with someone who has been the Dark One.  But, seeing as how you are the Sorcerer, I have no choice,” Mordred replied bluntly.  “Besides, I would think that if anyone appreciates how very dangerous the Dark One is, it would be you.”

“I do, yes.”  _I also know how a Dark One who loves and is loved can fight the darkness long enough for it to matter._

“I propose an alliance, then.  What you learned from Merlin is biased.  He was blind to the greatest threat our world—any of our worlds—has ever known, and the Dark One is only the beginning.  These people have _no_ idea how much danger they are in.  In order to—”

“Let me finish that for you, shall I, dear?” Rumplestiltskin cut him off.  “You are going to say that in order to destroy the darkness, one must destroy the host, yes?”

“Or trap it.”

“Despite those differences with Merlin, you certainly do agree on that point,” he murmured.  Interestingly enough, Merlin chose not to chime in, which Rumplestiltskin reminded himself to ask about later.  “But I disagree.  I’m acquainted with the young woman who voluntarily took on the darkness.  She will not give in easily, and she has many who love her.”

“Yes, but that won’t last long,” Mordred grimaced. “My fool of a father just killed her mother.  She reacted as any Dark One would.  She’ll be out of control, now.  It’s only a matter of time, and she _must_ be stopped first.  With your power and mine, acquiring the dagger will be simple, and that’s the first thing we need.”

“You’re assuming that I’ve agreed to your proposal of an alliance a little too quickly for my tastes,” Rumplestiltskin said mildly. 

“Are you telling me that you’re _not_ going to stop her?  You’re the Sorcerer.  That’s what the Sorcerer is _fated_ to do.  That’s why Merlin went after the darkness in the beginning.  He was born to oppose it.  His power was _meant_ to oppose it, and I was destined to defeat it.  You have no choice, and neither do I.”

Even as a mere spinner, Rumplestiltskin had hated being dictated to, and keeping his face expressionless while Mordred lectured him was hard.

“Actually, I do have a choice, and my choice is not to rush into any ill-defined alliance prematurely,” he countered.  “I will wait.  And I will see.”

_And I will help Emma however I can while I figure out how to remove the darkness without setting it loose on the world,_ he did not add.  What he had said angered Mordred sufficiently as it was.

“I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here,” the other snarled.

“Oh, I do.  And I also know that we have time.  The Dark One is not out of control yet,” he reminded Mordred.  “She knew magic before taking on the darkness, _light_ magic.  She’ll learn to control herself.”

“Very few do,” Mordred warned him.

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly. “No one knows that better than I, dearie.”

“You’ll see that I’m right when she loses it and people start dying,” Mordred cautioned him, sounding like he was trying very hard not to say something regrettable.  “And that’ll be when people start wondering if the _former_ Dark One is a fitting Sorcerer after all.”

“Don’t try the veiled threats with me,” he chuckled again.  “I’m never going to win any popularity contests in this town.  They don’t like me, but they _know_ me.  They don’t know you.  Besides, I didn’t think rabblerousing was your style.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mordred’s expression darkened, probably at the thought of having to associate with that many peasants.  “You’ll see that I’m right.”

“Perhaps.”  _But perhaps not._   “Then you can tell me that you told me so.”

Mordred looked like he was sucking on a lemon.  “I’m sure we’ll speak again,” he said stiffly, and strode out of the shop.

_Well, I do believe I just made a friend,_ Rumplestiltskin thought wryly.  But, for once, he felt like he’d actually done the right thing.  Mordred might make a useful ally, but he would always see himself as the senior member of any partnership they formed. Rumplestiltskin was not about to take backseat to someone whose long-avowed purpose was to destroy the Dark One, because he’d made a promise to his grandson.  Rumplestiltskin always kept his promises.  He _would_ find a way to help Emma, one way or another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments on the last chapter! Next up: Chapter Nineteen—“One Brief Shining Moment”, in which Emma wants the Hat, David takes a turn for the worst, Regina tries to seek out Mordred, and Henry makes a desperate call for help when Emma remains distant.


	19. One Brief Shining Moment

The next morning, Rumplestiltskin was cooking breakfast when the Dark One waltzed right into his home.

“I thought you would have made your wards keep me out,” Emma commented as she materialized in his kitchen.

“I knew you’d come back,” he replied with a shrug, shifting the scrambled eggs around in the pan and deciding there was enough for three.  “Care to join us for breakfast?”

That made Emma blink.  So far as Rumplestiltskin knew, she hadn’t seen anyone but Hook since her mother’s funeral, and she clearly hadn’t expected a social invitation from her predecessor, particularly since they’d never been friends.  _Then again, I probably wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t know she’d refuse._

“No, thank you,” she said slowly, giving him a suspicious look.  “How did you know I’d come?”

“I’m still a Seer, you know.  That doesn’t come with the Dark One package.”

“I was kinda wondering about that, actually.”  Rumplestiltskin pulled the eggs off the stove—they were done, and Belle wouldn’t be out of the shower for a few minutes—and turned to face Emma fully.  She sounded almost like herself, almost like the Emma of old, and that actually took him aback for a minute.

“I took those powers separately,” he told her.  “After I became the Dark One.”

“Ah.  Pity.”  _Now_ he could see the Dark One behind those hazel eyes, thinking and planning, taking each piece of the equation into account.  Emma had always been smart, but she’d typically been more likely to break an obstacle rather than to think her way around it.  Now, however…now she was plotting.

“Did you have a particular desire to see the future?”

“I want to know if you’re my enemy,” she snapped, turning on him, all sharp edges and hostility.  Part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to back away—the shy spinner inside him was positively terrified of someone who could change moods so quickly—but he was the Sorcerer, now.  If he needed to, Rumplestiltskin knew he could outfight her.  Probably.  _Assuming I can ever get a handle on this power I have._   Right now, he was three parts show and one part knowledge, but Emma didn’t need to know that.

“Do you think I am?” he asked calmly.

“You’re the Sorcerer!” Emma burst out, sounding offended and angry.  “Everything in me—this damn _voice_ —tells me that you’re supposed to be my enemy.  But I don’t know.  You’re the only one who doesn’t judge me.”  Her voice dropped to a pained whisper.  “Even Killian judges me.  Even when he doesn’t mean to.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Rumplestiltskin replied softly, realizing that now was not the time to play cat and mouse—or Sorcerer and Dark One, so to speak.  “I may be the Sorcerer, but as you know, I’m in a unique position to understand what you are.”

“Everyone else just wants me back the way I was.  They think that if they wish hard enough, I’ll be the Savior again,” she said bitterly.  “But that’s impossible.  And I don’t _want_ to be!”

She did, of course.  Just as Rumplestiltskin had never stopped yearning to be the man he’d once been—and despised so much.  Under the darkness and the pain, under the loneliness and the hostility, he had missed being a good person.  Just like Emma did, though the darkness would never let her say it.  And she’d deny feeling any such emotions if he mentioned them, of course.  Emma knew what she was.

“You are the Dark One,” he agreed, leaning back against the counter and pulling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt back down now that he was done cooking.  Slowly, meticulously, he reattached his cufflinks, speaking casually.  “But what kind of Dark One you are depends on you.”

“Arthur killed my mother.  I want him _dead_ ,” she spat.

“Of course you do.  But Emma Swan—not the Dark One, just _Emma_ —knows that isn’t the right answer.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do, dear.  You may tell yourself you don’t, but you still care about your family.  Otherwise, your mother’s loss wouldn’t burn so badly,” Rumplestiltskin said as gently as he could, and Emma looked away.  “And you know that killing Arthur right now would hurt your family.”

She glared.

“It’s your choice, of course,” he continued, and watched something flash through Emma’s eyes.

“You once told me that I always make the right choice,” she said bitterly.  “I don’t think that’s true, anymore.”

“It can be,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “Fighting the darkness is hard, and you can’t do it alone, but you _can_.”

Emma snorted.  “Like you did, near the end?”

“No.  You know what I meant.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured at Emma’s crossed arms and tense form.  “Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know.”

Somehow, he managed not to laugh, sensing that wouldn’t go over very well.  “Yes.  You do.”

“Fine, then.”  She stepped forward threateningly, apparently no longer in the mood to share.  “I want the Hat.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me do something I _won’t_ regret, Sorcerer,” she snarled, and now Rumplestiltskin _did_ laugh.  He wasn’t sure if he could beat her in a fight right now, but magic wasn’t his only weapon.  Words, and in this case the _truth_ , were far more powerful.

“The Hat won’t help you, Emma.  Understand this: the Dark One _lies_.  The Dark One _tricks._   You can’t believe everything that voice tells you, because _it_ wants to be free as much as you do.  The darkness didn’t originate inside a person and it doesn’t want to stay inside you.  It was free and it destroyed far more than it _ever_ could drive you to do.  The darkness tells you the Hat means your freedom, but that’s a lie.  If you charge up that Hat, if you activate it and try to _take_ the power that the darkness promises you, you’ll quickly find yourself consumed.  Emma Swan will be gone, and the darkness will rule you.  Forever.”

“No.  That—that can’t be.  The Hat…” Emma trailed off, looking stricken.

“The Hat was hope, and hope is the most deadly tool the darkness can use to control you,” he said softly.  “But it’s a lie.”

“I thought…”

“You hoped that you’d only need to take a few lives, and that in the long run, a few would be better than the hundreds—if not thousands—you’ll threaten and kill,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “I did the math, too.  I thought it would be _better._ And I wanted to be free.”

“When I grabbed that dagger, I thought they could save me from this,” Emma whispered, and the eyes she turned on him were broken.  “But they can’t, can they?”

Would it have been better to lie to her and let her hope, just to keep the Hat from her and earn her ire?  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure, but his instincts told him that, no matter how destructive Emma became in the short term because of her shattered dreams, the truth was better in the long run.  _Had her mother not been killed in front of her, she might be doing better.  But this is a recipe for darkness, for Emma to embrace it with all of her broken heart._   Could he stop her?

“Not immediately, no,” he said slowly.  “In the end, I expect that you’ll have to save yourself.”

She looked away, clearly torn between heartbreak and fury.  “I don’t know how.”

“We’ll find a way,” Rumplestiltskin promised.  “That’s the one thing about magic.  It has rules, but within those rules, anything is possible.”

“The longer this takes, the darker I get,” Emma growled, turning back to face him, and Rumplestiltskin could see that the darkness was winning again.  He felt the magic gather, felt her impatience with this conversation and with his so-far empty promises, so he spoke up right before she could teleport out.

“Knock next time, dearie.”

No, he couldn’t stop her.  Not at all.  She needed to learn to stop herself.

* * *

 

If Henry had been worried about David before, he was starting to feel a little terrified, now.  His grandfather had barely been able to get out of bed that morning, and Henry couldn’t tell if it was grief—David _had_ lost his True Love just three days earlier—or something else.  Henry had chosen to stay in the loft instead of at Regina’s so that he could keep an eye on David, since there weren’t any adults left in the house to do that.  He’d wound up feeding Neal that morning, too, when David couldn’t quite get up in time, even though Gramps had insisted that he was just fine.  Henry hadn’t believed it then, and he didn’t believe it now, either—particularly once he heard the crash down in the kitchen.

Flying down the stairs, Henry found David sitting on the floor, with his back against the kitchen cabinets and his hands clutching at his chest.  Henry rushed to his side.

“Gramps!”

“I’m fine,” David wheezed breathlessly. “I just…slipped, I think.”

Except there was nothing for him to have slipped _on_ , even when Henry looked.  “Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

“No, I’ll be all right,” David whispered, but his eyes weren’t focused as Henry grabbed his arm.

“You’re really not,” he said.

“Neal—”

“I can feed Neal,” Henry cut him off.  “C’mon, Gramps, please?  Let’s get you back to bed and I’ll call Mom.”

“Which one?” David asked tiredly, but he let Henry help him up.  What really worried Henry, though, was that David was leaning _really_ hard on him, probably more than David realized.   It looked like David’s legs didn’t want to work right, because he kept stumbling and swaying, even though Henry tried to keep him walking in a straight line.

They made it back to David’s bed in a zigzag pattern, with David almost slipping and falling at least three times.  Finally, Henry managed to lower his panting grandfather to the bed, and David fell like a sack of potatoes.  His face was white and there were dark circles under his eyes, and even if Henry had wanted to believe he was okay, there was no way anyone would think he was.  At first, he’d thought it was just that David wasn’t eating right and wasn’t sleeping well, but now he was starting to wonder.  David was sweating and shivering, and when Henry put his hand to his forehead, it came away hot.

“Stay here.  I’ll be right back after I check on Neal,” he told David, who just nodded weakly.

Quickly, Henry jetted out of the room, pulling his cell phone out while he looked in on his little uncle.  Neal was still sleeping—which was good, because that meant Henry didn’t have to go warm up a bottle yet—and Henry dialed Emma’s number.  Surely she’d pick up this time.  This wasn’t about him.  This was about her _dad_ , the only parent she had left.  Even if he left a message, he _knew_ Emma would call him back.  _Worst case, I’ll call Hook.  He’s probably with her,_ Henry decided, pushing away the resentment that thought caused.

One ring.  Two.  Three.

“Please pick up,” Henry whispered, _willing_ his mother to answer the phone.  He knew she’d wanted to be alone to grieve, but surely three days was enough?

Four rings.

“Hi, you’ve reached Emma Swan.  Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Resisting the urge to swear, Henry tried to speak as calmly as he could—which, given how worried he felt at the moment, probably wasn’t very calm.  “Mom, it’s me again.  Look, I know you don’t want to see anyone, but Gramps is really sick.  Can you _please_ come to the loft?  I think seeing you would help him.  Please, Mom.  Don’t stay away now.”

He didn’t know what else to say, so Henry hung up, glaring at his phone again.  But there was no way of knowing how long it would take Emma to listen to her voicemails—for all he knew, Emma hadn’t bothered to listen to _any_ of the fifteen messages he’d left her.  So, Henry sighed and pulled up a different number in his phone.  He hated having to call his mom’s boyfriend because she wouldn’t talk to him, but life wasn’t always fair.  Still, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind as he dialed Hook’s number: _If Dad was here, this wouldn’t be happening._   The thought probably wasn’t fair to Hook, who Henry knew was trying, but he didn’t really care.

Fortunately, the pirate answered on the second ring.  “Henry?”

“Yeah, hi.  Are you at my mom’s?” he asked bluntly.

“Um…yes.  At the moment.”

“Good.  Then you can tell her that Gramps is really sick and she should come over.  And that since she won’t answer when I call, I’m calling my _other_ mom,” Henry snapped.  “The one that doesn’t ignore me.”  _This time._

For a kid with two moms, it was amazing how one and then the other would ignore him.  Emma gave him up, and Regina adopted him.  Regina tried to stop his attempts to break her curse, and Emma broke it.  Regina had been hurt by ‘Marian’ coming back, and Emma stood by now.  Now Emma was the Dark One and Regina was always there.  Why couldn’t it be both of them?  Henry wanted to scream at _both_ his mothers sometimes, and he hated pitting them against one another, but at the moment, Gramps was more important.  If he could goad Emma into coming by, he would.

“Henry, lad…that’s probably not a wise way to phrase it,” Hook said from the other end.

“Fine, then, tell her whatever you want.  But Gramps isn’t doing well, and _she’s not here_.”

“Hold on.”

A moment passed, and then another.  Henry tapped his foot impatiently as he tried to make out what the muffled voices were saying, but Hook must have had his good hand over the speaker, because Henry could only discern a word here and there, definitely not enough to figure out what they were saying.  It seemed to take _forever_ before Hook came back.

“Your mother will come by if she can,” the pirate said, his voice sounding heavy and regretful.  “She’s worried that she might hurt someone.”

“Gramps is _already_ hurting,” Henry snapped back.  “And she’s not afraid of hurting _you_.”

Saying that really wasn’t fair to Hook, since Henry knew—intellectually—that it was good that there was one person that Emma wanted around.  But he was still hurt by her refusal to talk to him, and now she didn’t even want to see her own father when he was sick.

“Henry…”

“So, she’s not coming.  Fine.”  Yanking the phone away from his ear before Hook could respond, Henry hung up angrily, glanced through the doorway at Neal once more—who had somehow not woken up even when Henry had been kind of loud—and then went back to check on David. 

David appeared to be sleeping, but his breathing was labored and weak, and he seemed to be shivering.  Swallowing hard, Henry grabbed a blanket and put it over his grandfather, who moaned a little bit but didn’t stir.  After spending a minute or so wondering if he _should_ try to wake him, Henry decided that he should make good on what he’d said to Hook and call Regina.  Whatever was wrong with David, his mom would be able to fix it, wouldn’t she?  So, he stepped back out of the bedroom and called his mother.  Fortunately, Regina answered on the first ring.

“Hi, sweetie.  How are things?”

“Not good.  Gramps isn’t doing so well.  I think he’s sick,” Henry said hurriedly, relieved that at least one of his mothers would talk to him.

“It’s probably a bad reaction to not having his own heart,” Regina replied.  “Not to mention losing Snow.  Do you want me come by and take a look at it?”

“Yes!  Please.”

“I can be there in about an hour.  I’m on my way out to talk to Mordred right now, to make sure he doesn’t do anything _else_ that’s crazy,” she answered.  “Apparently, he got in a spat with one of the dwarves this morning, and now Sneezy is a bird.  And no one can find him.  Is that okay?”

Under other circumstances, what had happened to Sneezy might have even been funny, but Henry was too worried to laugh.  He didn’t think an hour would make a huge difference in how David was or not, and Regina _was_ the mayor… She had a job to do, Henry knew, and keeping Mordred from hurting anyone else was definitely good for all of Storybrooke.  So, he took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be fine,” he said.

“Let me know if anything changes, all right?”

_At least she cares._ “I promise.” 

“Love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Henry replied, and hung up the phone just in time for Neal to start crying.

_Well, I guess that tells me what I’m doing next,_ Henry thought wryly, and headed into the kitchen to heat up a bottle for his uncle.  Fortunately, he’d gained a lot of experience in child care over the last few days; Ella had come by and offered some tips the first day, but since then, Henry had been fine on his own.  He knew he was old for his age, and that a ‘normal’ twelve-year-old (even one who was almost thirteen) didn’t usually care for their baby uncle as much as he’d been doing lately, but Henry had managed a lot of things on his own throughout his crazy life.  He figured that feeding a baby, even unsupervised, was probably easier and safer than trying to break a curse, and he even managed to get Neal to go back to sleep again afterwards.

Smiling to himself, Henry stuck his head in the bedroom to check on David once more, only to find that his grandfather’s white face had started to turn gray, and he was barely breathing.

* * *

 

There really was a damn castle in the forest.

Regina hadn’t really wanted to believe it when she’d heard, even though Maleficent was a pretty reliable source.  Mal wasn’t likely to lie about something like this, but why the hell would _anyone_ waste enough magic to build a (admittedly impressive) castle in the woods near Storybrooke?  Bad enough that the Sorcerer’s House had just up and appeared, but at least it had come through during the last curse.  This castle was old-fashioned, complete with turrets and a freaking drawbridge—and no doorbell, of course.

Fortunately, the drawbridge was down.  If it had been up, Regina might have given in to the almost overwhelming urge to call Maleficent and ask her to show up as a dragon, so that they could make the moat boil.  _This place is obviously built to impress people, so it might be nice to have something—someone—impressive along to back me up,_ Regina thought wryly, striding across the drawbridge with her hands in her pockets.  Not that _she_ was impressed.  Not really, anyway.  Even though she knew exactly how much magic it must have taken to build this place from scratch.  _And yet he still managed to go toe-to-toe with Emma and I at the same time, despite having done this just a few day earlier._ That indicated that Mordred was as powerful as the legends said.  Regina had hardly been at her best during that fight, but she knew power when she saw it.

_Yet he backed down when Rumple stepped in.  I suppose that says an awful lot about Merlin’s power,_ Regina mused.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about her old mentor inheriting said power.  Oh, thinking of Rumplestiltskin as _powerless_ was just plain odd; the fact that he hadn’t figured out a way to use magic when he wasn’t the Dark One had thrown her for a loop.  He’d been a larger than life influence for as long as she could remember, and power was simply his stock in trade.  He’d never been obviousabout; Regina couldn’t remember more than a handful of times when she’d seen him demonstrate real and terrifying power, but everyone had always known that he was the most talented sorcerer around.  Now the Dark One’s power had transferred to Emma—along with, it seemed, Rumple’s former lack of morality.  Yet the man was still a wildcard, even more so now that she really had no idea what he would do at any given time.

Rumplestiltskin had been predictable when he was the Dark One.  Now…now Regina wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she liked knowing that the power of the so-called ‘ultimate enchanter’ resided in a man who might still be ticked off at her for stealing his wife’s heart.

“Hello?” Regina called.  The gates had been as open as the drawbridge, but there was no one around.  Mordred really was sending a message that he had nothing to fear, wasn’t he?  Leaving the place defenseless was either _really_ overconfident or just damn stupid.  Sighing, Regina crossed her arms.  “Is anyone here, or am I just talking to thin air?”

“Not to thin air, no,” a voice said from her right, where Regina had been _certain_ no one had been standing just a second earlier.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.  The older woman looked vaguely familiar—like maybe someone she’d seen in town once or twice—but she certainly wasn’t someone Regina knew.

“Morgan of Orkney,” was the calm reply.  “Though I believe most know me as Morgan le Fae.”

Blinking, Regina turned fully to look at Mordred’s damned _mother._   This was just what they needed—another sorcerer (or sorceress, she supposed) right out legend.  And this one was special enough that she’d slept with her own stepbrother!  She looked older than Arthur, too, with a lived-in face and light brown hair that looked ready to go gray.  Her eyes were brown, too, and rather familiar, but not because Mordred shared them.  _Weird._   Regina did remember seeing her lately, too.  She usually dressed simply, always in dresses that were more expensive than they looked, but today she looked _different._

Regina forced a smile.  “I had no idea you were in Storybrooke.”

“That was the idea.”

Well, that was maddeningly unhelpful.  Regina resisted the urge to cross her arms and say something nasty, instead taking a deep breath.  _Don’t make enemies,_ she could almost hear Robin telling her, just like he had before she headed out.  _Be patient._

“I take it that since you’re here, your son isn’t,” she said as amicably as she could.

Morgan snorted.  “Of course not.  He’s off…being Mordred.  Probably preparing to pick a fight with the Dark One.  He enjoys that _entirely_ too much.”

“Can’t you stop him?  You’ve been here long enough to know what a bad idea _that_ is.”

“Can you stop your son when he gets a stubborn idea in his mind?” Morgan enquired, and Regina smiled despite herself.  Yes, Morgan had clearly been in Storybrooke long enough to be aware of Henry’s stubbornness.  Regina just wasn’t sure if she should consider that a threat or not.

“Tell him I dropped by then, will you?  I think he’ll want to talk.”

Morgan smiled an enigmatic smile that Regina found eerily familiar, though she couldn’t place why.  “Oh, I shall.  He quite fancies you, Mordred does.”

“Right,” she managed to say without snapping.  _Might as well use that, even if I’m not interested in him,_ Regina told herself.  “He can find me in my office if he decides he’d prefer talking to smashing things.  And people.”

Morgan merely nodded, and Regina headed back towards her car.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin did not expect a phone call from Henry so soon after speaking to Emma.  He and Belle had been reading through Merlin’s books again, a process made much easier now that Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer and was able to trip the appropriate line of magic, allowing Belle (and no one else) access to the books as well.  There were certainly things in those books he didn’t particularly want to share with others, but Belle he trusted.  She had more than earned that trust, and even with his soul cleansed of that toxic darkness, Rumplestiltskin knew that her moral compass was still far more reliable than his own.  He trusted Belle to tell him when he went too far, particularly with this enormous power at his disposal.

_People say that I don’t deserve this,_ he thought moments before the phone rang.  _They say that I haven’t_ earned _the right to be the Sorcerer…and they aren’t wrong._   Belle had once said that his True Love was his power, and it was true that he’d been utterly addicted to the power.  To the darkness.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure if that was still true or not, if it had been the darkness that had driven his burning _need_ for power or if it had been his own weaknesses, but he was certainly mindful of that, now.  He knew that he had to watch himself, and that if he wanted to be a good man, a man whom his son would have been proud of, he had to be careful.  _No great acts of magic until I understand this magic, and its price,_ he told himself for the hundredth time, pushing aside the itch to try some of the amazing spells contained in Merlin’s spellbook.  He had to wait until he knew what he had gotten into, because he _hadn’t_ done that as the Dark One, and it had only meant he fell that much faster.

“Henry,” he answered the phone in surprise, having glanced at the number before picking it up.  “Why are you calling?”

“I need your help,” his grandson said, and Rumplestiltskin looked up from the book in surprise.  “Gramps…he’s not doing so well.  Mom said that it might be a reaction to not having his heart and Grandma”—his voice cracked, and Rumplestiltskin thought he heard Henry gulp—“Anyway, Mom’s not here, and he’s really pale and barely breathing.  I can’t wake him up.”

“I’ll be right over,” he replied without thinking, the sound of Bae’s son’s worried voice echoing in his mind. 

“Please hurry.”

“I will,” Rumplestiltskin promised, hanging up the phone to look at Belle.  “David isn’t doing well.  Henry’s asked me to help.”

“See?” she said immediately, stepping forward to squeeze his arm. “I told you that you could earn trust if you tried.”

“I think it’s more like I’m the last resort.  Regina’s not around,” he shrugged.

“Go.”  Belle kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll keep researching.  You go help David, and try to be nice.”

He gave her a wry smile, and reached for his magic.  It responded eagerly, and just a light touch brought Rumplestiltskin right to the door to the Charmings’ loft apartment.  He’d teleported so quickly that it almost made him dizzy, and it took him a moment to realize that he had done so in a swirl of golden smoke.  _How…appropriate,_ he thought with another wry smile, and squared his shoulders before knocking on the door.  _I am_ not _good at this.  I should have brought Belle._

Henry opened the door before he could consider calling his wife to join him and smooth over the rough edges he was certain to create.  “Come in,” the boy said without preamble.  “Neal’s sleeping, but I still can’t wake Gramps up.”

“Tell me what happened,” Rumplestiltskin said, following Henry towards what used to be Snow and David’s bedroom, and now only belonged to David.

“He’s been kinda, I dunno, lethargic for the last few days.  We all thought it was grief,” the boy answered gravely.  “But this morning he looked awful, and then he fell down.  I helped him to bed, but it’s only getting worse, and he’s not waking up.”

By then, they’d reached the doorway and Rumplestiltskin could see David for himself.  The king did indeed look terrible; his skin was gray and sickly, and constant tremors shook his limbs.  Immediately, Rumplestiltskin knew that Regina had been right—and wrong.  _This is more than just complications of having the wrong heart,_ he thought.  _He’s dying._   But could he fix it?  Instinct told Rumplestiltskin that he could…three centuries of learning sorcery told him that David’s death was unavoidable.

“Can you help him?” Henry asked quietly, and the quiet brokenness in his voice tugged on Rumplestiltskin’s heart.

“I’ll need to take a closer look,” he prevaricated, not wanting to say _no_ , even though he knew what the answer should be.  Still, his grandson was counting on _him_ , turning hopeful eyes on a man who had no right to ever earn this boy’s trust.  So, Rumplestiltskin stepped into the room, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down.  Even before he raised his hand with a silent diagnostic spell, information rushed in, almost overwhelming his senses.

“I’ll make whatever deal you want.  Just don’t let him die.”  He was so inundated by the magical burst of data that Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t register what Henry had said, but when he did, he turned to look over his shoulder in surprise.

“There’s no need for a deal,” he said softly.  “I’ll do what I can.”

“But you’ve always wanted something,” Henry objected.  “You say that all magic comes with a price.”

“And so it does,” Rumplestiltskin replied, “but not for you.  You’re my grandson, Henry.  I know I’ve never done very well by you, but I’d like to change that.”

A flicker of hope crossed Henry’s face, but he still continued stubbornly: “I don’t want Gramps to have to pay it, either.”

“No one will,” he promised.  “Every now and then…it’s good to do the right thing.”

“Okay.”  A brief smile flickered on Henry’s face, but it faded quickly.  “He’s dying, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin refused to lie to Henry when he was being so brave.  “Losing his True Love tore a hole in him that no amount of magic can fix, and not having his own heart…”

“Can you stop it?”

But Rumplestiltskin hesitated.  Who was he to be the Sorcerer?  This was light magic on a scale like he had never done.  No mere potion or simple spell would fix David’s condition; it would require power of a magnitude that he had only dreamed of, and the light touch of someone who truly  _wanted_ to heal—and was using their own love to fuel the spell.  Yet Henry was asking him.   _Him._   Rumplestiltskin, who had never been there for the boy when it mattered, and who had tried to kill both of his mothers.  He had been a villain and a coward, and neither of those would be able to do the needed spells.

He just wasn’t sure he had it in him to be that much of a better man.

“Grandpa?” Henry asked quietly, and Rumplestiltskin realized he hadn’t answered, and he looked over at the lad again.

Bae’s son was watching him hopefully, trustingly, and he knew that he had to do this.  Swallowing hard, he nodded.  “I can try.”

“How can I help?”

“Hold his hand,” Rumplestiltskin said, gathering power to himself, thinking of his love for Belle, of how much he had loved his son, and yes, even the love he had so rarely allowed himself to feel for Henry.  “Give him someone he loves to anchor himself to this world.”

Scrambling up on the bed on David’s other side, Henry did as he was bid.  “Now what?”

“Just focus on how much you love him and how much you want him to stay,” he answered, already visualizing the thick black threads of doom hanging over David.  There were lighter ones, too, gray where they should have been white, worn thin where they had once been strong.  Those threads were ragged and broken; they had connected David and Snow together through the most powerful magic there was, but now they—and David—were shattered.  “Love is a powerful magic in and of itself, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin explained quietly, lifting his hand and letting it hover over David’s chest.  “As you know, True Love is just as strong between family members as it is between a man and a woman.  Your grandmother’s love has saved him so far, but now he must also be tied to those who remain in this world.”

Truth be told, Emma would have been the best choice, had she not been the Dark One.  Even as the Dark One, if she’d been able to discard her anger for long enough, a daughter who also had powerful magic of her own would have been enough to hold David in the world.  She could have done this without Rumplestiltskin.  But Henry—oh, Henry was _better_.  He could see the boy concentrating on his love, could see him _believing_ , and the pure magic inherent in who and what Henry was filled the room.  Henry was the Truest Believer, and he loved like he believed: with all of his golden heart.  The boy gripped David’s hands firmly, and Rumplestiltskin dug into his own love, his own soul, to pull the spell together.

Henry was the anchor, but Rumplestiltskin was the center of the spell.  He _had_ to be; otherwise, there was no way to pull this magic together, no way to infuse light magic into heartbreak, hope into sorrow.  He could not _make_ David hope—no one could force that emotion upon another—but he could repair the deepest rents in David’s broken soul, reminding the core of the man that there were others who loved him.  Directing Henry’s love to fill the gaps, Rumplestiltskin wove thread upon thread around Snow’s—now _David’s_ —heart, weaving its inherent magic and its soul into David’s own.  A piece of Snow White seemed to answer him, and the power and the sheer force of her love took Rumplestiltskin’s breath away.

_We live in the hearts of those we leave behind,_ he realized.  That had never been so true as it was in Snow and David’s case.  She was saving him, again, and he only hoped that David would be able to understand that someday.  So, he wove Snow’s brilliant love, the very core of _her_ soul, which stayed with David while the rest of her moved on, around the heart that had belonged to Snow.  But it wasn’t enough.  For all the power at his disposal, Rumplestiltskin realized that repairing the damage was not enough.  David’s soul was in shreds, and although Henry’s love was a bright and shining beacon that showed David the way, the threads Rumplestiltskin had woven wouldn’t quite fuse together.   _Mending a broken heart, a broken soul, takes love_ , he realized.

David had never quite been his friend, which meant that Rumplestiltskin could not focus on his own nebulous feelings for the prince.  Sometimes they had been allies and sometimes enemies.  Once, they had understood one another so well, but somehow that had fallen by the wayside.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had always respected David: the shepherd that had become a prince, who had risen from nothing to become a hero.  _He became everything I dreamt of being when I went off to war._ Once, he had envied David so very much, but now, he just pitied him.  _I cannot imagine losing Belle the way he lost Snow._

Love brought pain, but pain was strength.  And _that_ was what he should use.  Rumplestiltskin had said it hundreds of times: True Love was the most powerful magic of all.  But he’d never actually _used_ it, not beyond bottling a potion whose specific ingredients were forever lost, now.  He had been the Dark One, and focusing and channeling his own True Love had been beyond him.  But not now.

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin focused on his love for Belle, on how she had made him feel.  On how he hurt her, and she forgave him, and on the depth of the love he felt for her with every breath.  Channeling _that_ love into his hand, Rumplestiltskin bent it to his will, using that love as his magic, and weaving it into David’s soul.  Ever so slowly, the threads around David’s heart— _Snow’s_ heart—fused together, and Rumplestiltskin checked them once, twice, and then a third time. 

“There,” he said softly, opening his eyes.  “Done.”

“Will he be all right?” Henry asked worriedly.

“Yeah,” Rumplestiltskin answered.  “He’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Grandpa!” 

Suddenly, Henry bounced across the bed and hugged him tightly, startling Rumplestiltskin so badly that he almost yanked away.  Immediately, he felt magic roar up to defend him, power boiling in his hands until he desperately pushed it down.  Ever since he’d been Zelena’s prisoner, Rumplestiltskin didn’t like people _touching_ him—but Henry was his grandson.  Swallowing back his fears, he managed to hug his grandson back awkwardly.

“You’re welcome,” he said after a moment, blinking when Henry pulled back.  His grandson was grinning happily.

“I knew you could do it,” Henry said, and Rumplestiltskin felt something strange stirring within him.  Something almost like…hope?

“What _did_ you do?” a new voice asked from behind him, making Rumplestiltskin and Henry both turn to face Regina.

“Magic, of course,” he answered with a shade of his old flippancy.  He felt oddly light, even a little warm.  Was this what it felt like to do magic from a good place within himself, to do truly _light_ magic with no darkness weighing him down?

“I can see that,” Regina retorted dryly.  “But…but _what_ you did… I’ve never seen anything like that.  Even from you.”

“I’m not what I was,” Rumplestiltskin said honestly.

“Your magic is different, too.”

His chuckle surprised even him.  “Quite.”

“When’s he going to wake up, Grandpa?” Henry interjected, watching David’s chest rise and fall.  He was breathing regularly now, no longer wheezing, and his gray features were slowly turning more normal in color.

“By morning,” Rumplestiltskin promised.  “We could wake him now, but there’s no reason to.  Sleep will help.”

“What you did, using True Love…” Regina hesitated before continuing, brushing hair out of her face nervously.  “Can I learn that?”

Rumplestiltskin studied her, watching the magic that swirled around Regina.  It was more hesitant than it had been, lighter and more _hers_ than dark magic had ever been.  She was still learning how to be a hero, still unsure of herself sometimes despite her commitment to be better, but this was what Regina should have been.  As he watched, Rumplestiltskin caught sight of the tiny red thread twisting around his old student, staying in the vicinity of her heart.  _True Love_ , he realized.  It was different for everyone, but Regina had something unprecedented: a second True Love. 

_Careful,_ Merlin cautioned him, sounding half-impressed and half-worried.  _No one has ever done what you just did.  Can you truly expect to teach someone_ else _to channel their own love?_

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, meeting her eyes.  “I believe you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…Emma knows the truth about the Hat, but will she believe it? And what else might she look to do if she can’t free herself that way?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Twenty—“Seize the Freedom”, in which Regina confronts Emma over her treatment of Henry, Emma decides on a bit of revenge, David visits the shop to thank Rumplestiltskin, and the portal from Camelot breaks back open.


	20. Seize the Freedom

Regina had done a lot of dumb things in her life.  She had ignored her son because of her own pain, and she had tried to make him think he was crazy when she’d been desperate to keep her curse from breaking.  But she had never, _ever_ ignored him when he was grieving or hurt, and now Emma was doing both.  Henry had called them both when David had been ailing, and Emma hadn’t even _answered_ him.  If Regina had known how bad things were, she would have come right away, but from what Henry had told her, David’s downturn came after they’d spoken.  Still, Regina felt guilty that Henry had been forced to call Rumplestiltskin—guilty, and relieved.  Rumple had said that he thought she could learn the magic he’d used to heal David, Regina had never seen anything like it.

_He used to be one of the only people I trusted, but we grew in different directions. I can’t pretend to understand what being the Dark One does to someone—because what it’s doing right now to Emma is utterly_ idiotic _—but I guess I can figure out why he jumped off the deep end._   Regina knew herself pretty well by now, and if there was anything she knew, it was that if Zelena had killed Henry, she would have done whatever was necessary to murder her sister, too.  And then…well, then Regina wasn’t sure what she would have done.  Would she have turned back towards darkness?  She wasn’t sure, but the possibility certainly would have been there.

Still, those musings didn’t have much to do with the current situation.  _Emma’s_ idiotic choices did, because Emma had been busy hurting Henry since Snow’s funeral.  Oh, Emma might dress it up in fancy words like ‘she was afraid she’d hurt someone’, but Regina knew the truth.  Emma was being selfish, and _mothers_ didn’t get to be selfish.  Regina had learned that lesson the hard way.  So, she pounded on Emma’s shiny new door, almost hoping that Emma would send the pirate to work interference.  _It would give me an excuse to take this rage out on someone who deserves it._

Fortunately or unfortunately, Emma opened the door herself.  “What do you want?”

“You’re ignoring Henry,” Regina said flatly, crossing her arms and getting straight to the point.  “It’s been five days since the funeral, and you still won’t even answer your damn phone when he calls.”

“I told him why,” Emma said, immediately defensive.  “I—”

“No, you had Captain Lover Boy back there tell him,” she cut her off, gesturing at where Hook lurked in the hallway behind Emma.  “You don’t even have the guts to tell your own son why you’re ignoring him.  Are you that sure you’re going to lose control, or are you just too busy boinking your swarthy pirate?”

“Don’t you start with me,” Emma growled.  “I seem to remember you ignoring Henry when _you_ were in pain.”

“Yeah, and you know what? I learned from that,” Regina retorted.  “I learned that mothers can’t afford to be selfish, so I’m here to impart the lesson on you.  Call Henry and tell him that you’re sorry.”

“I don’t have to do a damn thing you tell me to, Regina.”  Emma’s voice had gone low and dangerous, and Regina felt the thrill of dark magic in the air.  “Get lost.”

“Or what?  You’ll double up on Henry’s pain?  Go on, do it.  Kill me.  He’s already lost his grandmother, why not add his adopted mother to the death toll?”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “I’m not going to kill you.”

“No, you’d rather leave Henry wondering if he matters to you at all,” Regina snapped.  “You know, at least when Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, he did terrible things to get _back_ to his son.  You’re busy ignoring yours, which is even worse.”

“Don’t you compare me to—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sarcastically, done with Emma’s excuses and the way the other woman didn’t even seem _bothered_ by Henry’s pain.  “Am I supposed to give you a pep talk and tell you that it’s all right, you’re the Savior, and you can fight the darkness?  Screw that.  I’m not your mother, because she’s _dead_.  I can’t change that any more than you can, but you’re not the only one in pain.  Your _son_ just lost his grandmother, and now his mother won’t talk to him. How do you _think_ he’s handling that?  Or are you too wrapped up in your own pain to care?”

Those words made Emma flinch, and the new Dark One went stark white at the accusations.  For a moment, Regina thought that Emma might actually lash out at her, but she could see pain in the other woman’s hazel eyes, and she knew that her words were _finally_ getting through.

“Your father almost died yesterday, by the way,” Regina added quietly when Emma was silent.  “That’s why Henry kept calling you.  He was about to lose _another_ member of his family, and you couldn’t bother to be there for him.”

“He’s all right?” Emma asked, and her voice was tiny, almost terrified.

“David’ll be fine,” she answered, consciously making her voice a little gentler.  “Now, call Henry.  Before you hurt him more.”

“Well, then you didn’t need my help, did you?” Emma demanded, suddenly hostile again, and Regina reared back, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in the other woman’s head.

“ _I_ couldn’t heal him,” she said bluntly.  “Henry had to call his other grandfather for that one when you wouldn’t answer the damn phone.”

“Just like you couldn’t heal my mother,” Emma said, going quiet again.  “And just like you stopped me from _avenging_ her.  You’re awfully useful these days, aren’t you, Regina?”

Now it was Regina’s turn to flinch.  “Look, I told you—” her voice broke, and she had to shake herself.  “I told you how sorry I was.  Am.  And I didn’t save Arthur for his sake.  I’m your _friend_ , whether you want me to be or not, and I am _trying_ to _help_ you.  And our _son!_ ”

Hazel eyes narrowed.  “Go away, Regina.  Leave while you still can.”

“I’m not leaving until you see sense.”  Regina could hear the warning in Emma’s voice, but she didn’t give a damn.  She was done with playing nice, with cossetting Emma and trying to get her to come around through love and trust.  Hook was obviously playing that card, and it wasn’t doing him a damned bit of good.  _And it’s hurting Henry_.  Regina would put up with any amount of abuse Emma wanted to heap on her if it got the idiot talking to Henry again, because she knew how depressed Henry was becoming.  He wanted to help his mother more than anything, but even being the Truest Believer had its limits.  He needed to _know_ that Emma still loved him…and only Emma could tell him that.

“My problem seeing sense,” Emma replied softly.  “My problem is that I never saw you for what you were before now.”

“What the hell is that—”

Magic picked her up, twisting around her too quickly for Regina to resist.  She felt the sudden telltale _tug_ of teleportation, and before she could even think to counter the spell, she found herself landing hard on the floor of her vault.

“—supposed to mean?”

The rest of her sentence tumbled out on its own as Regina shook herself, scrambling to her feet and trying to ignore the sudden ache in her backside.  Emma had shovedher away, teleported Regina straight into her vault—and right _through_ her wards!—as if she were nothing.  As if Regina didn’t have a whit of power of her own.  Shaken, Regina brushed herself off and looked around, trying to make sure that Emma’s magic hadn’t tripped anything dangerous.  It didn’t seem to have, but that wasn’t the real problem.

The real problem was Emma Swan.

* * *

 

“I am trying _so_ hard not to hurt anyone, and that _bitch_ has to come here and berate me?” Emma snarled, slamming the door with magic and stalking away from it.  Rage made her entire body shake, no matter how badly she tried to calm herself.  “She has _no_ idea how close she just came to dying!”

_Kill her.  Kill her and have the boy to yourself,_ the curse whispered within her, and Emma gritted her teeth, trying to force its voice away.

“Emma, love—”

“No,” she cut him off, her voice hard.  “Don’t start.  I’ve stayed away from them to keep them _safe_ from this boiling rage inside me, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Much though I rarely agree with Regina, I think that she was only here on young Henry’s behalf,” Killian said gently, and Emma almost gave in as he reached for her, clearly trying to wrap her in an embrace.

“Don’t,” she snapped, shaking her head.  _She isn’t my friend.  No friend would stop me from avenging my mother and claim they’re doing it_ for _me,_ Emma thought darkly.  _She just wants to be the one with power around here.  Again._

“You need to talk to Henry,” Killian tried again, and Emma whirled to face him.

“Don’t you think I want to?” she demanded, pain welling up and demanding she lash out.  _No,_ she told the darkness desperately.  _Not him._   “I miss him more than anything, but I don’t know how to hold this rage back!”

“You haven’t hurt me,” he pointed out.

“Because I can turn it to lust with you,” Emma admitted, glancing down at her feet.  “I have to channel the darkness somehow, and I hoped enough lust—enough _love_ —would make it lessen, but the rage is only getting worse.”  She would not cry.  Dark Ones did not cry.  “She stopped me from killing the man who murdered my _mother!_ ”

“I know it seems unfair,” Killian whispered, and now Emma did let him wrap his arms around her, leaning into his chest and shaking with suppressed emotion.  “But you have to fight this, love.  It isn’t you.  You can’t just kill Arthur, no matter what he did.  That will just let the darkness get its hooks further into you.”

“He killed my mother,” Emma whispered, closing her eyes tightly on tears.

“I know.  But perhaps being with your family is the answer, instead of avoiding them.  Their love— _all_ of our love—might be able to help you hold the fury back, not encourage it.”

“No.”  Suddenly, everything was so clear, and Emma felt the rage cool.  Even her grief evened out, the howling tempest becoming a cold sense of crystalized purpose.  “No, I have to feed it, but I know how.”

That was the answer.  She could kill two birds with one stone, could slake the darkness _and_ punish Regina like she had planned to.  Killian was right; she didn’t have to _kill_ anyone.  She could vent her rage and her darkness, and then she’d be able to see Henry again.  Everything would be all right.  Henry and those she loved would be safe from her, and Regina would suffer.  Relief flowed through her, and Emma even felt the dark pressure in her mind lessen.  _Yes.  This will work._

“What are you planning?” Killian asked warily.

Pulling back, she gave him a slight smile.  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Emma…”

“I’m going to go visit someone.  Will you be here when I get home?”

She disappeared before he could say another word.  Emma knew he would come back to her.  Killian always did.

* * *

 

David had always believed in facing things head-on, and when he’d finally woken up that morning—almost a full day after he’d passed out—he knew that he had to get himself up and moving.  The emptiness that represented Snow’s loss would never leave him; he knew he would never again see her smile or hear her laugh, or even just sit by her side in understanding silence, but David knew that he had to move on.  He didn’t _want_ to…but he needed to.  His daughter and his son needed him, and so did Storybrooke.  And he had a very unlikely savior to thank.

He was a little surprised to find the front of the shop empty when he entered; the sign had said ‘open’, but no one seemed to be around . “Gold?” David called cautiously, but no one answered.

So, he made his way towards the back room, pushing aside the curtain.  The last time he’d come through here, Snow had been at his side and Emma and Rumplestiltskin had been facing off.  Now, however, there was just Rumplestiltskin sitting behind the table, his eyes fastened on a book and a ball of magic floating over his right hand.  Fascinated, David watched the magic for a long moment.  It was gold and silver in color, made of a thousand separate threads that glittered in the florescent light of the back room, shifting and shimmering and dancing around one another as the Sorcerer twitched his fingers.  He wasn’t even watching the magic as his eyes flew over the page, just seemed to be toying with it, and David realized with a start that this was the most relaxed he had ever seen Rumplestiltskin.  His expression was almost peaceful, neither smug nor cutting, and it was a strange sight.

“Ahem,” David cleared his throat after a moment, and Rumplestiltskin looked up in surprise, the ball of magic flickering out.  David smiled sheepishly.  “You, uh, didn’t seem to hear me when I came in.”

“My apologies.”  Rumplestiltskin rose a little stiffly, and David couldn’t help but notice the way his posture changed.  _Has he always been this uncomfortable around other people, or are we just seeing it now that he isn’t the Dark One?_ the prince wondered despite himself. 

“No need to apologize,” he said awkwardly.  “I came to thank you.  According to Henry, I owe you my life.”

A strange look flickered across Rumplestiltskin’s face, and he shrugged uncomfortably.  “He asked.”

“Then thank you,” David said more directly, realizing that he really wasn’t the only one who was out of his depth here.  “Honestly.  I…I’m grateful.  I have people who need me, and with Snow gone, I—”

He just couldn’t get the words out around the lump in his throat, but the strange sensation of a hand slipping into his helped David swallow the pain back.  If he closed his eyes, if he didn’t look, he could almost imagine Snow standing by his side and taking his hand.

“She’s not truly gone, you know,” a soft voice said, and David’s eyes flew open as Rumplestiltskin spoke.  “You have her heart, now.  That means she’ll be with you—not just in a metaphorical way, like some cheap poet would tell you, but in a real and physical way.  In magic, the heart is tied to the soul, and your wife’s will always be with you…until you see her again.”

“Until I die, you mean.”  Somehow, the idea of death no longer held any fear at all for him, because it would mean seeing Snow again.  Oh, David would fight to live for as long as he could, because he had baby son and a daughter who needed parental love now more than ever, but it was almost nice to know that there was someone waiting.

“Yes.”

“You were dead.”  The words tumbled out before he could stop himself.  “You died killing Pan.  What was it like?”

“I’m the wrong one to ask, I’m afraid,” Rumplestiltskin replied wryly.  “I was the Dark One, and Dark Ones don’t die like normal people.  I went to the Vault of the Dark One, not any afterlife.”

“Oh.”  The phantom fingers squeezed his own, and David tried very hard not to look down, knowing that no one would be there.  Was that because Snow was with him, in his—her—heart?  Or was it simply his imagination?  There was only one way to find out.  “Sometimes…sometimes I feel like she’s here,” he whispered.  “Like her hand is in mind, or she’s standing just outside my reach.  Am I imagining that?”

“No.  Snow White…she had a very strong heart.  Not the purest, but certainly the most loving,” was the quiet answer.  “She kept you alive for days longer than you should have lasted.  By all rights, there should have been nothing that could save you.”

“Even your magic?  Regina said you did something…extraordinary.”  _Something Regina obviously didn’t think should have been possible,_ David didn’t add.  Regina hadn’t said as much, but he’d read between the lines.  Thinking of Rumplestiltskin as someone other than the wily old trickster was hard, but he _had_ saved David’s life without asking for anything in return.

Rumplestiltskin gave him a crooked smile.  “Even the Sorcerer’s magic has its limits.”  He snorted.  “Particularly when you’ve possessed it for less than a week.”

“So…what now?” David found himself asking.  He hadn’t come here to ask these questions, but someone had to, and Rumplestiltskin seemed more open now than David had ever seen him.  “I mean, you’re not the Dark One.  Even leaving aside for the moment that Emma is…how do you fit in?  What—I mean, none of us knew you before, except for Killian.  And I don’t think he knew you well.”

“No, he certainly did not.”

“So…who are you?  I certainly didn’t appreciate how much being the Dark One could _change_ someone before Emma took it on.  I guess this means you’re back to being who you were before?  With the, uh, addition of Merlin’s power.”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” was the oddly straightforward answer.  “I carried that darkness around inside me for three centuries.  I came to the point where I firmly believed that I could not live without it.  Sometimes I fought it.  Sometimes I even won.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was sad.  “But not as often as I thought I did.  And…well, that much darkness leaves a mark.  The Apprentice might have scrubbed my heart clean, but it’s part of who I am.”

“And you’re still _really_ good at telling people only what you want them to know, aren’t you?” David couldn’t help smiling.

“Am I?” Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Perhaps you should tell me exactly what you want to know, then, and maybe you’ll get a straight answer.”

“Is that a promise?”

Brown eyes so very like Henry’s twinkled.  “Certainly not.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of David, and it felt so strange coming out.  He hadn’t laughed since Snow’s death, unless one counted the bitter, hysterical giggles he’d erupted in sometime on the first morning without her.  He felt odd, and sad, almost like he was betraying her memory by continuing to feel anything other than grief, but then that phantom squeeze of his fingers came again, and David knew he wasn’t.  So, he pushed his sadness aside to say:

“You promised Henry that you’d try to help Emma, but is that all you’re going to do?  Regina…Regina can’t be everywhere, and our problems are only stacking up.  King Arthur’s here, and now Mordred _and_ Morgan le Fae, and we got a call this morning saying that the doorway in the Sorcerer’s House is open again.   We need help.  Are you with us?”

“Yes.”

David almost didn’t hear the word because it was _definitely_ not what he was expecting.  He expected to have to convince Rumplestiltskin, continuing: “Because if you can, we really—wait a minute.  _What_ did you say?”

“I said yes.  I will help you,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “All magic comes with a price, especially mine.”

“A price?” David echoed.

“Responsibility.”  Was that a slight grimace?  “Merlin was—and I am now—the last human original power.  That means that, whatever comes, I am…involved.”

He almost sounded unsettled, but David chose not to ask.  He knew Rumplestiltskin well enough—or had, anyway—to know when not to press, and he sensed that the other man was genuinely _trying_ to help.  The world really was upside down, with Emma as the Dark One and Rumplestiltskin on the good side, but David had no choice but to accept things the way they were.  And anyone who was willing to help his daughter was welcome as an ally.

“So, uh, is that what the wardrobe change signifies?” he asked, gesturing at the gray suit Rumplestiltskin wore.  On first glance, he didn’t look terribly different, until you realized that the suit definitely _was_ gray, and that he was also wearing a blue shirt.  His tie was blue, too, darker than the shirt and with a matching pocket square (the man had been a fashion peacock in the Enchanted Forest, so David was hardly surprised to see him dressed to the nines here, too), but he wasn’t wearing a bit of black.  Except his shoes, anyway, and David didn’t think those counted.

Rumplestiltskin just shrugged.  “I thought it was time for a change.”

* * *

 

Pieces were moving into place faster than she had anticipated, and nothing annoyed Morgan more than a future she could not predict.  All in all, being a Seer was a grand nuisance—Merlin had always tried to bolster his reputation by saying that his prophecies were _never_ wrong, but a true Seer knew how very hit and miss seeing the future was.  Morgan was more accurate than most, having inherited that power from her own grandmother, but even she knew that a good half of the prophecies she had written down in her book were utter rubbish.

_That’s why I put them there_ , she thought wryly.  _So that fools who wanted to read the book would be led astray worrying about things that wouldn’t actually happen_.  Of course, the problem was that even she didn’t know _which_ half were pure drivel until events unfolded, which was why Morgan had eventually stopped taunting would-be questors and idiot knights with the book and had simply sealed it with blood magic.  Which, of course, neatly brought her around to her current problem.

Morgan had birthed five children, two of which lived to adulthood and one of which she had walked away from without ever knowing his fate.  Only Gwaine had married and had children of his own—unless, of course, Mordred had failed to share some crucial fact with her, but Morgan thought her son knew better than to be so foolish. Gwaine was dead, of course, but he had had two sons of his own before his death.  _Could one of his descendants be here?_ Morgan wondered.  Surely eight hundred and fifty years of time passing would have diluted the blood enough!  _Of course, I do not know where Ragnelle ran,_ she remembered with a sigh.  She had given the girl a method of reaching the Enchanted Forest, but there was no way to know if Ragnelle took her boys there or not.  Ragnelle had been…touchy with her husband’s family towards the end. 

“How completely did you stop time in Camelot?” she asked, not bothering to turn around as Mordred walked in the room.

“What kind of question is that, Mother?”

Morgan rolled her eyes, tracing her fingers lightly over the first page of the book. “Just answer it, dear.”

“Completely.  Or nearly so, in the beginning.”  She could hear him wince, could sense him blushing.  “I…tried to fix it a few decades in, once I realized that it wasn’t helping anything.  But I couldn’t.  _Her_ curse got in the way.”

“Of course it did,” Morgan sighed.  There was nothing in the world quite so dangerous as an angry faery, and the Black Fairy had certainly doomed Camelot with her curse.  Morgan had visited her old home once during the intervening centuries, had seen the malformed people and the slow decay warping the land.  Camelot had been the best and the brightest, the birthplace of human knowledge and hope…until the Black Fairy had felt vindictive, and had disfigured the people and called in monsters to rage across the land.  “How long passed, in total?”

“Three generations?  Maybe four.”  Mordred shrugged.  “What does it matter, mother?  Camelot is all but gone, now.  Arthur showing up here proves _that_.”

“Arthur showing up here proves that Storybrooke has replaced the Enchanted Forest as the hub of all magical realms, nothing more.”

“It would help if I knew what you’re looking for.”

“Yes, I imagine it would,” she replied, but said no more.  Morgan would not mention the possibility of Gwaine’s descendants being here until she knew for sure.  There was no reason to involve Mordred in this—not with how volatile he had been as of late.  He liked to play the smooth and suave sorcerer, but she knew her son too well to believe _that_.  He was still angry with Arthur, still furious at Merlin, and he still wanted to rule everything.

“Mother, don’t start this again.”  Morgan turned to see her son pouting—a rather undignified expression for a man who claimed to be a king. 

“Go run along and hunt your Dark One,” she retorted with a shrug.  “I’m sure you have _some_ trap in mind already.  I’ll tell you if I discover anything useful.”

Heaving a sigh, Mordred turned for the door before glancing back at her.  “I do.  One question, though—do you know where Excalibur is?”

“I expect it is back in the stone.  It was one thing to leave Arthur with a secondary power in his hands; it would have been quite another to leave him with _that_ sword.  Even Avalon was not that safe.”  She threw her son a dark look.  “Don’t even think about it.  Keep the sword and the dagger apart, Mordred.  That power can _not_ be used for what you want to accomplish.”

“I’m not insane.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Morgan snorted.  “And do leave your father alone for now.  He’s powerless here, and you’ll look like a fool if you go chasing after old grudges.  You need allies, not enemies.  Beat Arthur to them.”

Mordred’s eyes met hers, and Morgan waited for her point to sink in.  Her son was stubborn, true, but he was also genuinely committed to his cause, and Mordred was _usually_ good at putting his anger aside if he had a good enough reason to do so.  Finally, he nodded and turned away, only to run into Accolon on his way in.  He met the former knight with a sneer, twisting around to look at Morgan.

“Really, Mother?  You couldn’t leave the boy-toy at home?  I understand that you needed _some_ company in that crystal cave of yours, but I would have thought you’d wanted someone more intelligent.”

Sir Accolon stopped cold, affronted.  “I hardly think—”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Morgan waved a hand at him, and her lover shut his mouth, glowering.  Accolon really wasn’t much more than a pretty face that she’d long ago used magic to keep young, and she wasn’t sure why she kept going back to him.  Perhaps she was just _used_ to him.  “Mordred, go.  It isn’t polite to insult your mother’s taste in men.”

“Given that my mother gave birth to her step-brother’s child, I think I’m entitled to a bit of disrespect,” Mordred shot back, but left before Morgan could decide if she should chastise him or laugh.

In the end, she just turned to Accolon and sent him to gather the necessary ingredients.  Blood magic was not her usual forte, and detecting any distant descendants of her own in this strangely large town would require much of what remained of her power.  Morgan had once been one of the most powerful sorceresses to ever live, but time had not been kind to her.  Creating the portal that sent Lancelot and his companion to the Enchanted Forest had taken nearly everything she had, and enduring centuries trapped in a crystal cave of her own making had sapped her further still.  Now she had the knowledge but not the power, but she _needed_ to know.

Whomever had been able to open that book was family, and despite her own past actions, that mattered to Morgan.  _I must be growing sentimental in my old age.  Merlin did warn me that would happen after seven hundred years or so._

* * *

 

The damned door had _broken_ open.  Rumplestiltskin had counseled Regina—back when he’d utterly lacked magic—to seal the door to Camelot that the Apprentice’s magic had opened, and she had done her best.  Yet that clearly had not been enough, because when Rumplestiltskin and David headed up to the house to investigate, they found the entire frame cracked and the door itself torn off of its hinges.

“Well, this isn’t quite what I expected,” David said, nudging the door with his toe.  “Can you close it?”

“Physically? Sure.” He grimaced.  “But doorways between realms are hardly my specialty.”

David glanced at him curiously for a moment, and then nodded in understanding. “You spent centuries preparing a curse, all to find your son,” the other man breathed.  “But a doorway like this could have just brought you here without one.  Why couldn’t you, I don’t know, find one?”

_Because such things are not meant for the Dark One to find,_ Merlin’s voice within Rumplestiltskin answered, drawing the Sorcerer up short.  _When I forced the darkness into its host, I prevented it from leaving Camelot.  I did not want to wish that upon other realms._

Hearing that made the old fury well up within Rumplestiltskin, and it took all he had to shove it down.  Rumplestiltskin had wondered more than once why _everyone_ other than him seemed able to find a route to the Land Without Magic.  Even Ingrid had been _given_ a doorway by the Apprentice, when her intention had been to come through to this world and subject thousands to a terrible curse!  He had even gone to the Apprentice over a century before the Dark Curse, begging for a portal to the Land Without Magic, offering anything he had for a way to find his son—only to be refused.  _Because I was the Dark One, he told me_ , Rumplestiltskin remembered bitterly.  The only way truly _had_ been a curse.

Yet he had still lost his son.  _Don’t think about that,_ he told himself firmly, pain roaring up to join his resentment.

“Apparently, my former _condition_ prevented it,” he answered David’s question, unable to hold back his sneer. 

“Is that why Emma wasn’t able to travel to Camelot?” David asked, and Rumplestiltskin’s logic finally won out over his old anger. 

“I would think so,” he replied, turning his attention to the doorway.

Magic swirled around it, thick and broken.  The portal was active, but it was _pushing_ people through—and many had come through already, Rumplestiltskin realized.  On the other side, Camelot was literally crumbling; magic was finally calling forth the price that was due for so many years of inertia.  Once, Camelot had been so close to the Enchanted Forest that you could ride a horse from one to the other, but Mordred’s magic had frozen the realm in time, pulling it away from other magical realms and severing the once-close links.  Now, however, that magic was unraveling, warping time itself and collapsing into a vortex of power that would suck all of Camelot away.

_No wonder they’re fleeing,_ he realized, watching the broken currents of magic with sick fascination.

“Can you close the portal?” David’s voice came from right beside him, and Rumplestiltskin jumped.  He had had no idea the other man had come so close.

 “Yes,” he answered slowly.  “But there’s no need.  Camelot is dying, and the portal will close itself when that happens.” 

“Dying?”

“Collapsing.  Think of it as a magical implosion, the payment for a curse and for trying to stop it.”  The last part came instinctively; Rumplestiltskin wasn’t certain what curse he spoke of, but the longer he watched the magic flowing out of the portal, the more he realized that things in Camelot had _never_ been what they seemed.  “I doubt Camelot has more than a day left.”

“Is that why Arthur showed up here?”  Pain lashed through David’s eyes as he spoke, but he forged onwards bravely, and Rumplestiltskin would not mock him for the way his voice shook.

“And why others will follow.  Both through this door and, I suspect, on the beach.”  He wasn’t sure how much of what he was saying was based on his own instincts and knowledge and how much was Merlin helping him along, but since the other Sorcerer was silent, Rumplestiltskin inferred that he wasn’t too far off.  “Some have come through already.”

“Then we’d probably better stick around to see who—or what—comes through, shouldn’t we?” David always caught on quick, but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t quite sure what to make of that ‘we’.

“I, uh, suppose so,” he managed, and was surprised to find that David had given him a quick smile.

“I’ll call Leroy and have him and the dwarves keep an eye on the beach.  Regina can back them up if they need magical help, assuming you’ll stay here.”

_You did tell him that you were willing to help,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.  He’d never been a team player, even back as the poor spinner—then, no one in their right might would have _wanted_ his help.  But now…now he was the Sorcerer, and his magic _did_ come at a price.  He was supposed to _help_ , to be what Merlin had been.  Rumplestiltskin simply doubted that Merlin had ever been so terrified at the prospect.

“I should watch the portal to make sure it collapses safely,” he finally managed to get out, unsure of how to handle any of this.  Being trusted was…strange.

“Great,” David said, and at least Rumplestiltskin was still perceptive enough to know that David _needed_ something useful to do, some way to distract himself from his grief.  Immediately, the prince—who was technically a king, for all no one called him that—pulled his phone out to make the calls he’d already mentioned, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head in wry amusement.

Come to think of it, he needed to call Belle, too.  _At least this time I won’t be sneaking around behind her back when I don’t come home,_ he thought with a sigh.  _Though camping with Charming was_ hardly _how I expected to spend this evening._

* * *

 

Was this what being the Dark One was?  Emma teleported straight into the cell, contemplating how very _free_ she felt.  Once, she would have cared about how _wrong_ she was; she would have listened to her parents about how coming here wasn’t right.  _But if doing the right thing mattered, my mother would not be dead,_ she thought coldly.  Only strength mattered.  Power was strength, and power gave her the ability to deliver justice where it was sorely needed.  She would have killed Arthur if Regina hadn’t stopped her, so now Regina needed to be punished.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Zelena demanded, her face twisting up in a sneer.  “And what in the _world_ did you do to your wardrobe?  Decide that being good was too good for you?”

“I guess you missed the memo,” Emma smirked, leaning against the far wall and crossing her arms.  “I’m the Dark One, now.”

“Oooh, did you stick that dagger in dear Rumple’s heart?  It’s such a pity.  I’d hoped for a bit more playtime with him before his old ticker gave out.”

Emma pushed down the odd flicker of fury; she had no need to defend her predecessor; he could do that just fine himself.  _And it would be rather funny to watch Zelena run afoul of him now_!  Instead, she just smiled slightly.  “I’m not here to talk about Rumplestiltskin,” she purred.  “I’m here to talk about your sister.”

“Regina?  Why would you want to talk about _her_?” Zelena rolled her eyes, flouncing back on the narrow bed.

“Because I want to punish her.”

Zelena perked up immediately.  “Oh, I’d be _delighted_ to help with that.”

“I thought you might,” Emma smiled thinly. 

“What’s in it for me?” the other asked almost immediately, and Emma knew she had her. 

_They’re always so easy,_ the voice within her said, soft and satisfied.   _Everyone wants something.  It’s just a question of if you give it to them or not._

There was still enough of Emma Swan left, the _real_ Emma Swan, to despise Zelena.  The woman had tried to kill her younger brother, had wanted to destroy Emma’s life simply because she’d been connected to Regina.  Zelena was crazy, utterly hateful, and amazingly selfish.  But she was also _convenient_ , and Emma felt detached enough to use her.  Zelena hated Regina.  That would be enough.  Besides, Emma could control the Wicked Witch.  She knew that Zelena didn’t have the power to oppose the Dark One.  So long as she kept the dagger away from her—a mistake of Rumplestiltskin’s she _would not_ repeat—Emma could crush Zelena like the insect she was at her leisure.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said coldly.  “I’ll let you out of here, if you make Regina miserable.  You stay away from my family—by which I mean Henry, Neal, Killian, and my father—and I’ll find you a way to get out of Storybrooke.”

“I want to go back to Oz.”  Zelena’s eyes were shining.

Emma shrugged.  She’d guessed that much already, and it got rid of a problem.  So what if Zelena took her child with her?  It was Zelena’s choice.  _And Regina will hate it._ “Fine.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your end of the deal?” Zelena asked suspiciously.

“Would you prefer I killed you now?” Emma asked flatly.

“You wouldn’t.” Smirk.  “Even the vaunted _Dark One_ won’t kill an unborn child.”

“Who said anything about a physical killing? Braindead women give birth all the time,” she retorted, and watched Zelena flinch.  Finally, Emma strode forward, moving right into Zelena’s personal space and leaning close to the other woman.  “Won’t it just be easier to do as I ask?  You’ll even get your own revenge.”

“Fine,” Zelena snapped, holding out her left wrist.  “Get this off me.”

Laughing, Emma backed up a step.  “No.  First we chat about what you’re going to do to Regina, and then I’ll break you out of here in a way no one can trace back to me.”

Zelena scowled, but began to talk.  When Emma teleported herself out of the cell twenty minutes later, she was full of ideas—and a very dark purpose.  Zelena had even told her a few things Emma hadn’t yet known, and she was eager to see what she could do with the new information.  Still, there was something else she needed to do, first, so Emma pulled out her phone.

He answered on the second ring.  “Mom!”

“Henry, I’m sorry,” Emma said honestly, pushing the darkness back and bringing _herself_ forward.  “I’ve been ignoring you because I was—because I was hurt.  And now I know I’ve hurt you, too.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” her beautiful boy said, and Emma felt her clenched heart relax just a little.  _I’m not doing this for strategy,_ she told the darkness firmly.  _I’m doing this because he’s my son and I_ love _him._   “Can I see you?  Can we talk?”

“I’d like that,” she replied honestly.  “Where do you want to meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we have a pissed of Dark One on a mission—but what in the world is Emma going to do? And is it a smokescreen for something more dangerous? Also, what do you think is going to happen now that people from Camelot are bleeding through into Storybrooke?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Twenty-One—“Welcome to the Table”, in which Killian starts worrying about what Emma is doing, Mordred tries to make allies, Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss magic, and the identity of the girl Mordred and Arthur are both searching for comes out.
> 
> Also, as a note, expect ROC22 on Thursday (a day early). I’ll be on vacation starting Friday, and I don’t expect to have internet access. If I do, I will try to update, but otherwise, ROC23 should come out on Friday 23 October.


	21. Welcome to the Table

Emma was really starting to worry him.

Killian loved her.  He loved _all_ of her, even when it broke his heart to see her embracing the darkness like this.  But _someone_ had to stand by her right now, when he was so lost and so empty.  Emma thought that Killian didn’t hear her crying at night, and he knew that she didn’t want him to know that she was, so he’d kept his silence and listened to the woman he loved weep for her mother, listened to her whispering as she tried to hold the darkness back.  So many of the others—even those who should have known better!—just looked at her like she was the Dark One, not like she was Emma, the good Emma, struggling to get out from behind the darkness.  So, he stayed by her side even when she made him uneasy, even when his stomach rolled nervously and he wondered what type of woman his love had become.

He was glad that she was patching things up with Henry, though.  The poor lad had already gone through enough, between his mother becoming the Dark One and then losing his grandmother, and Killian worried for him.  Still, Emma had met Henry the evening before, and then the boy had come over to share dinner with Killian and Emma both.  Emma’s anger with Regina still burned coldly, but they somehow all managed to avoid that topic and have a pleasant dinner.  Regina probably wasn’t going to be happy with the fact that Henry had snuck out, but as far as Killian was concerned, that was Regina’s problem.

He was still worried for Emma, though.  She told him repeatedly that he shouldn’t be, but Killian couldn’t help himself.  Perhaps this was the new Emma Swan.  Perhaps this was what she would be from here on out—he had certainly tried repeatedly to free her with True Love’s Kiss, but she remained the Dark One.  But the darkness inside her, the corruption and the selfishness, terrified Killian.  Emma had always been the good one.  She had been _his_ light, the reason he had finally found to rediscover the man he had been before he had made a selfish decision based in grief and anger.  Emma helped him be _Killian_ again, instead of Captain Hook, and for the first time in centuries, Killian had actually been proud of who he was.

Not so much, now.

Every day he spent in the Dark One’s arms, he felt his resolve crumbling.  The better man he had become was drowning beneath his love for Emma, even if one of the things he loved most about her had always been her determination to do the right thing.  Now, though…now she was different and he didn’t know how long he could be strong.  Diving into the darkness with her would be so _easy_.  Resisting, trying to be her bulwark in the face of such terrible darkness, was so very hard, and Killian wasn’t sure that he had it in him.

Except he had to.  Particularly with Snow gone, Emma needed support from everyone in her family.  She needed them to _believe_ that she could beat this, that she could fight the darkness back.  _I can’t just be her enabler,_ he knew.  _I can’t support her regardless of what she does.  I can love her—and I always will—but I have to resist the temptation to revel in the freedom she thinks the darkness gives her._ He had re-learned how to care about others, learned how to at least _try_ to be a hero.  Killian could not stop now.

“Killian, isn’t it?” a voice said as he walked down the docks, heading out to the _Jolly Roger_ because his ship had always been where his soul resided, and there was nowhere better for thinking.  Now, however, Killian stopped cold.

“Do I call you ‘Uncle Mordred’?” he couldn’t help asking the man who had once been his king.  “Because I don’t recall you mentioning that _little_ detail before you sent us off to Neverland.”

“With your brother.  I remember.”  Mordred looked strangely sober.  “I didn’t mention it because I had no idea.  Ragnelle—your mother—she was supposed to leave Camelot.  I never knew that she stayed.”

“Let me guess.  We wouldn’t have lived to adulthood if you’d known,” Killian snorted. 

That made Mordred blink.  “No, not at all.  Gwaine was my _brother_.  You’re my nephew.  You—”

“Aye, I’ve heard what you do to family, ‘Uncle,” Killian cut him off.  “And I’ll bloody well pass.  I’ve already had my heart ripped out a few times, and that was quite enough.”

“You’ve got this all wrong.”  Mordred _sounded_ truthful enough, but Killian had grown up on legends of the man’s silver tongue and sly nature, so he took a cautious step back when Mordred moved towards him.  “Gwaine and I, we were brothers.  We fought _together_ , trying to save Camelot from my father.  Everything you’ve heard about the war is wrong—Arthur was going to let Camelot fall into darkness.  He married—”

“Trotting that old saw out again, are we?” Arthur’s voice suddenly cut in, and Killian felt the strong need to put his hook through someone’s face. 

The _last_ thing he wanted right now was a family reunion of sorts; he’d been quite content being related to no one in this damned town, and now he found out he had two relatives here!  Or three, if he counted Guinevere, who—come to think of it—had thought she recognized him, too.  _Of all the times to discover that I resemble my father, this is probably the worst possible,_ he thought, watching warily as Mordred turned to face _his_ father, who had turned out to be Killian’s great-uncle. 

_If someone had told me this a few months ago, I might have enjoyed the thought that I’m actually royalty,_ Killian mused as Mordred straightened his tie compulsively.  _Now it’s just a damned nuisance._

“It’s amazing how simple the truth can be, isn’t it, Father?” Mordred smiled, and Arthur scowled at him before turning to face Killian.

“Don’t believe him, Killian.  I told you what happened—”

“Yes, by leaving out all the pertinent details.  They call _me_ silver-tongued, but you’re the one who’s always been the expert at making people believe in you by _forgetting_ the crucial bits,” Mordred interrupted.

“Mordred, I regret what happened between us,” Arthur said, but the earnestness in his voice sounded a little forced to Killian’s practiced ear.  _Don’t con a con artist, Your Majesty_ , he thought behind an expressionless face.  “But don’t bring Gwaine’s son into this.  Let your brother rest in peace.”

“That’s rather rich, coming from you.  Did you ever even _ask_ how Gwaine died, or are you just taking your beloved wife’s word on what happened?”

Arthur ignored Mordred, keeping his eyes on Killian.  “I know you don’t want to see me any more than you do him, but please, come with me.  For your own safety, if nothing else.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m more than capable of defending myself,” Killian replied.  “And I’m bloody well certain that I want nothing to do with your little family feud.”

“He’s not going to give you a choice,” Mordred warned him, which made Arthur snort.

“I’m not?  I’m hardly the one who goes around ripping hearts out,” Arthur said to his son, and Killian started wondering if he could call upon Emma to kill both of them.  She’d certainly be happy to be rid of Arthur, who was setting off more alarms in his head by the moment.

“Once, Father.  Just _once_.  Though if Mother hadn’t convinced me otherwise, I’d be happy to make an exception for you,” Mordred growled, and Killian had finally had enough.

“Excuse me, but didn’t you two try to _kill_ each other over this a few centuries ago?” he cut in.  “Take your bloody feud elsewhere.  Storybrooke has enough problems of our own.  We don’t need yours.”

“You care about these people?” Mordred inquired, sounding curious.

“Of course I do!”  _Some more than others._

“Are they at this _again_?” another voice interjected, and for the first time in his life, Killian was actually glad to see Regina.

“I don’t think they ever stop,” he groaned.  She rolled her eyes in response, and—for once—they were in perfect agreement.

“Look, do I have to get a restraining order to keep you two apart?” Regina demanded, and was rewarded with two blank looks.  “Nevermind.  It’s something we have in this world.  Not important.  What _is_ important is that the two of you start acting like adults instead of little children.  Don’t you both claim to be kings?”

“One of us is a usurper,” Arthur growled, and Mordred rolled his eyes.

“That would be called ruling by right of conquest, Father.”

“Shut it!” Regina snapped, glaring at Mordred—who, fascinatingly enough—bowed his head slightly to her and fell silent.  She turned to Arthur.  “Look, if you want to be all heroic King of Camelot, why don’t you go up to Main Street, where there are four obnoxious knights demanding to know who’s in charge and terrorizing the dwarves.”

“Knights?” Arthur asked, looking confused.

“Yeah, knights.  Giant idiots on horseback.  It appears that what’s left of your realm is busy spilling over into _my_ town, so you can go get control of your people or I will do it for you.”

“Wait a minute,” Killian spoke up before Arthur could reply.  “Are these people coming over human, or are they…something worse?”

“Human so far,” Regina confirmed, and Killian tried to bite back a sigh of relief.  The last thing they needed was for Camelot’s more dangerous creatures to start invading Storybrooke; as he’d told Arthur and Mordred, the town had enough problems already without adding half-human, half-monster foes to the mix.  Regina shrugged.  “So far, it doesn’t look like anything else has managed to make the trip.”

“Be grateful for that,” he told her, and she shrugged.

“Well, _King_ Arthur?  Are you going to take care of this, or am I?”

“I’ll go,” Arthur said with more dignity than most people managed after a tongue lashing from Regina, and Killian had to at least respect that.  Arthur shot one last mistrustful look Mordred’s way, and then headed back in the direction Regina had come from, walking up Second Avenue towards the center of town.

An awkward moment passed as Regina glanced Killian’s way, and he just _knew_ that she was going to ask about Emma.  So, he got in first.

“Don’t start,” he snapped.  “You were the idiot who came to yell at her, and I am _not_ your son’s keeper.  Henry’s fine, and Emma would never hurt him.  He just ate dinner with us.”

Regina blinked.  “I know that.  Do you think Henry didn’t tell me where he was going before he left?”

Actually, Killian _had_ assumed the lad had snuck out, but he wasn’t going to admit that.  “Of course I didn’t.”

“Well, then what the hell is your problem?  Feeling paranoid with the Dark One waiting at home for you?  I’m almost surprised she doesn’t have you chained up somewhere,” Regina smirked.

“She’s still _Emma_ ,” he shot back. 

“Yeah, just wearing lots of leather and bitching when I don’t let her murder people.” Regina shrugged. 

“You, of allpeople, have no _right_ to judge her,” Killian snarled.  “Emma is cursed.  You _chose_ darkness.”

“Which means I know exactly what it does to you.  Can it, Lover Boy.  I’m not here to fight with you about Emma,” she said, and then whirled on Mordred.  “And why are _you_ still standing there?  Are you waiting for an invitation to leave?”

“Hardly,” Mordred smiled easily.  “I was actually hoping we might have that conversation I promised.”

Killian stalked away before they could work out the details.  The last thing he wanted to do was stick around while his bloody uncle made eyes at Emma’s step-grandmother.

* * *

 

A crowd had gathered in the street to watch the knights in the street, mostly staying away from them but watching curiously.  Belle came out of the library to stand by Ruby’s side; her friend was doing a little better these days, but she was clearly still hurting.  Yet curiosity could do wonders when it came to easing grief, so Belle was glad to see that Ruby hadn’t stayed holed up in the diner like she’d been prone to doing lately.

“Rumple told me that a few dozen people came through the door last night and this morning,” she said quietly.  “Most of them seemed confused and lost, not violent.”

“This lot seems to disagree with that assessment,” Ruby replied, gesturing at where one of the knights was busy arguing with Doc. 

“I think they came through on the beach,” Belle guessed.  “Otherwise, they would have run into Rumple and David.”

“That’s a weird pair.  Kinda, anyway.  I haven’t seen them talking to one another in ages.”

“He’s different now, Ruby.  Really,” she told her friend.  Belle felt like she said those words all too often, but her husband _was_ different.  He was still very much her Rumple, but he was also so different.  In many ways, he was actually more _her_ Rumple than Rumplestiltskin had been in a long time.  Belle had been so happy to have him back after he’d died that she hadn’t let herself see how haunted and changed he was, not only by Baelfire’s death but also by his time in the Vault and his time under Zelena’s control.  He’d tried so hard to be normal for her sake, and he’d almost faked it well enough.  In the end, however, the darkness had won, and her husband had almost been consumed.

“I think Emma’s doing a really good job of showing everyone how much that curse can corrupt someone,” Ruby agreed.  “He seemed nicer in the diner the other day, and he even told me not to worry about the rent this month.”

“He did?” Surprised, Belle turned to look at Ruby, who gave her a small smile and shrugged.

“So long as I promised not to tell anyone, but I don’t think you count since you’re his wife,” she smiled, and Belle felt a strange warmth in her chest.

“I always knew there was someone kind and generous hidden beneath that terrible darkness,” she whispered, half to herself.

Ruby, however, clearly heard her, and bumped her shoulder against Belle’s.  “I’m happy for you, really.   You two deserve a break.”

“You do, too,” she replied, thinking of how Ruby had lost her only family and one of her best friends all within two weeks.

“Well, maybe some handsome, newly-arrived knight will give me one,” Ruby replied with a grin. “That one is certainly pretty enough.”

Together, they turned to watch as Sir Percival and others knelt before Arthur as he walked up.  It was a pretty sight, and hardly atypical for someone who had grown up in the Enchanted Forest, so why did Belle get such a sinking feeling?

* * *

 

Regina had invited Mordred to her office, not wanting to have this conversation where _he_ felt powerful.  Instead, she’d brought it back to town hall, and couldn’t help but smirk a little as Mordred tried a little too obviously not to stare at the unfamiliar furnishings and technology.  _Not having cursed memories must suck,_ she thought without any sympathy.  Mordred had decided to waltz through into their world, and his leaving Camelot had probably been what had caused its collapse.  Rumplestiltskin had given her the details on _that_ little fiasco the night before, which meant that this idiot wasn’t going to get a lot of help from her if he expected Regina to fix his problems.

“So, what exactly do you want?” she asked, knowing that a lot of chauvinistic men from the old world were taken aback by a woman being so direct.  But Regina didn’t care if Mordred didn’t like her style; she was the mayor, and she’d been a queen.  She wasn’t going to go all soft and weak just because some man thought she should.

Surprisingly, he met her gaze head-on, with no hint of discomfort.  “You’re a powerful sorceress, and I understand that you rule this town,” Mordred replied.  “I’m proposing we ally.”

“To accomplish what, exactly?” Regina asked warily.

“You have a town to defend against the Dark One,” he replied.  “Among other problems.  As I said to your new Sorcerer, the Dark One is only the beginning.  There is a darkness gathering here that seeks to control _all_ of humanity, to vanquish the light entirely.  The stakes are far higher than you realize, and all of your people are in danger.  Mine as well, since they’re slipping through as we speak.  I have been fighting this battle since long before you were born, and I can help you.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure,” she said dryly, and Mordred laughed.

“Hardly.  We all have our reasons to do what we do.  But I mean what I say.  I can help you.  Your Sorcerer—”

“He’s not _my_ Sorcerer,” Regina cut him off.  “Trying to control Rumplestiltskin is like…trying to eat a wasp’s nest.  Or worse.”

Never mind that it had been done before.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t the Dark One any longer, and Regina was under no illusions that anyone would ever steal Belle’s heart a second time.  Even _if_ Rumple hadn’t protected his little wife—which she’d always been rather surprised that he hadn’t done—anyone who tried to use Belle against Rumplestiltskin was likely to discover that their new, kinder Sorcerer had just as much of a temper as he had when he was the Dark One.  Besides, she actually felt like she’d reached an accord with her old teacher.  Neither of them had apologized—they never did—but they understood one another once more.

“That’s a curious analogy,” Mordred smiled slightly.

“But an apt one.  I might be mayor, but he doesn’t work for me.”  Regina didn’t want _that_ particular headache, either, even if Mordred seemed to think that was how the world should work.  “He was my teacher, anyway.”

_And he’s family._ Even thinking that still felt strange, but it was true enough.  And she was closer to Rumple than she was to most people, anyway, at least when they didn’t want to kill one another.  Not that Regina would tell Mordred that.  She wasn’t a big fan of telling secrets to strangers.

“I see,” was the slow answer, and then her visitor shrugged.  “Well, my offer stands.  Think on it, if you would.  But there is one favor I would ask, if you don’t mind.”

“You can ask.  No guarantees, though.”

“I have spent centuries searching for a girl who was sent from Camelot at the age of ten,” Mordred explained.  “I believe that she was sent forward in time to the Enchanted Forest.  She was accompanied by a protector, an old friend of mine:  Sir Lancelot.”

Regina knew enough about Camelot’s legendary story that those words immediately made her wary.  _Does he not know that this world has stories about them?_ she wondered.  The idea of Lancelot and Mordred being _friends_ was downright ludicrous.  “What about her?” she asked warily.

“She must be kept away from Arthur—and Guinevere, when she reveals herself—at all costs.  If she is here, they _must not_ find her.”

“It would help if I had name,” Regina pointed out.

“Ah, yes.  Of course.” Mordred’s eyes focused on the far wall, distant and thoughtful.  “Her name is Colette.”

Cocking her head slightly, Regina dug through her mental rolodex of people in Storybrooke, thinking of their original names and their cursed personas…and coming up blank.

* * *

 

Later that day, after the portal to Camelot had finally collapsed in on itself and the influx of two hundred or so refugees had halted, Belle walked in on Rumplestiltskin half-asleep in the back of the shop.  He didn’t even hear her approach until a soft voice said from his side:

“Are you all right, Rumple?”

“Hmm?” Tiredly, he opened his eyes.  He hadn’t dared lay down—if he had, he _definitely_ would have fallen asleep—but Rumplestiltskin was sitting on the bed in the back, leaning against the wall and letting himself drift.

A soft hand touched his cheek, and he leaned into her touch.  “Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” he managed to smile wanly.  “I’m not the Dark One, now.  I need sleep, and I didn’t get any.”

“Is that all?” Belle snickered softly, and he gave her a dirty look.

“No,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled, opening his eyes.  “I tried to stabilize the doorway when Camelot began to collapse.  It…didn’t work well.”

“Too much power?” she asked astutely.

“Yes and no.  The power is there, but my body still isn’t _used_ to it.  The price isn’t ever what I expect, either,” he admitted.  “I keep waiting for something dramatic, something _terrible_ , and it’s almost always…different.”

“How so?”

“When I was the Dark One, nearly every bit of magic I did was dark magic.  There was so much power there that I could twist it into doing almost _anything_ , but this magic isn’t inherently dark.  It’s dark and light both, in equal measure—a bottomless ocean of power to do with as I see fit.  And the price isn’t destructive.  It doesn’t have to be something precious to someone, even to me.  It’s more than the magic demands I be… _worthy_ of it.”

Belle’s smile turned gentle.  “And that makes you nervous.”

“I’m not used to it.”

“I think you’re doing very well,” she replied, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.  “Ruby told me about the rent.  Or the _not_ rent, as the case may be.”

“Damn that girl,” he muttered without any real feeling.

“She thinks you’re being sweet,” Belle said, and Rumplestiltskin’s scowl only deepened.

“There goes my reputation.”

“As you said, you’re not the Dark One, anymore.  Things are different, aren’t they?” Belle’s eyes searched his face, and something in her expression banished Rumplestiltskin’s tiredness.  Immediately, his heart leapt into his throat, and try though he did to throttle his nervousness down, he couldn’t manage.

He sat up straight.  “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I…I was wondering.  About magic,” she whispered, looking away.  “You used to be, um, kind of obsessed with it.”  Worried blue eyes turned back to meet his.  “You were different when you didn’t have power, more _you_.  And you still are.  I just want to make sure it isn’t going to change you.”

_I just want to be chosen,_ she didn’t say.  No woman wanted to believe that magic was more important to her husband than she was, and Rumplestiltskin had made Belle feel that way too many times.  He’d hurt her terribly, and even if he spent the rest of his life trying to make up for that, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin breathed.  Instinctively, he reached for her—even though a part of him was terrified that she would pull away, that she would suddenly decide that now that he had power, great power, she didn’t want anything more than a simple man. But Belle’s arms slipped around his neck, too, and Rumplestiltskin let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as he lowered his forehead to rest against hers.  “I’m still me,” he promised.  “And if I’m ever not, if you ever tell me I’m changing, I swear to you that I’ll find a way to stop.  I put power before you once because I was so afraid that I couldn’t keep you without it, and I _never_ want to do that again.”

“I know the darkness corrupted you,” she replied, and he could feel fingers working lightly on the back of his neck, helping suddenly tense muscles relax.  “And I’m not _leaving_ , Rumple, not ever.  I promised you forever, and forever is what you get.  I just…I just worry about magic.”

Pulling back a bit, he looked at Belle critically, turning recent events over in his mind and trying to figure out what he might have done to make her so worried.  He was trying to help, trying to be better, which he knew she’d always wanted.  Belle had even told him that she was proud of him more than once, which warmed Rumplestiltskin’s heart more than he would ever admit to anyone other than her.  So, what was it?  What could he possibly have done?  Then it hit him: _Merlin said she has magic._   Belle wasn’t worried about what he might become—she was thinking about her own magic!  Relief flowed through him so quickly that it took Rumplestiltskin’s breath away; as always, he’d assumed he was at fault, but maybe, just this once, he wasn’t.

“Are you worried that magic would change you, if you learned it?” he asked gently.

Belle bit her lip.  “A little.  I mean, I’m…curious.  About it.  I never thought I could learn.”

“I never imagined you might want to.”

“I didn’t think I could,” she shrugged, and the ridiculousness of their exchange occurred to both at the same time, and they laughed.

“I guess that’s what we get for both making assumptions,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and then took a deep breath.  “Do you want to learn, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t before,” Belle said slowly.  “When I watched what I thought was simply magic corrupting you, making you a worse man than I knew you were deep inside.  I really thought it was _just_ magic that was so addictive.  But now…now I see you using magic to help others, and I’m watching Emma make the same mistakes you did.  I think I understand now that it was the darkness that was the problem, not the magic.”

“Power can still corrupt, particularly if you use it for selfish reasons,” he admitted slowly.  The next words were hard to get out, and took courage he wasn’t sure he had, but Rumplestiltskin forced himself to say them, anyway.  “I…I try to warn myself against that every day.  At least now, unlike before, I realize that the love we share _is_ more important to me than power, and while I can have both, it’s only by not letting the power rule me.  Power is a tool, not an end in and of itself.”

Belle’s smile when he finished his hesitant little speech was reward enough, though.  “That was hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”

He nodded slowly.  “Not hard to think.  But hard to admit, yeah.”

“If I do learn…it’s not all or nothing, is it?” she asked.  “I mean, if I don’t like it, can I stop?”

“Of course you could.  Dark magic sucks you in, but it’s not like I’d teach _you_ dark magic,” Rumplestiltskin smiled at the sheer ludicrousness of that thought.  “You’d be terribly unsuited for it.”

Belle giggled a little nervously.  “I can’t imagine why.”

“You have the strongest heart I have ever seen, Belle,” he whispered, pulling her closer.  “Anyone else would have given up on me, or at least turned towards darkness of their own, long ago.  I expect that if you _do_ learn, you’ll make one of the purest—and most determined—light sorceresses I’ve ever seen.”

“Light magic only,” Belle stressed, but he could feel her smile as she snuggled into his chest.  

“Darling, I think you would be rubbish at anything else,” Rumplestiltskin replied.   He had to admit that the idea of _Belle_ doing magic was quite possibly the sexiest mental image he’d ever come up with, and he had to bite back the growing desire to lock the shop up then and there.

She laughed again and then abruptly changed the subject, reaching out to stroke the lapels of his suit: “I should tell you again how much I like this color on you,”

“Do you?” he asked as his heart rate sped up.  Damn the woman, she knew _exactly_ what he was feeling.

Then again, she was in his lap, so there probably wasn’t much doubt.  Somehow, Rumplestiltskin doubted that he’d get any more work done this morning—and he’d probably be utterly exhausted by lunch.

Not that he minded.

* * *

 

Regina’s instincts told her that putting a man like Mordred off for too long would be a bad idea, but, as unlikely as some would say it would be for her to _ever_ ask others for their opinions, she needed some advice on how to deal with this sticky situation.  Mordred _seemed_ to be straightforward in his offer of an alliance, but she’d never met the man before, and Rumplestiltskin had told him no when Mordred had extended the same offer.  While she was still getting used to this new and nicer version of her old mentor, she wasn’t about to make the fatal error of underestimating his intelligence.  Rumple was a smart old bastard, and he knew an awful lot.  So, Regina wanted to talk to him—and to David, too, assuming he was up to it—before she jumped in with the (supposedly) usurper King of Camelot.

Unfortunately, she had to play mayor, first.

The fact that Camelot’s collapse had dumped a couple of hundred people on Storybrooke made for a lot of unavoidable problems.  Most of them seemed to unequivocally view Arthur as their king, though a rather stubborn handful seemed to support Mordred.  Mordred’s followers called themselves the Younger Dragons, and they’d promptly marched off to that not-so-little castle Mordred had built in the woods.  His father, however, didn’t seem to have that kind of flamboyant magical talent, so they’d been reduced to tents and makeshift structures in the woods.  Several _miles_ away from Mordred’s castle, thank you very much.

Robin and David had been working with Arthur to get everyone settled in while Regina scoured up supplies enough to feed them for the time being.  Of course, Ruby proved to be her grandmother’s doppelganger when it came to charging for _everything_ ; she’d happily sold them food enough to cook everyone a good meal, and even provided a cook, but the girl had refused to do it for free.  She’d given Regina a decent discount, but they were definitely going to have to have a chat about that one.  Storybrooke’s finances were in pretty decent shape, but the town couldn’t afford to pay that much every day from here to eternity, since it seemed like Camelot’s people were definitely there to stay.

“Something must have gone right,” Robin said, sidling up next to her with a smile.  “The trucks started arriving about an hour ago, and they’re already cooking lunch.”

“Good,” Regina sighed.  “That damn werewolf is a _much_ more dangerous predator when she’s running the diner than she is running around during the full moon.”

“Regina,” her lover tried to give her a hard look, but she could see the laughter in his eyes.

“What?” she shrugged.  “It’s true.  Ruby charged an arm and a leg for all this!”

“Well, it looks like it was worth the price you paid.  Everyone has somewhere to sleep, and people aren’t going hungry.  That’s a good start.”

Regina opened her mouth to say something else, but all thoughts fled from her mind when she heard David speaking from not far away.

“Look, please stop apologizing,” the town’s only sheriff said firmly.  “I understand it was a mistake, but all the apologies in the world won’t bring my wife back.  _But_ I’m here to help your people, and that means working with you.  So, I’ll provide all the help I can.”

Arthur looked a little taken aback by the forceful tone, and Regina didn’t bother to hide her smile.  It was good to see David coming back into his own.  A week had passed since Snow’s death, and although they _all_ still mourned her, life did go on.  Regina had been rather worried for her stepson-in-law, and Henry—who wasn’t far away, showing a girl about his age how one of the electric heaters worked—had been even more concerned.  But David seemed to be doing better, now, and she just turned to watch with interest.  He probably didn’t need backup, but if a snarky remark was required, Regina would be more than happy to help.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, sounding rather formal about it all.  “We do appreciate the assistance.  This world is so very different from what we’re used to.”

“It was awkward for us at first, too,” David smiled.  The expression wasn’t quite the free and happy smile he would have given, once, but it was still genuine.  “You’ll get used to it.  And we’ll all be happy to help.”

“Well, there is one—”

“Arthur!” a voice cut in, and Regina, Robin, and David all turned to watch Widow Morton approach. 

This, however, wasn’t Widow Morton as Regina was used to seeing her.  Under the first curse, she’d worn ugly clothes and horn-rimmed glasses; she’d been the quintessential nosy widow, always complaining about something or another when she wasn’t holed up in her dance studio.  Usually it was that her neighbors were too noisy, or the paperboy was stealing her roses, or one of a dozen other complaints that Regina usually threw away without reading.  She’d gone quiet after the curse had been broken, not that Regina had noticed right away, and simply ceased to be a problem.  Regina had always figured that whatever unimportant person she’d woken up to be simply wasn’t a complainer, and really hadn’t thought about her again.

Now she was different.  Now she was the same eagle-eyed woman who had spoken to them outside of Rumple’s shop, without glasses and with her reddish black hair down.  She wore a long dress of black and silver, but it was her smile that got Regina’s attention.  That was a manipulator’s smile, a predator wrapped in sheep’s clothing, a woman accustomed to power and not afraid to use it.  _Oh, shit.  Hook_ called _her Guinevere, you moron.  How could you miss that fact?_ She wanted to hit herself.

“Guinevere!” Arthur spun, his eyes wide and his smile huge, and with three huge steps, he’d swept her up in his arms.  They kissed, and although Regina had been certain that Widow Morton—now definitely _that_ Guinevere—was a manipulator, there seemed to be genuine emotion in the way she wrapped her arms around Arthur.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Guinevere said.  “When we put you on that bier, I was afraid it would be forever.”

“And I was afraid you would never make it out of Camelot alive,” Arthur replied.  “How did you escape Mordred?”

“You know me better than that,” she laughed softly.  “I always find a way.”

“Of course you do.”  He looked at her like a man besotted, and Regina wondered why that sent a chill down her spine.

* * *

 

_He killed my mother, and yet he is reunited with the woman he loves,_ Emma thought darkly, watching the pair from the trees.  She’d come out here to see what was happening; there was so much magic in the air that it was almost impossible to differentiate between newcomers and old, portals collapsing and pathways opening.  It had given her a headache to try to figure out from her home, so she had teleported herself away while Killian was out on the _Jolly Roger_.  She had watched the refugees in indifferent silence until _this_.

_Patience,_ the voice inside her cautioned.  _Revenge is sweeter the longer it lasts_.  Taking a deep breath, Emma focused on her mother’s murderer again.  Yes, he had a wife.  Magic swirled around her, too, but nothing insurmountable.  She was the Dark One, after all.  Her power was vast and limitless, a bottomless well that she could draw from at will, so long as she managed the cost.  Yes, she could start with Guinevere, at least so far as her revenge against Arthur was concerned, anyway.  Even now, the murderer was introducing his wife to Emma’s own father, and to Regina and Robin, too—but watching Regina smile and greet the other woman made Emma’s blood boil.

She was willing to be patient to make Arthur suffer.  It was fitting that he lose someone he loved in exchange for her mother, after all.  But Regina…oh, she was not going to wait to punish Regina.  Henry’s love for Regina would protect the other woman’s life, but Emma would happily ruin the life she left her with.  _And this time, she’ll know I mean to do it,_ she thought darkly.  Regina had accused her of ruining her life when Emma and Killian had simply been trying to save an innocent person.  Remembering how horrified she’d felt at the time was bittersweet, now; Emma had been so innocent!  But she was no naive do-gooder these days.  Emma was the Dark One, and she had all the tools to destroy Regina’s happiness.

Casting one last look at her former friend, Emma teleported herself towards the asylum.  She had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes, Guinevere looks different than she does in the show - and there's an important reason for that! Next up, Chapter Twenty-Two—“Enemies Seldom Take Holidays”, in which Killian comes to Belle for advice, Rumplestiltskin runs into a vicious old enemy, Regina goes hunting for bird-ified Sneezy, and Mordred starts paying attention to Emma’s cat...and trying to win Killian to his side.
> 
> While I’m off on vacation, check out my new story, Echoes of Darkness, which follows Rumplestiltskin as he battles with the Dark One inside his head, who usually—but not always—takes Zoso’s form.


	22. Enemies Seldom Take Holidays

The last person Belle expected to walk into the library was Killian Jones.  She knew that he had been keeping to himself lately, spending time with Emma and trying to get through to her.  Because of that—and the fact that Hook clearly still held a grudge against Rumple—she didn’t see much of him.  They’d built a tentative friendship while Rumplestiltskin had been gone, though Belle sometimes wondered if Hook had just decided to befriend her because he felt she’d ‘seen the light’ about her then-estranged husband.  Now, she wasn’t sure where they stood with one another, so she really hadn’t expected to see him.

“Belle,” the pirate breathed, leaning against the circulation counter like he was utterly exhausted.

“Hey, Killian,” she replied, turning towards him and putting down the armload of books she’d been about to put away.  “What brings you here?”

“I need help.”  He looked away, staring at his hook and toying with it with his good hand.  “About…about Emma.”

“What can I do?”

Belle figured that now was not the time to mention that Emma had visited Rumple just two days earlier.  There was probably a reason why Emma wasn’t sharing that little fact with her lover, and she rather strongly suspected that the reason was named Killian Jones.  Still, that didn’t keep Belle from sympathizing with Killian—she now had everything she’d ever wanted: her husband, free of the darkness and finally being _honest_ with her.  Their conversation that morning (which had turned into a lot more than just a conversation, and they’d been lucky that no one had walked into the still-unlocked shop while they were in the back) had been wonderful honest and open.  Parts of Rumplestiltskin were so very damaged and broken, but he was trying so hard, and Belle loved him even more for his determination to be better.

“How did you do it?” Killian looked up at her, his blue eyes full of desperation and his words coming in a rush.  “How did you stand by him when you _knew_ he wasn’t himself?”

“It was a little different for me,” Belle answered quietly.  “I fell in love with Rumplestiltskin when he was already the Dark One.  Then I could only see hints of the man he is now.  But you knew Emma before, so it’s even harder for you.”

“Aye.”  The word was a broken whisper, and Belle felt a surge of pity for the man.

“Do you want to stay with her?” she asked.  It was the most important question, the one she sensed Killian didn’t want to face himself.

“She’s not…she’s not what she was,” he answered slowly, looking down at his hook once more.  “She’s cold and hot in turns.  She’s vicious and she’s sensual.  I know she would never hurt me, but I’m not sure that anyone is safe from her, except those she loves.”

“Can you live with that?” Belle pressed, having asked herself that question a thousand times. 

Killian snorted out a laugh.  “Oh, I can. That’s what frightens me.  The man…the man I _used_ to be would have found this Emma unbelievably attractive, but that’s not who I am, now.  And I don’t want to go back.”

This was a problem Belle had never had; she’d never reinvented herself, never had to turn away from darkness.  For all of her insecurities, for all of her burning desire to be a hero and  _help_ people, she had never doubted who she was.  But she could see the conflict in Killian’s eyes, could see him wanting to take the easy way and revel in the darkness with the woman he loved.  Belle had always tried so hard to help Rumplestiltskin reach his better self, the man she now had  _proof_ had always been buried beneath the darkness, but Killian was drawn to the Dark One far more than she had ever been.   _The danger was exciting, and sometimes the darkness felt that way, too, but I rarely forgot that I was really fighting for the man inside him,_ Belle knew.  Killian, it seemed, was already having difficulty differentiating between the two.

“If you stay with her, do you think you’ll make her worse?  Or yourself?”

“I don’t believe I can make _Emma_ any worse.  I’m already terrified by what I suspect she might be doing,” he admitted.  “And as for the last part…I don’t know.  I really don’t.”

“Then you have to decide if loving her is enough reason to risk your soul.  If you think you can help her be better,” Belle advised.  “If you can’t, well, you still have to face the fact that this might be the only Emma you ever know from here on out.  There’s no guarantee that anyone will ever be able to get the darkness out of her.  She may be the Dark One forever.”

“If that the bloody crocodile was—”

“He does have a name, you know,” she cut him off, giving Killian a hard look.  “If anything has proven to _all_ of us how much being the Dark One can change someone, Emma’s conduct is doing it.”

Killian flushed angrily.  “She’s still Emma!”

“Do you realize how hypocritical that just sounded?”

He opened his mouth to answer, his eyes dark with fury and heartbreak, but then Belle watched as Killian stopped himself.  Quick-tempered through he was, the man also had a brain, and she could see it clicking away, considering what she’d said.  After a moment, he sighed heavily.  “Aye, I suppose I do.  And I apologize.  I’m just so damned _worried_ for her.”

“Believe me, I know.”  Belle gave him a gentle smile.  “Loving a Dark One is much harder than hating one.  If you want to stay with her, you have to cling to your better self.  You can’t _make_ Emma be better.  You can only inspire her to want to be.”

“Tell me again how well that worked out for you,” he said dryly.

“Actually, it did pretty well until the darkness started taking over.  I just didn’t notice in time, because I didn’t know it _could_ happen.  And now I’m not sure Rumple was even capable of telling me that it was.  But you _know._   You’ll see if it does.”  Belle paused, taking a deep breath and looking Killian in the eye.  “Only you can decide if she’s worth fighting for, even like this.”

He was silent for a long moment, but when he smiled, it was a crooked, broken thing.

“Of course she is,” Killian said quietly.  “I just hope I don’t lose myself in the process.”

* * *

 

Belle was late, Rumplestiltskin realized.  But then again, so was he.  Ironically enough, they’d probably both been distracted by the same thing: Belle by the multitudes of books in the library and Rumplestiltskin by the stack Henry had brought back from Camelot.  His grandson had been by earlier, asking lots of questions and clearly just looking for somewhere to escape to, so he’d let Henry read up a bit on the history of magic and given the boy a place to forget about his troubles for a time.  However, once Henry had left Rumplestiltskin had lost himself in _Evolution of the Schism_ , completely losing track of the time.  His only consolation was the fact that his wife had undoubtedly done the exact same thing.

_Don’t we make a pair?_ he thought with a smile as he locked up the shop.  _It’s only going to be worse once I start teaching her magic._   But that thought alone was enough to set his heart racing; he’d never been so excited about _sharing_ magic with someone as he was about the possibility of teaching Belle.  She’d always asked lots of questions and had been interested in reading about magic, but apparently neither of them had ever even considered going further.  _This will be different,_ Rumplestiltskin promised himself.  Every other student he’d ever taught had been for a reason, to expand his power or to get him something he wanted.  Belle, however, Belle he would teach for _her_. 

There were times that Rumplestiltskin still struggled to find an identity after so many years wrapped in so much darkness, but he thought he was starting to rediscover himself.  Helping David—first by healing his heart and then with the refugees—had felt surprisingly _good_.  He’d been the Dark One for so long that he’d forgotten the simple rush of satisfaction one could feel through helping others.  Rumplestiltskin had been so far from right that he hadn’t been able to remember what it felt like to _want_ that.  Oh, he’d done the right thing a time or to, but always for selfish reasons, always for those he loved and—

“Well, look who it is,” a familiar voice said from behind him as he locked the side door. 

Rumplestiltskin froze.  His imagination had to be playing tricks on him, making him hallucinate.  Zelena was locked away.  He’d watched them take her back to the asylum after her previous escape, when the cloud of Merlin’s power had attacked her.  Zelena wasn’t there, couldn’t be there—

“What, you don’t want to turn around and face me, Rumple?  It’s amazing how cowardly you get when you don’t have power,” Zelena cooed, and hearing the undisguised _victory_ in her voice finally made his anger override his fears. His heart was still pounding wildly in his ears, and panic still threatened to choke off his air supply—just like she had done to him in the hospital—but Rumplestiltskin managed force himself to stumble around to face her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be locked away, dearie?” he forced himself to rasp after a moment, struggling not to let himself shrink away from her.  She was so _close_ , just an arm’s length away, and the thought of her touching him again paralyzed him.

_Hands held him down—he was so weak and couldn’t pull away.  It was just like all the times with the dagger, when he told his limbs to move but they wouldn’t respond, and Zelena leaned in, closer and closer and closer and—_

“Oops.”  Blue eyes gleamed viciously.  “I guess I missed that memo.”

Unbidden, his eyes flew to her left wrist, but the magic-blocking cuff was gone.  Somewhere in her transition to the past, Zelena had lost the need for her damned pendant—he still wasn’t sure how that had happened, but he supposed that time travel was wonky enough that it might have stripped away Glinda’s magic.  How it had happened didn’t really matter; what mattered was that Zelena was in full possession of her magic, and the very thought of her with power made his breathing quicken, each breath sounding like a gasp, even to his own ears.  _She won’t stop.  She’ll never stop.  She’ll try again.  She’ll—_

“Ooooh.  Is something wrong, _dearie_?” Zelena stepped closer when he couldn’t find words, smiling widely.  “A little birdie told me that you’re not the Dark One, anymore.  And while it’s a _shame_ that I can’t get your dagger so that we can have a little fun again, I suppose I don’t need that now, do I?”

“You—” The rest of the sentence died in his throat, which was trying to close up, close off.  Rumplestiltskin _knew_ he was having a panic attack and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.  He was back in the hospital, back in that cage, back to being defenseless and weak.

“I do like new suit, though.  Is this supposed to signify that you’re a new man without the darkness?” she asked, reaching out to stroke the lapels of his jacket.  Her touch sent a new jolt of fear through him, but that, finally, was enough to break through the blind panic.

Instinct won over intellect, and magic tore out of him the moment her fingers touched the expensive fabric, throwing Zelena backwards.  She caught herself before she could slam too hard into the opposite wall, her eyes wide and shocked.  Zelena’s expression was utterly priceless: full of disbelief and arrogance, coupled with a certainty that she was, of course, utterly right and everything would go her way.

The distance between them meant Rumplestiltskin could breathe, even though he had to blink hard to rein his panic in.  _You have power, you fool.  You can squash her like a bug._

“I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, dredging up a smile from somewhere deep inside himself.  “Was that not what you were expecting?”

Inside, he was still reeling, still desperate to run away and hide, but Rumplestiltskin had long since learned to hide his fears behind a façade of power.  His breathing was still hard and he _knew_ his eyes were wide with terror, but when he reached for his magic, it answered readily.  _Magic is power.  Power is safety.  I_ am _safe.  She can’t hurt me again,_ he tried to tell himself, but his hands were still shaking.

“You still have magic,” Zelena spat, and he could see her weighing the odds.  Fight or flight?  Rumplestiltskin knew which one _he_ wanted to choose, but he didn’t trust his focus enough to teleport away, and he couldn’t bear to let her see him run.

“It’s a pity no one gave you a lobotomy while you were under the hospital,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.  “I’ll have to talk to your sister about that.”

Zelena laughed.  “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Decision clearly made, she vanished in a swirl of green smoke, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t gather his wits soon enough to even _think_ about stopping her.  His mind kept trying to turn back to that cage, to her hands touching and _touching_ him, to being unable to fight her, to feeling so crippled and so ashamed while his body did as he was commanded.  He remembered the dagger cutting and—

“No,” he whispered aloud, closing his eyes tightly and trying to will the images away.  But the memories kept rolling through his mind, coming faster and stronger until he had slipped down to the ground, instinct trying to make himself as small as possible.  He had no idea how long he stayed there, with his back against the cold bricks and his knees pulled tightly to his chest while his entire body shook.  Rumplestiltskin just buried his head in his arms and struggled to push the memories away.

* * *

 

Some sorcerers—like his mother—were fans of using animals to spy on people.  Others used mirrors and random reflective surfaces, and some preferred blood magic, which would create a hazy and short-lived window for one to watch through.  Mordred, however, had always used an object of his own creation: a crystal spyglass that allowed him to look through walls, objects, and even people, so long as he was within range.  Since he’d perfected an invisibility spell long ago, he had no qualms with slipping right up near the Dark One’s odd-looking blue house (everything in this town was strange, though, so Mordred chose not to hold the architecture against her). 

He had originally intended to watch the Dark One and her lover, who happened to be his own nephew.  Gwaine would have rolled over in his grave to know that his _son_ was romancing the demon who had taken such an active role in destroying the Camelot they had both loved, but Mordred resisted the urge to lecture young Killian on that fact.  He regretted not knowing his brother’s children well—and even more so, having completely missed the fact that Liam had died in _his_ service, and he’d never known.  But there was at least time to get Killian away from his deceptively attractive lover before it was too late.  _I won’t leave it like this,_ he promised his dead brother wordlessly, remembering how the darkness had killed Agravaine, remembering what it had done to _all_ of them.

He didn’t need to watch Killian try to find goodness within that demon.  Mordred knew the Dark One’s game.  He knew that she would feign humanity, that she would play the same old game, preying on the weaknesses of those that loved her until she could reign supreme.   _Then_ the demon would step over their broken bodies and do as it pleased, all pretenses at compassion and humanity gone.  He’d seen that tragedy play out enough times, and Mordred didn’t care to watch again.

But the _cat_ was fascinating.

This Dark One apparently enjoyed her games.  Mordred had no idea who the cat was; he couldn’t tell without transforming the poor angry creature back, but he could definitely see the magic swirling around the once-human feline.  Even more interestingly, the Dark One had been careful to let the creature _remember_ ; usually, when one forced a human into animal form, they lost all sense of their human selves.  The effect was temporary so long as they were changed back, but this cat knew exactly what he was supposed to be. 

Leaving him like that was crueler than many Dark Ones cared to be, but as far as Mordred was concerned, it was _useful_.  Clearly, he needed to acquire himself a pet cat.  Soon.

* * *

 

Belle had been so caught up filing the newest shipment of books that she hadn’t even looked at the clock for hours.  By the time she did, she was a half an hour late for when she was supposed to meet Rumplestiltskin at the shop, so she hurried to lock up the library and head across the street to the shop.  Hopefully, Rumple had gotten lost in research or distracted by some visitor; otherwise, she was sure he would have called.  But the front door was locked with the sign flipped to ‘closed’, which meant he was probably alone—and just made Belle feel even more guilty. 

Deciding to try the side door before she called his cell, Belle ducked into the alleyway, noticing that the car was still parked there, so Rumplestiltskin had to be inside.  She was halfway to the door by the time she noticed the huddled up figure against the wall.  His gray suit blended in with the worn pavement, and he was curled up so small that Belle almost missed him, but once she saw him, her heart leapt into her throat.

“Rumple?” she called, running for him.

He was shaking, but his head came up at the sound of her voice.  Wet streaks marked his face, and his eyes were full of self-loathing, but he didn’t pull away when Belle flung herself to her knees at his side and wrapped her arms around him.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t say a word; he just melted into her embrace and shook.

“What’s wrong?” Belle whispered as trembling arms snaked around her.  She’d never seen him like this, not even when he’d finally told her what happened to him when he’d been under Zelena’s control.  Even after the Butcher’s son had attacked them, Rumplestiltskin had been as angry as he was afraid, hostile and touchy instead of… _this_.  When he didn’t answer, she reached up to stroke his hair gently.  “Rumple?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll be—I’ll be all right.”

“Just tell me what happened,” she pleaded, swallowing back her fears.  “Did someone hurt you?”

Imagining how someone could manage to hurt Rumplestiltskin with the magic he now had at his disposal was difficult, but Belle couldn’t think of anything else that could make him shake like this.

However, he shook his head.  “No,” Rumplestiltskin whispered so quietly that she could barely hear him.  The hiccup in his voice was louder, though, when he added: “Zelena—she’s escaped.  She was—here.”

“Oh, Rumple.”  Squeezing him tightly, Belle kissed the top of his bent head and let him cling to her.

Of course it was that witch.  As if that horrible woman hadn’t done enough to Rumple already; Belle had never wanted to hurt someone the way she wanted to hurt Zelena, but now that she knew how the witch had raped her husband—raped him and tortured him, and hadn’t even had the decency to let him go to his own son’s funeral—she almost wished she’d never tried to ask Rumple not to kill her.   _Not that it would have helped,_ she knew, but common sense did nothing to lessen her fury.  Belle had been trying to protect Rumplestiltskin’s soul when she’d asked him not to go after Zelena, but she knew now that she’d gone about it all wrong.

Not that it mattered now.  What mattered now was the man who clung to her so tightly, obviously trying to swallow back his panic.  He’d done so well when they’d encountered Zelena in the street, but she’d been helpless then, nearly unconscious.  Belle didn’t have to ask what Zelena had said or done to set Rumplestiltskin off right now; she could guess that it hadn’t had to be much.  He still had nightmares about his time in Zelena’s hands from time to time; it was worse now that he _had_ to sleep.  But seeing the witch in person had clearly been enough to burst open the mental wounds that had barely begun to heal.

“Belle,” he gulped as she continued to stroke his hair with one hand.  “I’m sorry.  I feel so weak and pathetic.  I’m—”

“Don’t you _dare_ call yourself a coward,” Belle cut him off.  “You’re not a coward.  She hurt you terribly, and you have _every_ right to be shaken.  Did you fight her?”

It wasn’t a foolish question; Belle knew that if he hadn’t, Rumple would have been in a cage again.

“A little,” he whispered.  “I forced her back.  She ran.”

“See?” Cupping his face in her right hand, Belle gently raised his chin until he met her eyes.  “That’s not cowardice.  You won.”

“I don’t feel like I won,” Rumplestiltskin said miserably.  “I feel so afraid.  I _hate_ being so afraid.”

“There’s no courage unless you’re scared,” she replied, kissing him on the forehead.  The contrast between the sorcerer who had been so excited about teaching her magic just that morning and the still broken man she held in her arms was startling, but Belle didn’t love him any less for that.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered.  The next words were tentative, as if he was ashamed to _need_ to say them:  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now, let’s get you home.”

* * *

 

Finding a bird was hard work, even when you were a sorceress and had the best tracker in the Enchanted Forest by your side.  Having a twelve-year-old tag along probably wasn’t helping, but Regina didn’t really mind.   Henry was certainly clever, but a woodsman he was not, even with Robin’s expert tutoring.  And his good-natured teasing.

“How come _Mom_ is so good at this?” her son complained to her lover.  “She shouldn’t be any better at this than I am.”

“Your mother was a bandit in the other world,” Robin replied, exchanging a grin with Regina.  “I think she learned a thing or two.  You didn’t?”

“I was too busy saving everyone to learn how to be a thief,” Henry shot back.

“Well, then you should learn to multi-task better,” Regina teased him.  She’d been so proud of him when she’d woken up, so proud of the way he’d stood up to her—and to everyone else—and saved them all.  The other Regina (who didn’t quite feel like her, even if she had all the same memories) might have stepped in at the last moment to save Henry, but it was Henry who had really done the work.

“Mom,” he groaned, and she felt her grin grow.

“You’re not doing too badly,” Robin said encouragingly.  “Give me a few weeks, and I’ll make a proper outlaw out of you.  I’ll even teach you to shoot a bow, if you want.”

“Really?” Henry’s entire face lit up.  “That would be so cool.  Mom, can I?”

Saying no was on the tip of Regina’s tongue, but twelve—nearly thirteen—really wasn’t too young to learn to shoot.  _Besides, it’s got to be safer than hanging out with the Dark One,_ she told herself, and sighed.  “Sure.”

“Awesome!” The happy expression on Henry’s face—one he wore far too infrequently these days—made everything worthwhile, and Regina found herself smiling back.

“So,” Robin said after Henry pulled out his phone to post that on Facebook.  “Did you think about Mordred’s offer?”

“What, allying with a man who will probably try to seduce me?” Regina rolled her eyes.  “Particularly when I have _no_ idea what he’s after?  No thanks.”

“Regina, I trust you,” her lover said gently, and her entire body warmed as he reached out to touch her elbow.  “Don’t say no on my account.  I know where your heart lies.”

She couldn’t help the soft smile that took over her face.  “You’d better.”

“I have no doubt.”  His eyes gleamed for a moment before Robin turned serious once more.  “But, as you said, we have no idea what Mordred wants or what he’s after, aside from wanting to stop the Dark One.  If he’s attracted to you, he’s likely to tell you more than he would, say, _me_.  Or anyone else who allied with him.  Maybe you should take him up on it, so we can at least find out.”

“It didn’t go too well the last time I went undercover,” she reminded him, not wanting to think about that mess.  Robin had missed the worst of it—until he’d suddenly become leverage, with her psychotic sister pretending to be his wife.

“Well, he doesn’t know you like Rumplestiltskin does,” Robin pointed out.  “Just think on it, all right, love?  I’m not going to push you, but if you think it’s the right thing to do, don’t stop on my account.  Even if you have to seduce him, I know who you really are.”

Listening to Robin say things like that utterly took her breath away; who was Regina to have earned such pure love as this?  Robin had his own demons, his own dark past, but he loved her so truly and so purely—despite all the terrible things she had done in her life—that Regina often felt like she couldn’t possibly deserve him.  “I love you,” she whispered.

“I know.”  His grin was cocky, but full of affection.  Then his eyes abruptly slid right.  “Ah!  There’s your scarf!” Robin pointed, and she glanced that way, finally seeing where Sneezy’s scarf hovered near a very tall tree. 

Finding the dwarf-turned-bluebird _should_ have been simple, but the stupid creature kept flying away every time the scarf Regina had enchanted got anywhere near him.  She couldn’t tell if it was because he was being difficult or because his (already less-than-stellar) brain had been shrunken down into a bird’s tiny skull, but either way, it had taken them two hours of pointless walking to track Sneezy down.  _Locator spells work so much better on people who_ aren’t _able to fly,_ Regina mused, gathering magic to her hands.

“I could shoot him from here, but somehow I don’t think Leroy and the others would thank me for that,” Robin said as Regina let out a breath.

“No need,” she said, carefully toning down the amount of magic her instincts said to use. She didn’t want to fry the bird, after all.  Just to put it to sleep.  “I’ve got this.”

A flick of her fingers sent a white spark racing for the bluebird, and of course Sneezy tried to fly away again.  But he couldn’t outrace magic, not this time, and it struck him right in the belly.  Immediately, the bird fell out of the sky, making Henry leap forward.

“Mom!  You have to be careful!  You might have killed him,” her son protested, shoving his phone in his pocket and gathering the unconscious bird up in his hands.

“Birds fall down all the time,” Regina shrugged.  “I’m sure he’s fine.  If he isn’t, we’ll fix him later.”

Henry gave her a droll look.  “I think he’s breathing, at least.”

“See?  Fine,” she said, looking at Robin for support, but he was watching the bird worriedly, too.  Regina was just about to offer to heal the bird—assuming she could figure out how—when her phone rang.  “Damnit.”

“You’re a popular woman, Madam Mayor,” Robin teased her.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, and thumbed the answer button without looking.  “Yes?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Rumplestiltskin’s voice said without preamble, sounding rougher than usual.

“What, another one?”

“Your sister’s out,” he replied, and Regina almost dropped the phone.

“ _What_?” she demanded.  “What did you do?”

“Don’t go blaming me, dear,” the voice on the other end snapped, making Regina realize belatedly that Rumple was definitely in the group of people who _most_ wanted Zelena locked away.  “I…saw her earlier.  Near my shop.  The magic-blocking cuff is gone.”

Coldness settled in her gut, and she couldn’t stop the next question, even though Regina wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.  “And she’s still alive?”

“I’m not the Dark One any longer,” Rumplestiltskin growled.  “And even if I had been, I’ve never had a taste for killing children.”

That was true enough, and Regina made herself not think of the children who had died on her orders.  “Well, I suppose there had to be some lines you didn’t cross,” she said as flippantly as she could, knowing he won’t be insulted.

If either of them ever started taking insults personally, after all, they’d have more grudges than they could act on in several lifetimes.

“I thought you should know,” he replied, sounding peevish.

“You’re damned right I should know.  Do you have any idea where she went, O Great Sorcerer?”

“That’s your problem.”

“Oh, that’s mighty nice of you,” she shot back.  “I thought you were trying to help these days.”

“What, you can’t handle big sis, dearie?” he met her sarcasm with sarcasm. “And here I was thinking you were more confident these days.”

“Shut up.  Of course I can handle her,” Regina snarled, but her heart wasn’t in it.  _Zelena’s loose.  Again.  How the_ hell _do we keep her under wraps if she’s broken out twice—and now figured out how to get rid of the magical cuff?_

“Good luck,” Rumplestiltskin said, and hung up.  Sighing, Regina turned to face her son and her lover.

“Zelena’s escaped,” she explained, determined not to let her shoulders slump.  “We’d best get home and start looking for her.”

“What about Sneezy?” Henry asked.

“I’ll turn him back once we get to town.  Teleporting a bird is a lot easier than taking a fourth person along.”  There was no way that Regina was going to do the long walk back to the car.  Not with Zelena on the loose.

Still, she called David once they were in the car, driving as quickly as she could on the bumpy roads through the woods.  He was the sheriff, now, and _none_ of them wanted to risk having Zelena find a new ally in someone like, say, Mordred.

* * *

 

Mordred had to wait until the next morning to catch his nephew alone.  He had no idea where the Dark One had gone off to—his best guess was that she was off creating trouble, probably meeting with the dangerous redheaded witch who she had released from prison.  _Trust a Dark One and see where it gets you,_ he thought wryly.  Apparently this town needed a lesson in that, which Mordred found rather…interesting.  It probably said a lot about the previous Dark One (now, rather inconveniently, the Sorcerer), who did, in truth, seem to be the calculating and intelligent sort.  Mordred remembered fighting him, and although he was far from happy to admit that Rumplestiltskin had been the one and only Dark One to best him, he supposed that if any Dark One had to become the Sorcerer, he would be the least damaging of the lot.

_Not this so-called “Savior” that Killian is in love with, that’s for sure._ He snorted to himself.  Emma Swan might have been a hero before she became the Dark One, but now she was like the others.  And Mordred really didn’t care if the assessment was unfair, if Dark Ones were less controllable and far more dangerous in their early days.  She had offered herself up: a heroic sacrifice to be sure.  But it was also a death sentence for her soul.

How Rumplestiltskin had escaped with _any_ of his soul intact, Mordred still wasn’t sure.  Maybe what was left of Merlin and what little remained of Rumplestiltskin were enough to create a functional human being.  Still, he wasn’t prepared to trust the new Sorcerer, either; he had only offered an alliance to get the Sorcerer’s power on his side.  But at least Rumplestiltskin, clever though he might be, was a novice when it came to wielding that type of power.  Mordred would run laps around him.

_But first, my nephew_.

Knocking on the front door to the Dark One’s home—a quaint and rather lowborn way of announcing his presence that Mordred disliked—he waited for Killian to show up. Fortunately, his nephew did not keep him waiting long, but when he opened the door, Mordred was once again struck by the seafarer’s resemblance to Gwaine.  _Agravaine was the only one of us who ever looked like Mother,_ he thought sadly.  _Well, and Viviane, but she never lived long enough to matter._

“Mordred,” Killian greeted him cautiously, which probably said good things about his intelligence level.

“I thought we might speak, if you don’t mind.”

“After you waited until Emma was gone,” the younger man said flatly, and Mordred shrugged.

He shrugged.  “I see no reason to cause a fight we would all regret.  May I come in?”

“This is her home.” Blue eyes watched him warily.

“And I mean her no harm.  Nor you.  I truly do want to help you—in my brother’s memory, if nothing else.”  The words were not even a lie; Mordred _burned_ to avenge Gwaine, and he would do everything in his power to keep Killian safe.  _Even from the woman he loves._

“I should warn you that my own memories of him are not nearly so fond,” Killian grumbled, but he stepped aside to let Mordred in.

“I imagine that they’re none too clear, either.  You were what, five, when Gwaine left?” He stepped through the door and marveled at the lack of overt protections on the house.  After receiving a nod, he continued: “You can’t remember much about him.”

Killian glared.  “Not much beyond him _leaving_ us, no.  And how do you know how old I was?”

“Easy.  I remember your birth.” Mordred quirked a smile.  “Ragnelle had been so excited.  She was hoping for a girl, you know.”

“ _What?_ ”

An easy laugh bubbled up, relaxed because he didn’t need to lie to win his nephew’s allegiance.  “I think she meant to name you Kira.  Gwaine had wanted to name you Morgan for our mother, but Ragnelle won.  As usual.”

“Surely you’re joking.”  Killian looked thunderstruck.

“Not at all.  Gwaine loved her to distraction.  He only left because he knew those who eventually _would_ kill him would come after his family if he stayed,” Mordred replied, ignoring the old pains his words brought back to the surface.  “I know you don’t trust me, but please don’t believe anything Arthur says about your father.  Arthur loved Gwaine as a nephew, but he loved others more, and was always blinded to that.  In the end, that harmed Gwaine more than I ever could.”

“You didn’t deny ripping his heart out.”  The blue eyes that _had_ been softening towards him went hard again, and Mordred could have kicked himself for bringing the sensitive subject up. 

“No, but I didn’t kill him.  Gwaine and I…what we fought for was complicated.  His heart was required, and he _volunteered._ He died years later.”

Mordred could still remember the feeling of his brother’s heart in his hands, could still remember its brilliant golden glow.  He’d hated himself for pulling it out, even with Gwaine insisting that he should.  Sometimes, he’d wished that their mother had been willing, but even then, Morgan’s magic had been tied up elsewhere.  _And she was trying so hard to save_ Merlin _that she lost sight of the real enemy_.  Gwaine hadn’t, even if the bitch’s followers had killed him for it in the end.

Killian loomed forward threateningly; Mordred didn’t flinch.  “Why?”

He sighed.  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Heart of the Truest Believer, have you?”  It was a long shot, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain this.

“Aye.”

The immediate response made Mordred blink, as did the suddenly defensive way in which Killian backed off a step.  “I won’t ask who it is,” he said quickly, guessing that the topic was sensitive.  Could it be Killian himself?   The odds were against it, but very few Truest Believers ever managed to leave a child behind, let alone two.  Usually, they were found too young.  “But you understand that the Heart is a powerful thing, yes?”

“I do.”

“Well, the Heart can isolate someone as easily as it can strengthen them.  We had to stop someone, and Gwaine’s heart was the only object powerful enough to do the job.”  _Don’t think of the empty look on his face after the deed was done.  We both knew what was going to happen._   “He made his choice.  I did the deed.”

“Why should I believe you?” Killian glowered.

“Because I have no reason to lie to you.  You can ask my mother—your grandmother, I suppose—if you like.”  He shrugged.  “Or even some of Arthur’s remaining knights might tell you.  But they may not.”

Killian seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head.  “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here, instead, mate?  Or do I call you ‘Uncle’?”

“If you like.”  _Strange though that would be, having family again might be nice.  He’s certainly as stubborn as Gwaine, though far less idealistic._   “As for why I’m here…well, first, I wanted to apologize for your brother’s death.  I remember Liam from when you were small, and, for what it’s worth, had I known you were still in Camelot, I never would have allowed any harm to come to either of you.  I certainly would _never_ have sent you to Neverland.”

Killian’s entire expression closed off.   “You wanted the Dreamshade.”

“Of course I did.  I had wondered if it might be enough to kill a Dark One.”  He wasn’t going to apologize; the idea had made good strategic sense.  Besides, sending a _second_ ship to Neverland had turned out to be a costly and barely effective gamble, and he’d never actually acquired the poison, much to Mordred’s annoyance.

“It nearly did.”  Blue eyes narrowed.  “Emma’s predecessor.  I caught him in the Land Without Magic.”

“Pity it did not.”  Mordred sighed. “Still, we can’t change that, now, and as much as I regret your brother’s death, I can’t save him.  I can help you save your lady love.”

“You said that before.”  Killian was clearly trying to sound wary, but Mordred saw the hope in his eyes.

“And I meant it.  I’ve made ridding all the realms of the Dark One my life’s work, and I mean to make that happen now.  If you help me, we _can_ banish that cursed darkness forever.”

“Even without her consent?  She…she feels she needs it.”  Real pain filled Killian’s voice, and Mordred felt a twinge of regret.  “I know that it’s the Dark One corrupting her.  Emma isn’t _like_ that.  She’s always been strong and _good_.  But that darkness is ruining her.  I love her, but I can see her falling further every day.”

“Then let me help you.  Let me help _her_.” 

He wasn’t lying, Mordred told himself.  The best help anyone could give Emma Swan would be to destroy her before she could ruin everything she had been.  Mordred knew that—had someone managed to force that darkness into him—that he would have wanted the same.  And it would be a mercy to his nephew to get the demon out of his life as quickly as possible; the longer the Dark One wore Emma Swan’s face, the longer Killian would tell himself that she could be saved.  Mordred had seen that horrid game play out before, and he was not about to let his nephew be caught in the same trap his mother had been.

So, when Killian told him that he’d consider Mordred’s offer, he backed off and gave Killian time to think.  There was no need to tell Killian what would really happen to the Dark One.  Emma Swan was dead already, and Mordred’s responsibility was to the living world.

* * *

 

“When’s Papa coming, Mama?” Roland asked, and Zelena bit back the urge to shake the annoying child.  But she had plenty of experience doing that, even if little Roland didn’t remember, so she was able to give him a brilliant smile.

“Soon, sweetie,” she promised, her guise as Marian firmly in place.  “Now, why don’t you play with the new toys Mama got you while we wait?”

“Okay!”

The boy scooted off to play with the truly impressive toy assortment that the Sorcerer’s House had provided—somehow, there had been a room fit for a four year old boy already there, and Zelena hadn’t had to use a bit of magic to make that happen.  She’d taken up residence in the empty house the evening before, after triple-checking that there was no one there, and now she watched Robin’s son play with a smug smile.  Regina really never should have mentioned that little memory wipe in Zelena’s hearing, because that meant that Roland had _no_ idea a stranger had been pretending to be his mother.  Now, of course, the boy firmly believed she was Marian—again!—and Zelena would make use of that.

Robin truly was an idiot in addition to being an utterly inadequate lover.  He’d left his precious boy with one of the dwarves that morning (Zelena never could tell them apart), and distracting the miniature fool had been easy.  She’d slipped away with Roland before the dwarf had even realized they were gone, and now all Zelena had to do was keep the boy quiet and happy while she watched her game play out. 

She wouldn’t even hurt the boy.  Zelena wasn’t a monster, after all.  And she was going to be a mother, too.  No, this was all about Regina, and taking away the family she thought she would have.  _Roland loves me more than he loves you,_ she thought in her little sister’s direction.  _And now your precious ‘friend’ Emma has turned on you, too.  She wants you to suffer just like I do.  Just you wait, sis.  Everyone’s going to turn on you, and I’m going to be there to see it._

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in updating this chapter – this is the first time I’ve gotten to the computer since we got home! Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed; I’m still reading all the wonderful reviews now that I have internet access, and they’re making me smile so hard.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Three—“This Splendid Dream”, in which the hunt for Roland begins, Henry summons his mother, Ruby deals with a malcontent in her diner, and Rumplestiltskin looks for answers.


	23. This Splendid Dream

_He’d gone to sleep with the woman he loved, but when he woke up, something just felt_ wrong _.  Still, Robin was tired and tried to tell himself that everything was fine; he just snuggled into Regina’s back, tightening his arms around her midsection.  He had missed this so much, had missed her.  Those six weeks in New York had—in retrospect—been the worst kind of hell, because they were such an imperfect echo out of his past.  He’d tried to tell himself that everything was fine, over and over again, and yet something inside him had always known that it wasn’t Marian.  Yet he’d lied to himself, and he’d been such an_ idiot _that he’d never seen the truth right in front of his face._

_His eyes were still closed when Regina twisted around in his arms, and a hand traced over his bare chest.  Robin smiled to himself, not quite ready to be awake, yet, but clearly Regina had other ideas.  Her hand drifted downwards—_

_“You always are so_ perky _in the morning, aren’t you?” a familiar voice cooed, and Robin’s eyes flew open._

_Zelena lay in his arms, not Regina, and he couldn’t pull away fast enough.  Or couldn’t try to, because she grabbed him by the throat with her left hand, and Robin realized far too late that Zelena didn’t wear the magic-blocking cuff, now.  Desperately, he tried to push her away, but his hands wouldn’t move and Zelena was laughing._

“Robin!”

_“You’ll never get away from me, love.  I’ll always be here.  We’re having a_ child _together,” Zelena giggled, leaning in to kiss him as he struggled to pull away.  “Admit it.  You wanted_ me _, not Regina.  You made sweet love to me, and you_ knew _I wasn’t Marian.  But you didn’t care, now, did you?”_

“Get away from me,” he gasped, twisting frantically to get away from those hands.  They featured in so many of his nightmares, and they were shaking him now, gently and then with increasing roughness.

_“Awh.  How can you say that to the mother of your child?  Maybe I’ll take the other one away and then you’ll come back to me.”  Blue eyes gleamed wickedly.  “You’d like to have the excuse, wouldn’t you?  Poor little man.  You’re just afraid to tell Regina you want_ me _more than you want her.”_

“Stop it.  Stop it!”

“Robin!”

_“Don’t worry, lover boy.  I’ll kill her and then we can be together. One big happy family.”_

“No!”

A slap cracked across his face, and Robin’s eyes finally flew open.  Instinct made him shrink away from the gentle hands cupped his face, and it took him entirely too long to realize that those were _Regina’s_ eyes looking so worriedly at him.

“Robin?” she whispered, sounding terrified.  “I’m sorry I slapped you, but you were dreaming and I couldn’t snap you out of it.”

“It’s…it’s all right.”  Swallowing hard, Robin sat up, trying to banish the memory—the _nightmare_ —of Zelena’s hands on his body.  His face still stung, but in comparison to how dirty he felt, that was nothing.   _I let her use me,_ he thought emptily.  _I let her rape me, and now an innocent child will have to bear that burden for his or her entire life._   But he couldn’t say that to Regina.  Regina had enough of her own worries to bear.  “I think I need a shower.”

“Will you talk to me first?” his love whispered even as Robin started to climb out of bed, and the uncertain look on her face made him pause.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no, Regina,” he said quickly.  “It wasn’t you.  I love _you_.  You’d never give me nightmares.”

“You say that because you didn’t know me before.”

“I say that because I know you _now_ ,” he countered.  It was sad that Regina’s self-loathing was a safe topic, but at least then they weren’t talking about what was wrong inside his head.  Yet Robin could still see that, although Regina wanted to believe him, she still wasn’t sure, so he reached out and took her hand before he could chicken out.  “I dreamt I woke up with Zelena, not you.  That was my nightmare.”

Immediately, fire replaced the uncertainty in her eyes.  “I’m _never_ going to let her hurt you again.  We’ll find her and lock her back up where she belongs.”

“I know.” Robin forced a smile.  “I just…sometimes I can’t shake the nightmares.  I should have known she wasn’t Marian, and yet I still let her…”

“That wasn’t your fault, Robin.  Zelena knew exactly what she was doing.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t take a part.”  He sighed miserably.  “I should have known.”

“We can’t change what happened,” Regina pointed out.  “All we can do is move forward.  Together.”

That finally made him smile.  Yes, Robin should have known—or should have at least listened to the oblique warning Rumplestiltskin had tried to give him.  But he really couldn’t change that, now, and he really did have a second chance.  He was building a new family, Zelena be damned, with a beautiful woman he loved, her son, and his son.  And soon they’d have a new child that they’d raise together.  _I’m sorry, Marian,_ Robin thought to the woman he had loved and lost.  _But I won’t dishonor your memory by letting that witch harm the child that should have been yours._

“Yeah,” he whispered.  “Together.”

When Regina smiled like that, her face could light up a room, and Robin just had to kiss her.  Doing so helped banish the last of his nightmare, the lingering memory of Zelena’s touch, and he loved the way that Regina leaned into him.  His love for Marian would never leave him, but Robin was beginning to believe that love did not mean one or the other.   Having loved and lost the _real_ Marian only made his feelings for _both_ women stronger.  The human heart wasn’t so black and white that it did not have room for a second love, and being near Regina was like coming home.

“Now.”  Regina threw back the covers and got up, clearly seeing the feeling of peace stealing over his face.  “Why don’t you go take that shower, and I’ll go work on breakfast.  Henry is over with David for the weekend, but Roland’s going to be hungry.”

“You bet.” Robin stole one more kiss and headed for the bathroom.  He undressed quickly, eager to wash away the mere memory of the woman who had pretended to be his late wife.  But he only had one foot in the shower when he heard the words that made his blood go cold.

“Robin!  Roland is gone!”

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind who was responsible for that, either.

* * *

 

He’d just meant to check on the _Jolly Roger_ and pick up some coffee at the store; Emma had tried brewing it with magic, but the stuff never tasted right when she did.  Killian hadn’t meant to run into David on his way out of said store, and the two men stopped cold, staring at one another for a long moment.

“Killian,” David finally broke the silence.

“Good morning.”  He had no reason to feel guilty.  It wasn’t his fault that Emma wanted to stay away from her one remaining parent.  It _wasn’t._

David glanced down at the ground before looking up.  “How…how are you?  And how is Emma?”

“Fine.  And…Emma…Emma is trying.  She’s trying to come to terms with who she is now and everything that happened.”  _And she’s planning something she will not share with me_ , he didn’t add.  Which, of course, only made him feel worse.

“Please tell her that I don’t think of her any differently now.”  There was a pleading note in David’s voice that only made Killian’s stomach clench in shame.   “She’s still my daughter.  I still love her, even when she’s the Dark One.”

“I think she knows that, mate,” he said as gently as he could.

“Then why won’t she talk to me?”  Clearly, David hadn’t meant those words to come out, and he shook himself, obviously trying to be strong.  “I want to help her.  I want to be there for her.  I’m glad she’s seeing Henry, now, but…”

“But it’s not fair to you.”  Killian could tell that the other man hated himself for feeling that way, so he took pity on him and spoke up.  “Aye, I know.  I can try to talk to her, if you want.”

“I don’t want to put you in the middle of this.”

Killian snorted before he could stop himself.  “I’m already in the middle of this.  Loving her puts me there.”  _Even when I’m plotting behind her back with someone who might tear the darkness from her against her will, I know that will help the_ real _Emma, and that’s what matters._

“Thank you, then,” David said softly.

“Please don’t thank me.”  He almost went on, almost told David about what Mordred had said he could do—after all, David had been there for that first conversation with Mordred.  But something stopped Killian, and he just nodded stiffly to Emma’s father and headed back towards the house he shared with the Dark One.

* * *

 

“Emma Swan.  Emma Swan.  Emma Swan.”

She wasn’t answering her phone again, so Henry summoned his mother the way that the Dark One had _always_ been summoned in his book, and sure enough, she appeared quickly, right next to where Henry stood by the lake in the park.

“Henry.”  When she smiled, it was almost Emma’s smile, so close and yet just a _touch_ off.  She’d almost been normal when Henry had gone to her new house for dinner the other day, too, and Henry _so_ wanted to believe that Emma was winning.  Yet he’d been talking to Grandpa Gold, too, who warned him that although Emma was there, the darkness was a tricky foe, and he couldn’t take her for granted.  In short, Grandpa Gold had told him to love his mother but not trust her, something he said that Baelfire had learned the hard way.

“Hi, Mom.”  He managed to smile back, but Henry knew he had to be smart.  His other mom had told him that Zelena had escaped, but Henry wasn’t stupid.  There was _no_ way that Zelena could get that magic-blocking cuff off by herself.  Regina hadn’t figured it out yet, but Henry knew that someone must have helped Zelena.

And if Emma was still furious at his mom…

“What’d you call me for?” she asked casually.

“I missed you.”  At least that was honest.  “And I miss how things were.  You’re so…distant.”

Emma looked a little hurt.  “Not with you.  Not now.  And I’m sorry about before, Henry.  I told you that.”

“I know.  I just…I just wish you’d come with the rest of us.  Gramps, Mom, Robin, Roland, and I are gonna eat dinner together tonight at Granny’s.  Grandpa Gold and Belle might even come, too.  Why don’t you and Killian come?”

He’d watched her face carefully as he said each name, and sure enough, Emma’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Regina.  _Please tell me she’s not_ that _angry,_ Henry thought desperately.  He hated thinking that Emma might do this…but Emma wasn’t all Emma, now.  She was the Dark One, too, and the Dark One did terrible things.

“Not now,” she snapped.  “Not yet.”

“I know Gramps would really like to see you,” he tried.  “He misses you.  He’s trying to be okay, but he’s worried.”

Emma looked away, shifting uncomfortably.  “I’ll go see him soon.”

“When?”

“ _Soon_ , Henry.”

“Okay, fine.”  He shrugged, and then tried to sound like the next part was an afterthought: “Did you hear Zelena escaped?”

“No, I hadn’t.”  Emma turned to face him, and although she _seemed_ surprised, Henry could read her better than that.  _I think I inherited your superpower, Mom,_ he didn’t say.  “What happened?”

“No one knows.  But she’s got her magic back, so someone must have helped her.”  How he managed to keep his voice level, Henry didn’t know; inside, his heart was pounding wildly.  But he knew that his mom wouldn’t hurt him, even if she was angry.

“Has Regina found her yet?”

_Got you,_ he thought, but Henry didn’t feel really victorious for having gotten the answer.  “She’s looking,” he said, then continued, just to see how she’d react:  “And Gramps is worried about Neal.  Zelena went for him before.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt either of you, Henry.”  A hand took his, fiercely and protectively, and Henry thought these might be the first entirely true words Emma had said.  “Or my dad.  I will destroy _anyone_ who tries _anything_ like that.”

The darkness in her voice made him flinch.  “Yeah.  I kinda figured that out.”

“Good,” Emma replied, sounding a little smug.  “I know that—”

She cut off as Henry’s phone rang, and he gave her an apologetic smile as he fished it out of his pocket. The moment he read the screen, however, Henry knew this might get ugly.

“Hi, Mom,” he answered as cheerfully as he could, watching Emma’s expression go hard.  “What’s up?”

“Roland’s gone.”  Regina’s voice was a little higher than usual, almost panicked.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I’m with Emma.”  Henry hadn’t planned on telling Regina where he was, but she sounded too worried to lie to.  “I thought Roland was at home with you and Robin?”

“He was, but now he’s missing.  Robin and I are looking for him, but my locator spells are hitting a brick wall.  Literally.  It’s like someone has intentionally redirected them to hit the side of Granny’s instead of finding Roland.”

That wasn’t good.  That was anything but good.  “Can I help look?” 

“Yeah.  Meet me at Granny’s, okay?”

“Sure.”  Henry liked Roland a lot.  He was a good kid, even if he was little, and Henry knew that Roland would probably officially become his younger brother someday.  Poor Roland didn’t remember his own mom—and fortunately didn’t remember Zelena pretending to be his mom, either—which meant he was really attached to Regina.  Henry thought that was pretty cool, and kind of liked playing big brother.  Then the horrible thought occurred to him.  “Do you think it’s Zelena?”

“I hope not.”  But the way Regina said that made it sound like she really didn’t believe it, and Henry swallowed hard, turning to look at Emma.

But she was gone, and he didn’t know what to make of that.

* * *

 

Ruby really hated it when people tried to use the diner to grandstand, but one of the newcomers was doing just that.  She’d started the afternoon happy to have him there for lunch—Sir Percival certainly was pretty to look at—but now he was just being a nuisance.

“Are you people really going to let that _evil_ woman rule over you?” Percival demanded despite several people rolling their eyes and telling him to shut up and enjoy his beer.  “I was born in the Enchanted Forest.  I know what she did.  I watched her men slaughter an entire village as she _laughed_!”

“Give it a break, buddy,” Leroy growled from behind the bar.  “We heard your rhetoric the first time, and believe me, we know exactly what kind of woman Regina Mills is.  Unlike you, we weathered the curse instead of hiding in Camelot.”

“Then why won’t you _fight_ her?” Percival swung around to look at the dwarf like he’d gone mad. 

“Probably ‘cause we’ve dealt with a lot bigger evils than her since then.  Regina’s no saint, but she’s helped more than she’s hurt, now that her head’s on straight.”  Leroy gestured towards the kitchen with the beer mug he’d been filling.  “And besides, in case you haven’t noticed, Storybrooke’s a pretty modern place.  We went back to the Enchanted Forest for a year, and believe me when I say that _everyone’s_ happier with air conditioning, penicillin, video games, and refrigerators.”

Percival gaped.  Ruby just picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory.  The sheriff picked up after two rings.

“Hey, David,” she said without preamble.  “I’m sorry to bother you, but some idiot from Camelot is plotting revolution in the diner.”

“ _What_ did you just say?”

“Yeah, one of Arthur’s knights is going on about how we should all make Arthur our king.  Can you come shut him up before I hit him with a frying pan?”

“Please don’t stoop to assault.”  She could hear David sighing heavily.  “Not unless you really have to, anyway.  I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks.”  She hung up just in time to hear Percival’s next tirade. 

“You people are sheep!  You refuse to fight back against an _Evil_ Queen when you have one of mankind’s greatest leaders available to you?  Arthur is exactly what you need to drive the tyrant out!  If you won’t accept that, we can _make_ you accept him.  Camelot has always done the right thing, regardless of—”

“Hey!” Ruby came around the counter, grabbing a coffee pot on the way.  It wasn’t a frying pan, but the half full pot would do in a pinch.  “I don’t know if you got the memo, but your opinions aren’t very popular in here.  So, either sit down and enjoy your lunch, or get out.”

Percival spun to face her.  “It’s not my fault that you people are willingly allowing a depraved criminal to rule over you.  You should rise up and fight her, not sit here like whipped curs.  You’re a bunch of cowards if you don’t fight her.”

“Right, because you know _so_ much about us.”  Ruby rolled her eyes.  “Now, get out of my diner before you annoy the paying customers.”

“I am a knight!  You have no right to tell me what to do.”

She brandished the pot, watching the hot liquid slosh around out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve got every right to slap you upside the head with this coffee pot if you don’t get out.” 

Percival reared back, looking offended.  “How dare you?  I am a Knight of the Round Table, and I—”

“Are under arrest if you don’t come with me quietly,” David’s voice cut in.  The Sherriff had walked in just as Percival had started in on his next rant, and Ruby had rarely been so happy to see him.  Oh, part of her really wanted to splash hot coffee on Percival, but that probably wasn’t a good idea.  He was just another arrogant asshole, and Ruby had dealt with more than one of those over the years.

Percival sneered.  “And who are you?”

“I’m the Sheriff of this town.”  David took Percival by the arm.  “In the Enchanted Forest, I was known as Prince James.”

“You were the Evil Queen’s enemy.  How can you work for her now?”

“I don’t.  I work to protect the people of Storybrooke from _all_ threats.”  David faced the knight squarely.  “And I recommend you learn a lot more about this town before you start casting stones.  Regina has _earned_ our trust.   Believe me, that wasn’t easy to do, but she’s different, now.  We all are.”

Percival yanked away just as David tried to guide him out the door.  “ _No one_ can change that much.  She’s evil.”

“Why don’t you give things here a chance before you start casting stones?  I think you might find that Storybrooke is better off than you think.”  The suggestion was accompanied by a friendly smile, but Percival just pulled away and stormed out of the diner, leaving Ruby to look ruefully at David.

“That was pleasant,” she said wryly.

“Made my day, yeah.”  He shook his head.  “Have any other customers who want to overthrow the government?”

Ruby cracked a smile.  “Not yet, but I’ll call you if they come.  Or I’ll just let Leroy at them.”

“I heard that, sister!”

“That was the idea.”  She gave him an innocent look, feeling like she’d come on balance for the first time since Granny’s death two weeks earlier.  The pain of losing her only family member had calmed to something of a dull roar; Ruby would never stop missing her, but she knew that Granny would want her to get on with her life.  Fortunately, she had some amazing friends who stood by her in her time of need, and Ruby actually didn’t feel alone.  Not anymore.

Then again, even finding a corner of peace and quiet when she _wanted_ one was hard these days.  Leroy and Happy had decided that they worked at the diner now, and Tink spent most of her hours there instead of at the convent, too.  Belle came by every chance she got, and if it hadn’t been for the double blow of losing one of her oldest friends just seven days ago, Ruby would have said that her life was turning out all right.  Thinking of Snow was what made her step forward and give David a fierce hug.

“It’s good to see you out and about,” she said, her voice a little thicker than she meant it to be. 

“You, too.”  He hugged her back, and Ruby could hear the howling emptiness behind the easy way he said those words.

“You let me know if you need anything, all right?” Ruby drew back to look David in the eyes.  Snow had been the first person to know what she was and not draw away, and this man had been the center of Snow’s world.  Even if Ruby hadn’t liked David for his own sake, she would have looked out for him on Snow’s behalf, but he was her friend, too.

“Only if you promise to do the same.”  David’s smile was sad.  “Moving on is hard, but we do what we have to, right?”

“Yeah.”  She swallowed hard and squeezed his arm.  “Yeah, we do.”

* * *

 

“I didn’t let you out so that you could threaten a child.”

Finding Zelena had been easy.  Emma still wasn’t that good at complicated spells and the like, but she didn’t _need_ to be.  The Dark One could show her what to do, and she had power to spare.  She could do whatever she needed to without bothering with things like that.  And right now, she wanted to find Zelena and utterly crush her.  So, teleporting herself to where the Wicked Witch was hiding—ironically, inside the Sorcerer’s House—was child’s play.

Zelena turned to face her.  “Who said I’m threatening him?”

“You kidnapped a little boy!”  _Oh, but you don’t really mind, do you, dearie?_ the voice inside her pointed out, cackling and sounding oddly like Rumplestiltskin had in the Enchanted Forest.  _He’s just collateral damage, and Roland is important to Regina.  Losing him—or even letting him be hurt—will hurt her._

_No,_ Emma almost snarled aloud.  _He’s a child. He doesn’t deserve that._

_If we all got what we deserved, Dark One, you wouldn’t be me, now, would you?_ the darkness retorted, and it took all of Emma’s self-control to push it away.  She hated doing this, hated _herself_ for letting a psychopath like Zelena loose on a child, but what other way was there to make Regina pay?  Emma couldn’t hurt Henry’s adopted mother herself; Henry would never forgive her.  But Regina still deserved to be punished.  Emma’s own mother was _dead_ , and Regina had stopped Emma from avenging Snow.  _Mom was my first friend here,_ she thought, the familiar ache rising to fill her heart.  _She gave me_ everything _, and I couldn’t save her.  Thanks to Regina, I couldn’t even_ avenge _her._

Regina said she’d done it to stop Emma from going darker, but precious little Regina was allowed all the darkness she wanted.  _Regina_ could rip an innocent woman’s heart out without facing the consequences, and _Regina_ could be forgiven for her misdeeds.  They embraced _Regina_ while Emma was ostracized, while everyone who had once loved her looked at her like she was somehow broken.  They all wanted to fix her, while Regina was allowed to find love again, to keep Henry, and to have the kind of life Emma _deserved_.  And she was really starting to hate her for that.

“So?” Zelena shrugged.  “I’m going to be a mother.  I wouldn’t hurt a child.  Still, it’ll bother my dear little sister to no end, particularly once she finds the fake I’ve left for her.”

“Don’t think I can’t crush you like the vermin you are,” she hissed.  “ _Don’t_ step out of line.”

The sunny smile Zelena turned on her told Emma that she didn’t fear the Dark One _nearly_ enough.  “Oh, I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

“Test me again,” Emma said softly.  “Go on.”

Zelena, however, appeared to have some self-preservation instincts, after all.  _You wouldn’t know it from the way she taunted my predecessor,_ Emma thought dismissively, but the darkness immediately added: _She’ll try the same with you if you don’t control her._   Pushing those words away took enough effort to almost make her shake, but at least Zelena shut her mouth as Emma glared.

It was a good thing she did, because Emma was quite certain that her next action was going to be to remove the annoying witch’s tongue…which would have felt terrifyingly _wonderful._

* * *

 

David had barely stepped outside of Granny’s when Henry jogged up, and then Regina and Robin strode around from the alleyway leading around to the back of the diner.

“Gramps, have you seen Roland?” Henry seemed out of breath and worried, but it was Regina’s murderous expression—and Robin’s matching broken one—that got David’s attention.

“No, is he missing?”

“He wasn’t in his bed this morning, and none of my locator spells can find him.”  Regina looked as close to panic as he’d ever seen her.

“Okay, I can get people together to help look.”  David turned to face Robin.  “Do you have something of his?   I’m sure Ruby will help, and whatever is blocking your locator spells can’t block her nose.”

“I have his sweater right here.”  Robin held the orange hoodie up.

“Yes, but Ruby has to find a trail to find him, and if Roland was taken by magic, there won’t _be_ one!” Regina cut in, and David reached out to put a hand on her arm.

“But it doesn’t hurt to explore all the options we have,” he said firmly, and then looked at his grandson.  “Henry, go grab Ruby.”

“I’m right here,” Ruby spoke up from the steps; she’d obviously seen what was happening and come outside. “Give me the sweatshirt and I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.”  Robin looked terrified and hopeful, and David understood exactly how he felt.  But Robin had helped him to get his son back when Neal had been stolen right after birth; David would not stop until he returned the favor.

“All right.  We need to split up and start looking.  Ruby, take Tink with you if she’s available; if not, take Leroy so you have backup.  Regina, Robin: start where you think he’s most likely to be. You don’t think he wandered off, do you?”

“Roland knows better,” Robin said immediately. “He understands how dangerous that is.”

“But he doesn’t know Zelena’s out, does he?” Henry suddenly spoke up, and David’s blood ran cold.

“I am going to _kill_ her,” Regina snarled before anyone else could speak.  “If she even thinks about hurting Roland, I will—”

“Regina, you can’t,” Robin cut her off, his voice tiny.  “She’s still carrying my child.”

Regina seemed to deflate.  “I—I didn’t mean I’d kill her now.  That can wait until later.  I just wish I knew how she got _out_.”

“I think, uh, I can help with that.”  Henry glanced at the ground uncomfortably.  “I talked to Mom—I mean Emma—this morning, and I, um, think she might have let Zelena out.  She’s still pretty mad at you.”

“She wouldn’t—” David cut himself off.  _She’s the Dark One.  There’s no knowing what she’ll do._   But he had never, ever, felt so cold or so lost.

_Snow, what do I do?_

Everyone had fallen silent; finally, it was Robin who spoke up.  “Who let Zelena out doesn’t matter.  First, we find Roland.  Then we deal with the rest.  Agreed?”

Everyone nodded, and the others headed off as David turned to Henry.  “Can you go to the loft and watch Neal, please?”

“I want to help.”

“That is the best help you can give us right now.”  David swallowed back the urge to shake his grandson; Henry had always been too brave for his own good, but this should have occurred to David the moment he’d learned Zelena was loose the night before.  “Zelena is vindictive.  She’s gone after Neal before, and she might again.  Doc is watching him right now, but I’d feel a lot better if you were there, too.”

“Mom said she wouldn’t let anyone hurt either one of us, including Zelena.  And you,” Henry objected.

“Then call her if Zelena shows up.”  Desperation welled up; there was a missing child, and his own son and grandson might be in danger—and his daughter might have caused the entire mess.  David took a shaky breath.  “Please, Henry.  Do this for me.”

“All right.”  Henry’s shoulders slumped.  “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to ask you other grandfather for help.”

 

* * *

 

The farmhouse was the obvious place—or, rather, the damn cellar was.  But the cellar had been empty when Regina teleported herself and Robin straight into it, and as disappointed as she was not to find Roland, Regina was glad.  _This is no place for a child,_ she thought, looking at the cage no one had ever thought to remove.  _But I should ask Rumple if he cares to throw a few fireballs in this place.  It could do for a good melting._

“Let’s check the house.”  Her grip on Robin’s hand was tight, and she could feel him clinging to her, too as they walked up the dirt-covered stairs.

“Do you think she’d leave him someplace so obvious?”

“I think my big sister is a few marbles short of a set, so I wouldn’t put it past her.  This is obviously aimed at us—at _me_ —so she probably just wants to make us hurt.” Pain welled up in her as Regina glanced at her lover, biting her lip.  “I’m sorry.   I never…I never thought she’d try—”

“It’s not your fault, Regina,” Robin cut her off.  “This is _Zelena’s_ fault.  You never did anything to make her hate you so much, and frankly, I think she wants to make us both suffer.  So, you don’t get to take all the blame, okay?  I know you’re bad at sharing, but tough.  I get some, too.”

The laugh that bubbled out of her was nervous and broken; how _could_ Zelena do this to a child.  “Okay,” she whispered.

_I could just put her under a sleeping curse after the child is born,_ Regina thought, gathering magic as they walked into the house.  Her locator spells were still a bust; the toy dog she had enchanted was determinedly stuck to the wall outside Granny’s.  But she could still use magic to see if there was anyone at all in the house.  She wouldn’t be able to tell who it was, but she would know if there was someone.  _And there is,_ she realized, pushing aside thoughts of revenge and sleeping curses.  _There’s someone upstairs._   But no Zelena.  She could have read Zelena’s magic a mile away.

“Upstairs,” she whispered, and let Robin take the lead.  Regina might have had magic, but Robin was the hunter of the pair, and she knew she’d never manage to move half as silently as he did.

Her spell directed them to the right once they were on the second floor, and then to the master bedroom.  Robin froze in the doorway, and immediately, Regina saw why—there was Roland, sitting on the bed, quietly watching television like there was nothing wrong.  He didn’t seem hurt, but Roland didn’t seem to notice them, either.  Instead, he was engrossed by Sesame Street, watching Big Bird argue with the Cookie Monster.

“Roland?” Robin said softly, and the boy didn’t even turn his head.

“Careful,” Regina cautioned, looking around the room desperately, trying to see if there were any traps.  Knowing Zelena, there would have to be _something_ , but she couldn’t see anything.

And that terrified her.

“Roland?” Robin repeated, moving forward slowly. 

Finally, Roland turned to look at him.  “Want Mommy,” the child said, and Regina felt her heart sink. 

Something was very wrong.

* * *

 

“I had a thought last night,” Rumplestiltskin said, turning to face his wife.  He was grateful she’d come to the shop with him this morning, even if Belle hadn’t bothered to tell him why she’d decided to leave the library closed that morning.  He didn’t want to admit to still being shaken by his encounter with Zelena, but they both knew he was.  His night had been plagued by dreams of her, by nightmares where he was still the Dark One and she had the dagger, or ones where he’d never had enough magic to defend himself and she’d taken him to some other cage because she could.  Pulling himself out of that terrified funk had been hard, and had Belle not been there, Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what he would have done.

“Anything in particular, or did you just have stray thoughts rattling around in that head of yours?” Belle teased him gently, sitting on the table in the back of the shop and bumping her leg against his arm.  She’d been reading one book while he worked his way through another, but they both put their books down.

He snorted.  “Something in particular, actually.”

“Are you going to make me guess, or are you going to share?”  Belle’s smile was infectious, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart flip happily in his chest. 

Seventeen days ago, when Isaac’s world had been overturned and he’d _known_ he was dying, who could imagine that they could be here?  It felt like a lifetime had passed since the Apprentice had pulled the darkness from him; he felt like a new man.  _How could I ever doubt her love?_ Rumplestiltskin wondered.  Had that been the darkness, or his own insecurities?  He had wanted so badly to believe, but he’d never dared. Rumplestiltskin, the old Rumplestiltskin, had always known that he was not worthy of something so beautiful, so pure.  _You’re good at being abandoned,_ his father had told him, and he had known that was true.  Yet now— _now_ —he could look at the love shining in Belle’s eyes and be determined to be worthy of her, instead of accepting the fact that he would never be.

_Neither of us is perfect,_ he thought, reaching out and taking his wife’s hand.  _But together,_ together _, we are stronger._

“I was wondering if you mind me making a potion with one of your hairs.”  Reaching up with his other hand, Rumplestiltskin wound a few strands of Belle’s beautiful hair around his fingers.  He always loved when she wore it down; it reminded him of when they had first met, of the brazen beauty who had refused to fear the beast.

Her eyes lit up immediately.  “A True Love potion?”

“If…if you don’t mind.”  He had never dared to make a potion from their love before.  Had that been his doubts, the nagging feeling that someday she would decide he was a monster and walk away?  Even for that short while when Rumplestiltskin had been secure in their love, certain he’d earned his son’s forgiveness and that he _could_ beat the darkness, he had not asked.

“Of course I don’t.  You silly man.”  But her smile was radiant.  “I’d like to see it, actually.  I’d really like to.”

“I love you.”  Rising, Rumplestiltskin moved in to kiss her, loving the way her arms wrapped around his neck and the way she felt when he embraced her in turn.  How had he ever thought this wasn’t enough?  What did _power_ have on this?  One kiss turned to two, and then three, and they smiled against one another’s lips before the fourth.

“Gold?  Are you in here?”

“Someday,” Belle murmured quietly, rolling her eyes, “they are going to stop barging in here at the least opportune moments.”

“Never.” Rumplestiltskin chuckled despite his annoyance; her pout was too cute not to smile at.  But he didn’t bother to let go of her, either.

David burst into the back room, taking in their embrace with an embarrassed glance.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a problem.”

“When don’t we?” Rumplestiltskin asked dryly, and Belle gave him a look.

“How can we help?”

“Roland is missing.  Regina and Robin said he wasn’t in his bed this morning, and our best guess is that Zelena’s taken him.”  David looked unsettled, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t blame him.  The thought of Zelena with a child, with _any_ child, was enough to make his blood run cold.

_I killed her to avenge my son, and she has now taken someone else’s son._   The old rage rose within Rumplestiltskin; not the darkness, but his own temper, baying for the blood of the woman who had tricked Baelfire into dying.  Yet he was able to force the urges away.  Zelena carried a child of her own, now, an innocent who did not deserve to die for his or her mother’s crimes.  Rumplestiltskin still wanted her dead…but he realized—with twisted irony that did not escape him—that he was now in very good company on that front.

“What can we do?” Belle asked while he was busy forcing his emotions to behave.  “Do you need help looking?”

“That would help, but I actually had something else in mind.”  David gestured a little nervously and glanced Rumplestiltskin’s way.  “Regina says her locator spells are being blocked, but you’re the Sorcerer.  Can you do something more powerful than she can?  We’ll make whatever deal we need to, we just—”

“I’m not in the business of making those kinds of deals, anymore.” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand.  “But unfortunately, a locator spell is a locator spell.  If Regina’s are blocked, mine will be as well.  The only other option is using blood magic, but if Zelena has a sample of Robin’s blood—or even Roland’s—that won’t work, either.  Not if she’s clever, which she usually is.”

“You’re telling me that there’s no way to find him.”

“No _magical_ way, no.  Or at least not an easy one.  There are a few things I can look up—spells I’m not familiar with, but that I might be able to do now.”  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t terribly comfortable offering that last bit, but if he truly was going to help, he had to be willing to give them hope.  “Until then, I recommend continuing the search the old fashioned way.”

“All right.” David nodded quickly, seeming to accept that at face value, which just felt…strange.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t lying, but since when did these people trust him?

“I’m going to help with the search.”  Belle hopped off the table.  “Unless you think I can help you find something?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  As much as he wanted her to stay, he knew his wife.  She needed to help.  “I’ll be fine.  You go.”  Leaning in, he kissed her on the cheek so that he could murmur in her ear.  “Just be careful.  Please.”

“I will.”  Belle squeezed his hand.

“I can still hear you if you call,” he told her, and Belle nodded.

Neither of them trusted Zelena, or what she might do, but neither was going to leave a child in danger, either.  _Once, I took on the greatest darkness to bring the children home. I’m not going to leave this one in a monster’s hands just because I don’t have an easy answer._

Belle hurried out at David’s side, and Rumplestiltskin turned to Merlin’s spellbook.   _Any ideas?_ he thought towards the ghostly presence at the back of his mind.

_This is a distraction,_ Merlin replied immediately.  _Undoubtedly the Dark One’s doing. You need to watch her, not search for a mere child._

“You never had a child, did you?” Rumplestiltskin snapped aloud before he could stop himself.  “If you had, you would know better.”

There was a long moment of silence before Merlin responded, and then the words were heavy and sad.  _Actually, I did._

* * *

 

Robin swept the child up in his arms, but the immediate response was a temper tantrum:  “Want my _Mommy_!”

“Regina?” Robin turned towards her, his face a mess of helplessness and confusion. 

“It’s not Roland.”  The words grated out painfully.

She swallowed hard, studying the magic in the air—because _there_ it was, subtle and quiet, but not subtle enough.  Regina had almost missed it, but now she could see the faint threads of the spell surrounding the—oh, damn.  _I’m going to filet her the moment that baby is born,_ she thought furiously, twisting her fingers furiously.  A swirl of green smoke filled the air as Zelena’s spell collapsed, revealing a two year old girl where there should have been a four year old boy.

“Alexandra?” Robin yelped, and Ella’s daughter looked at him like he was stupid.

“Yes.”  Alexandra stuck her tongue out.  “Don’t like.”

“We’ll get you back to your parents, sweetie,” Regina promised, cold fury coiling up in her stomach.  Zelena had done this on purpose. She’d kidnapped _two_ children, and disguised one as the other.  Could they be so lucky as to find Roland in Alexandra’s place?  Somehow, Regina doubted.

“Where’s Roland?” Robin asked quietly as they walked out; Alexandra seemed content now that they’d promised to take her home, but Regina could not feel the same.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, forcing her voice not to shake.  “But we’re going to find him.”

“Of course we will.”

Returning Alexandra—and waking her unconscious parents—turned out to be the easy part of the afternoon.  The rest of the search was not so simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And poor Roland is still missing. Emma’s having a few doubts about her chosen tool, and the visitors from Camelot are getting restless. What else could go wrong?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Four—“Thicker than Water”, in which Morgan’s family-finding spell bears results, Killian tries to get Emma to let her family back in, Regina and Robin get in a bit of trouble looking for Roland, and David and Belle have a heart to heart. Back in the past, we see the genesis for the creation of the first Dark One.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and don’t be shy to tell me what you think! While you’re waiting for the next chapter, head on over to my tumblr ([toseehowthestoryends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com)), and vote for which story gets updated next: Echoes of Darkness, This is No Game, or The Power of Kindness. Feel free to send me an anon ask if you’re not a tumblr member!


	24. Thicker than Water

Well.

That was _not_ what she had expected, and Morgan was tempted to do the spell a second time.  In fact, she knew that she would—she had plenty of time—even though she was quite certain that the results she already had in hand were accurate.  _I wish I was some fifty-year-old sorceress who was still prone to making novice mistakes,_ she thought with a sigh.  But, no, she had the results in front of her, and they changed everything, even if wrapping her mind around the truth was hard.  Her spell had been rather restrictive, so there was no chance of random descendants of hers triggering it.  Blood magic tended to fail outside of the third generation, so she had limited the spell to looking for anyone who was within that range…yet she had still gotten utterly _impossible_ results.

“Mordred,” she called sharply, striding into the giant presence chamber her son had created for himself along with the castle.  Several hangers-on lurked around, one of which was even talking to her son, but not a one of them wanted to face Morgan le Fae when she walked into a room with such a stormy expression.  Bowing to Mordred—while keeping a cautious eye on his irate mother—they scampered out like rats deserting a sinking ship.

“Mother, you’re frightening my loyal followers,” Mordred complained from where he stood looking out the window.

“Did you by chance uncover any _interesting_ relations while you alternated between attempting to woo a certain dowager queen and antagonizing your father?” Stopping a few feet away from his back, Morgan crossed her arms and waited.

“Oh.  Yes.  I did mean to tell you.”  His face was the picture of innocence, Mordred turned to face her.  “Killian is here.”

“Killian.  _Ragnelle’s_ boy?”  At her age, Morgan had thought that nothing could shock her, but the fact that one of her grandchildren yet lived was enough to almost make her feel faint.  The next words barely made it past the lump in her throat.  “Gwaine’s son is alive?”

“Alive and his father’s very image.  Arthur recognized him also.”  The last words made Mordred scowl. 

“Please tell me that he’s not cleaving to my fool of a brother out of some misplaced sense of idealism.”  Heavens knew, Gwaine had done the same for long enough—it had been ‘Guinevere’ who eventually broke Gwaine away from Arthur, albeit unintentionally.  _If my grandson thinks the sun rises and sets as Arthur breathes, I may simply have to stop my stepbrother from breathing,_ Morgan thought angrily.  They had _not_ come so far to have Gwaine’s son choose the wrong side.  She loved Arthur—or had, anyway, before everything grew so damned complicated—but she was not going to lose another family member because Arthur was stupidly ‘in love’with a monster.

“Hardly.  Arthur’s…grand entrance did nothing to endear him to anyone here in Storybrooke.”  Mordred smirked.  “Actually, I think I may win Killian over before too long.  I hope so, anyway.”

“Good.”

Gwaine and Mordred had always been close; Mordred had barely been a year older than his brother, and Morgan had made sure that the fact that they were only half-brothers did not come between them.  Agravaine had been two years younger than Gwaine, and _would_ have been close to the others, but Agravaine had been killed by the very darkness Mordred continued to crusade against.  Hearing that Gwaine’s remaining boy was inclined to favor their side was good news, indeed.  _Perhaps I am not such a failure as a mother, after all._

Mordred looked pleased with himself, and Morgan couldn’t quite blame him.  Oh, he should have come to her with this news sooner, but she was his mother, not his keeper.  Mordred was his own man, and they both knew what had to be done.

“So,” she said pointedly when he didn’t offer any more information.  “Did Killian by chance mention having children?”

Mordred’s forehead creased thoughtfully.  “Not as I recall.  He did spend a few centuries in Neverland, so he might have reproduced while there.  Are you in that much of a hurry to be a great-grandmother?”

“No.”  She scowled.  “I finished the spell to determine which blood relatives I might have in this town.  There were _four_ point sources.  Leaving aside you and Killian, that means that either Killian has two children, or there are two _others_ here.”

She could see that Mordred grasped the importance of that fact immediately, because he drew back, scowling.  “I don’t think he has children.”  Mordred grimaced.  “He’s in love with the current Dark One—or at least with the woman she used to be.”

“He’s _what_?”

Mordred threw his hands up in frustration.  “It does muck things up rather beautifully, doesn’t it, Mother?”

Morgan felt like her head was going to twist off from the pressure.  First, she’d realized that she had several unaccounted for descendants—two of which remained a mystery—and now she had to face the fact that her grandson was in love with the Dark One.  _I can’t cast too many stones in that direction, I suppose,_ she thought darkly.  _I loved Merlin, no matter what he became…even if I never was enough to free him._   Still, the fact that Killian had fallen into the same trap she herself had was worrisome, particularly since he seemed to have come by said love in a disturbingly similar manner.  Perhaps Morgan should talk to him.  She certainly could commiserate with his situation better than Mordred, who was likely to try to tell him that the Dark One _couldn’t_ love.  Morgan wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but she knew that Merlin’s soul had survived the transition, darkened and battered though it had been.

_There was enough of him left to make sure he could escape when his successor killed him, enough to ensure his power was passed down to someone else,_ she reminded herself.  Yet there had _not_ been enough of Merlin to actually survive.  Had that been because of the darkness that had eaten at him, or because of the centuries he spent without a body?  There was no way to know without asking some very pointed questions. 

Now, however, she had reason to start taking a more active part.

* * *

 

_Try the other book,_ Merlin suggested peevishly as Rumplestiltskin hit the end of the spell book Regina had originally brought to the shop—the one he had been able to open when no one else was.  He’d at least flipped through the majority of the books that Henry and the pirate had brought back, but there were three that he hadn’t, mostly because they looked like histories.  History books, although interesting (or even fascinating; Belle had been right when she’d called magic his passion), were not exactly what Rumplestiltskin needed at the moment.  What he needed to be was the Sorcerer, and he really found himself wishing that there was a damn user’s manual for his powers.

Not that there’d been one for becoming the Dark One; no, there had been the incessant voice in his head, which claimed to _help_ but really just wanted to control him and corrupt him.  Rumplestiltskin had figured that out early on, and he’d been wary of Merlin for the same reasons.  Yet the old Sorcerer was far less helpful than even Rumplestiltskin would have wanted, fading in and out after their initial conversations and sometimes spending entire days in silence.  Now, of course, the old bastard spoke up after Rumplestiltskin had already spent an hour researching a better way to help find young Roland while Regina’s locator spells still refused to work.

Irritated, he grabbed the book the voice inside him indicated, skipping over the sections on portal creation, historical recording, dream sending, driving out demons—though he marked _that_ one as potentially useful for later—until he finally hit the chapter titled ‘Revelations and Translations.’  He almost flipped right by that one, too, but some instinct made him stop on the second page, his eyes flying over the words.

_The others can find the boy.  You need to look back at the section on demon ejection,_ Merlin piped up.  _If you are determined to try to undo the creation of the Dark One—because I do understand I cannot dissuade you from that goal—you need to understand how_ difficult _it will be.  And then you must understand what the darkness will do._

“Will you stop that?” Rumplestiltskin refused to heed the odd desire to turn the pages back to the chapter Merlin had indicated.  “You had the advantage of people trusting you to be the _good_ Sorcerer.  I don’t have that.”

_Trust is irrelevant.  Knowledge is more important, and your role is to—_

Twirling his hand angrily, Rumplestiltskin created another Merlin construct, just to get the blooming headache out of his mind.  Abruptly, the form of the too-young looking enchanter sat across from him, glaring in annoyance.  “You must not allow yourself to be sidetracked.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be some grand ‘force for good’?” Rumplestiltskin retorted irritably, still reading.  The translations section was useless, but the revelations section was more promising.  He’d already spotted a few spells there that he could twist to meet his ends.

“Of course I was.”  Merlin sounded offended.

“Then how is it that you’re perfectly happy with leaving a four year old boy in danger?”

Merlin gestured at the book.  “Are the others not capable of rescuing him while you focus on knowledge required to serve the greater good?  You are very young to have such power, and—”

“Careful, dearie.  You’re starting to sound like Reul Ghorm.”

“Point taken.”  Watching Merlin grimace like that was a bit gratifying.  The old sorcerer spoke slowly.  “You have a certain…care for children, don’t you?  You became the Dark One to save your son, without ever knowing the price that the darkness would demand you pay.” Dark eyes studied him intently.  “And you never regretted it.”

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Even though your son is dead?”

Pain welled up, fierce and fast, and Rumplestiltskin could hardly hold it back.  Damn the bastard for bringing Baelfire up; his son’s death was something Rumplestiltskin could _never_ forgive himself for.  Oh, he didn’t regret becoming the Dark One—doing so, even if he’d betrayed his son in the worst possible way afterwards, had allowed Bae to live a longer life, to have a son of his own.  Had Rumplestiltskin not taken on that cursed power, Baelfire would have died in the war against the ogres.  All the children did, until Rumplestiltskin had brought them home and ended the war.  _I wanted so badly to turn that power to good, and the darkness let me think that I could,_ he thought bitterly.  _I never understood until it was too late._

“Yes.”  His voice was hoarse, but he turned his angry gaze on Merlin.  “You said you were a parent, once.  How can you ask question?”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to look away.  “My daughter died young.  She was…murdered.”

“My condolences.”  Rumplestiltskin refused to ask how young.  There was no need to be _that_ manipulative.  Merlin had backed down off of his argument that trying to help young Roland was foolish, and—

Everything went dark, and Rumplestiltskin never felt his head crack against the table before he hit the floor.

* * *

 

_ 15 Years Before the War of the Dragons _

“Your little human lover let the darkness _out_ ,” Danns’ snapped at him, and Merlin sighed.

“She had cause.”  It would not do to tell his oldest friend that he was grieving as well.  Danns was the Black Fairy: ancient, powerful, immortal, and utterly removed from human concerns.  And she’d never been a parent.

“Yes, yes, I know,” the beautiful woman across from him sighed, too, brushing red-black hair away from her shoulders.  “My point remains.  You, Reul, and I were nearly unable to trap the darkness when it escaped _last_ time.  Reul will not help again.  You know that.”

“I also know that _you_ encouraged the rebels of Lyonesse to call forth that elemental demon—”

“But not to unite it with so much darkness and so much power,” she cut him off, green eyes flashing.  “I would have told them that it would consume them, _as it did._   Your foolish humans always want more power, Merlin, and now we will _all_ pay the price for it.  My sister will not help us contain the darkness again.  It was hard enough to get her to help last time.”

“Morgan helped as well.” 

“As bait,” Danns’ sneered.  “Still, I suppose that was enough to let her know how to open the Vault, wasn’t it?”  Then the Black Fairy sat back in her chair with a sigh.  “I suppose that binding magic you convinced her to use to stop her from harming her husband necessitated extraordinarily stupid action.”

“Her daughter is _dead_ , Danns’.  Murdered by her husband.”  _My daughter is dead,_ Merlin thought emptily.  He’d only met the child a handful of times, and had anticipated having plenty of years to know Viviane.  Viviane, _his_ Viviane, had been destined for greatness.  He had Seen that much, had known that the child of an original power and a half power (who also happened to be the daughter of one of the greatest Fae who’d ever lived) would be a powerful sorceress, and although Merlin had never meant for Morgan to bear a child as proof of their now-withered relationship, he had loved Viviane in ways he’d never loved any woman.

“And now we have a problem.”  Danns’ wasn’t unfeeling, he knew, but he also knew that she hadn’t been happy with Viviane’s existence.  Not given his own complicated relationship with the Black Fairy.

“Yes,” he sighed heavily.  “We do.”

“There are not enough of us to force it into the Vault once more,” she said sensibly.  “If three original powers and your little human bait couldn’t hold it, you and I together will not be able to.  Even if I use the Greater Sapphire again.”

Doing so last time had left Danns’ weak for months, and they both knew the risks.  Danns’ was one of the original faeries (though she called herself fae these days and her sister called herself a fairy) as Merlin was one of the original human powers.  Together, they represented the most powerful magic users who would ever live—they, and Reul, but Reul had made her feelings about cooperating with them very clear.  Yet even their strength, combined with the Greater Sapphire that held the bulk of Circe’s power, would not be enough to conquer that raw and elemental darkness that the fools of Lyonesse had called forth sixty-some years earlier.  Even though Danns also held within her most of her _other_ sister’s power, they could not do this alone.

Which meant he had no other choice.  Merlin had long since noticed that the darkness was drawn to humans—that had been why Morgan had been such effective bait.  But he hadn’t liked the idea then, and he hated it, now.

“I had a thought.”  The words came out slowly, sticking in his throat.  “If we cannot lock the darkness away…there is another possibility.”

“Such as?  It grows smarter every day, Merlin.  I am not convinced that the darkness has not gained sentience after this long.”

Could he do this?  Could he even _suggest_ it?  The very idea was monstrous, but since Morgan had released the darkness upon her now-dead husband, the power had raged across Orkney, nearly destroying the kingdom as neatly as it had torn King Lot apart.  Morgan had tried to stop it and failed; dozens had died since then, and many more would follow.

“We bind it to a human.”

Danns’ sat up extremely straight, her green eyes zeroing in on him.  But she said nothing, leaving Merlin to continue heavily. 

“We find someone pure of heart and soul.  Someone whose very goodness can counteract the darkness.”  He swallowed hard.  “And then you hold the darkness while I bind it to that person, irrevocably.”

She shook her head.  “That will simply give the darkness’ power to that human.  No.”

“Not if we can control it.  I already know how.”

He would hate himself for it, but Merlin knew exactly what he had to do.

* * *

 

“Are you all right?” Emma asked softly.  She and Killian were curled up on the couch, but she could feel the tension in him.  He seemed unhappy.  Even though his passion always met hers with equal ferocity, Emma could sense there was something _off_ in her lover.

“I wish you wouldn’t lock yourself away from your family,” he replied after a moment’s silence.  “I’m glad you’re seeing Henry again, but your father…your father deserves better.”

“I know.”  Emma felt a distant sadness, but thinking of her father made her think of her mother, and she didn’t want to face that pain right now.  Better to push it aside.  They’d both heal, and then they could have a good relationship again.  “I’ll see him soon.”

And she would.  Her little brother, too.  Emma just wanted them to _accept_ her for who she was, first; she had seen the way her father looked at her when she’d ripped his heart out.  David’s expression had been horrified, sickened that his _daughter_ could do such a thing.  She had been saving his life, making sure that one of her parents lived—just like her mother wanted!—but David hadn’t been grateful.  He’d been angry.

Emma couldn’t deal with that anger right now.  Not with the damn voice whispering in her head that she didn’t need family, that she didn’t need _love_.  The darkness hated love, Emma knew.  It hated that she wanted it, that she had it.  She could separate herself from it enough to understand that, but sometimes _feeling_ love was such a challenge.  It already hated Henry and Killian, and it only accepted the love she felt for her mother because Snow was dead.  How would it deal with David?  Emma was so terrified that she would lose control and hurt someone because the darkness wanted her to.

“When, love?” Killian’s voice was gentle, but he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

_Oh, yes.  Let him push you.  Let him make you face those people who hate you.  You know your father hates you for what you are.  You can see the contempt in your_ dear _lover’s eyes, too, can’t you?  He just wants the old you, the weak and fearful you, back._ A chill ran through Emma, but she pulled away when Killian tried to wrap his arms around her.  _He wants to be the strong one, wants you to subjugate yourself to him._

_Just you wait.  He’ll ask for the dagger again._

He wouldn’t.  She knew that.

Didn’t she?

“Emma?” Killian pressed, and she stood up, pacing away from him.

_He’ll say he wants to protect you,_ the darkness whispered.  _But he wants to_ control _you._

“No,” she spat, and then realized Killian was watching her with concern.  She couldn’t tell him about the voice; he’d think he was crazy.  “I’m not going to go see him just so he can look at me like you are right now!”

He blinked in confusion.  “Like what?”

“Like _that_ ,” Emma snarled.  “Like I’m somehow broken and need to be _fixed_.  This is what I am, now, and you all need to get used to it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Killian stood up, but Emma made him work for it when he tried to grab her hand in his one good one, glaring.  Still, he was persistent.  “And we all love you, Swan.  We just want to help.”

“You love who I was.”  She jerked away.

“Of course I do.  That’s the woman I fell in love with.  The woman who I know is still in there.  The good side of you.”

Emma felt her eyes narrow.  “The _weak_ side.”

“You weren’t weak.”  Killian managed to grab her hand again, and Emma let him.  Even when she was angry with him— _especially_ when she was angry with him—she wanted him so very badly.  Even the darkness could embrace that, and when Emma could indulge her lust, its incessantly nagging voice seemed to shut up for a while.  Killian, however, was clearly not about to do the same.  “You were _never_ weak.”

“Of course I was.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I just hid it well.  Now”—she reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close—“are you going to argue with me, or are we going to spend our time more productively?”

“Emma, we can’t always—”

She cut him off with a kiss.  “You know where the door is if you want to leave.”

“No.”  Something strange flashed through his eyes, something she couldn’t quite read.  “I’ll stay.”

* * *

 

They should have known that something would go wrong when the _tenth_ locator spell Regina tried to use started working.  But they’d had to take the chance, which sent Robin and Regina down the road from Ella and Thomas’ apartment and back into the woods.  Robin half-hoped that whatever had happened, Roland had gotten away from his kidnapper.  Zelena had magic, but Roland was clever and knew the woods.  If he _had_ escaped, he definitely would have taken shelter as close as he could get to the Merry Men’s camp.  Robin knew his son, and knew where Roland felt safe.  In Storybrooke, there were only two places that Roland was truly comfortable in: the camp and Regina’s house.

So, he moved through the forest with hope in his heart until a sudden _whoosh_ filled the air around them and something sparkly flashed into existence right in front of him—too close for Robin to avoid.  His next step took him right into the glittering green spider web of magic, throwing him back into Regina and lighting the nerves in his body on fire.  Unable to stop himself, Robin yelped in pain, colors playing over his vision.  His legs refused to support him, and he slumped against Regina, shaking spastically as she caught him.

“Robin?” his love gasped.  “Are you all right?”

His lips moved but proper sounds wouldn’t come out.  Worse yet, his vision didn’t want to work any better than his voice, and several moments passed as Robin babbled incoherently.  His brain felt like mush, and he barely noticed as Regina lowered him to the ground.

“Robin!”

“…still here,” he finally managed, blinking until he could make out her beautiful face.  “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s not your fault.  Let me take a look at you.”  Her hands glowed before he could object that he really was all right—even if he didn’t feel terribly all right—and Regina’s expression screwed up in concentration.  She’d told Robin more than once that she wasn’t the best healer, but he certainly felt a lot better when she was done with…whatever it was she did.  Her eyes, however, were as uncertain as they were hopeful when she asked: “Better?”

“Lots,” he admitted, sitting up under his own power.  “What _was_ that I hit?”

“A magical wall of some sort.”  She scowled, and then flicked a small spark at the now-invisible barrier he’d run into. 

Unfortunately, that small spark quickly turned into a tempest; it struck the magic Robin had walked into and then rebounded, zooming back and forth as it ricocheted wildly off one side of the web and then the other.  The spider web of magic they were caught in illuminated as the spark bounced, revealing the dome that now trapped Robin and Regina both.  It _looked_ like a giant spider web, mostly green but purple in some places and black in others, glittering ominously in the fading sunlight.  But Robin knew from experience that it didn’t feel anything like a spider web—that all-too-pretty thing was magic, and _painful_ magic at that.  Fortunately, however, the spark escaped after bouncing around a dozen or so times, leaving Robin and Regina trapped in a dome of about six feet in radius.  It was tall enough for them to stand in, but just barely.

“It’s definitely not the type of spider web I’m accustomed to finding in the forest,” he said dryly, cautiously getting to his feet. 

“You don’t think there are any _actual_ spiders, do you?” Regina whispered, her voice suddenly very small.

Robin shrugged. “There doesn’t appear to be.  Why?”

“Nothing.”  Emotion flashed across her face, old and painful.  “No reason.  Let’s just work on getting out of here.”

He could see that there was _something_ about spiders that Regina didn’t like, but this wasn’t the time to ask.  Robin just filed that away for future reference.  He knew all about having personal demons, after all, and he knew that his lady love had more than a few of her own.  Regina hadn’t told him too much about her past as the Evil Queen, but he knew enough about her childhood to guess who the culprit usually was: Cora.  Of course, anyone could fear spiders without any outside stimuli…but the flash of terror on Regina’s face told him there was probably something more at play.

Still, there was nothing to be done for that at the moment, so Robin just reached out and took Regina’s hand, squeezing gently.  She gave him a strained smile, and then he could see her pushing her own fragilities aside as she squared her shoulders. 

“Good idea.”  Robin glanced around, looking at the still-faintly sparkling spider web around them and hoping to find a weakness.  It got easier to see as the sun set, but he couldn’t see an opening big enough to shove his arm through, let alone one that they could slip out.  “So, how _are_ we going to do that?”

Regina shrugged.  “I figured I’d just blast my way through it, unless you have a better idea.”

“By all means, blast away.  I’ll just try to stay out of the way.”  He smiled wryly; there wasn’t much room in there, and Robin had already been hit by that nasty magic once.  He really didn’t fancy the idea of—

“It won’t work,” a third voice said, and they both whirled to face Zelena.  Just _looking_ at her sent a chill running down Robin’s spine, even though she was just leaning casually against a tree.  “You’ve fallen for two of my traps already today.  Do you think this one is going to be as simple as the last one?”

“Simple traps tend to come from simple-minded people,” Regina growled.

“Oh, that one was clever, sis.  Did you spend all day thinking it up?”

Regina didn’t answer; instead, Robin saw power gathering in her hands.  He leaned as far out of the way as he could, ducking back behind her as white magic boiled out of his love’s palms, engulfing the spider web in a blanket of bright light.  The webbing flashed, sparkling madly, but just when Robin thought it was about to collapse, Regina’s magic suddenly rebounded and hit both of them.  _Hard._   It was like taking a punch to the chest, and although it didn’t really hurt, it sent Regina reeling into him.  Robin barely caught her in time to keep them both from falling backwards into the web.

“Ooooh!  My sources were right!” Zelena was practically jumping up and down in glee.  “You really _have_ changed, haven’t you?  Your magic is coming from a _far_ nicer place than it used to, and all you’re thinking about is rescuing poor little Roland and protecting _dear_ Robin from me.  You might call yourself the Evil Queen, but the truth is that you’re not nearly nasty enough for that, are you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?  I might be able to do light magic these days, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t _relish_ ripping you apart,” Regina snapped.

“Oh, but it does mean that, sis.  This little trap of mine _is_ simple.  It can’t be escaped using light magic.  You’re going to have to embrace that fine sense of rage again and remember how to _like_ hurting people.”  Zelena twirled around, giggling.  “It’s time to ruin your precious second chance!”

“I am _not_ going to sink to your level.”

“Then good luck getting out!”  Zelena gave them both a smug smile.  “I’ll be back in the morning to take lover boy here away.  We can have a nice little family reunion.”

Robin could feel Regina’s rage from the hands he still had resting on her arms.  Her voice was quiet, but extremely dangerous.  “Over my dead body.”

“Oh, don’t worry so much.  We both know you’ll embrace your inner evil before you let me take him.”  Blue eyes turned to Robin, and the way she looked at him—like he was some piece of meat hanging in the market—made him shiver.  “He’s no great loss, really.  I can do better.”

“Well, why don’t you go off and do just that?” Robin demanded before he could stop himself.  “And while you’re at it, you can leave my family alone.”

“So naive!  You’ll never be rid of me, Robin.  This baby in my belly proves that.”

He wanted to kill her.  If she hadn’t been carrying his child—his innocent child, who had not asked to be born to a psychopath like Zelena—Robin would have raised his crossbow and taken the shot.  He just wanted her _out_ of his life.  He didn’t want to be near her again, didn’t want to have nightmares about her and didn’t want to think about her.  Part of him considered shooting her, anyway, a desire that downright _sickened_ him, but Zelena disappeared in a swirl of green smoke before he could give in to his anger.

All Robin and Regina could do was exchange helpless looks.

* * *

 

Killian had drifted off, and Emma was bored.  She also wanted to know how Regina was faring, if her _dear_ friend had encountered Zelena yet, and if so, how badly that had gone.  She’d also taken the time to look in on Roland, just to make sure the child was all right.  Emma wasn’t a monster, after all.  She didn’t trust Zelena, even if the witch’s unpredictable craziness was perfectly fitting to her current purpose.

The best place to get news in Storybrooke was always Main Street, so Emma headed there.  Most people were off searching for Roland or Zelena already, but there were some hanging around Granny’s.  Emma avoided entering the diner—and the memories that just looking at it brought up—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t listen to what people were saying.  Of course, doing that was hard from across the street, particularly since people tended to cross to the other side when she approached, but even as that thought occurred to her, she realized that she knew a way to enhance her hearing.  _How useful._ Emma suppressed a smile.  She understood how Rumplestiltskin had always seemed so powerful, now.  The darkness _knew_ magic in ways the old Emma could never have fathomed.  Oh, it didn’t always know an actual spell, but that was only doing things the hard way, wasn’t it?

“…scoured the area by the lake, and there was nothing there.”  Kathryn stuffed her hands in his pockets.  “It’s nearly dark, and no one’s seen the boy.  Hopefully, he’s found shelter somewhere.”

“We can check the school again,” Frederick, her husband, suggested.  Emma vaguely remembered that he still taught gym, but she also wondered what kind of fool would look for a four year old who’d probably never _seen_ the school there.   _Kids run_ away _from school, not towards it.  Idiot._

“It’s no use.  If Zelena wanted to hide him, she could just use magic,” August piped up, and Emma stopped in the shadows to watch the odd little group.  The Woodcutter, Michael Tillman, rounded out the group, none of whom looked happy.

“I heard that the old sheriff let her out of the asylum,” Tillman said, shivering.  “If so, and the Dark One doesn’t want anyone to find Roland—”

She teleported herself across the street and right into Tillman’s personal space with a thought.  “Who told you that?”

Tillman jumped, trying to skitter back.  The other three managed, but Emma grabbed the Woodcutter by the front of his jacket and held him tightly as his mouth flopped open like a dead fish’s.

“Whodid you hear that from?” she asked quietly.  Dangerously.

“I just—I just heard it.  People talk.  That’s all.  That’s—”

“So you’re spreading rumors about me, then.”  Nevermind that Emma _had_ let Zelena out.  She didn’t want people to know that, even though Henry had already guessed.  _Henry wouldn’t betray me and talk about me like that._

_Would he?_

Of course he wouldn’t.

The darkness, however, immediately disagreed: _They all betray you in the end.  That’s why all Dark Ones wind up alone.  You can’t_ trust _anyone._   With an effort, Emma pushed those doubts aside.   Henry loved her.

“No—no, of course not.  I just heard someone say it.”

_“Who?”_

Tillman looked ready to faint.  “Your son,” he whispered.  “He was talking to a bunch of people, and I just overheard.”

_Henry_ had betrayed her.  Henry didn’t _believe_ in her.  That burned more than anything else could, rocked her to her very core.  _No.  Not Henry._ Still, Emma felt rage roaring up to equal her pain.  Without thinking, she stepped back from Tillman—suddenly, the idea of touching him was utterly poisonous—shoving him back so hard he almost lost his balance.  _Perhaps he’s lying,_ the darkness whispered, and Emma seized on that quickly.  “You’re lying.”

“Of course not!  I wouldn’t!”

“You’re lying.”  Emma didn’t like being lied to.  She felt cold, freezing rage fill her as she cocked her head thoughtfully.  “Liars deserve to be punished.”

She raised her hand even as Tillman started to object, and suddenly the Woodcutter turned to stone.  _I should have made him a tree,_ she thought belatedly, but stone fit just as well.  Even if no one would chop him down.

“What the hell, Emma?” August demanded, stepping forward.  “What are you _doing_?”

“Me?” Emma turned to look at her old friend.  “I should think that’s obvious.”

“He was telling the truth.  We all overheard what Henry told Dav—”

Emma flicked her fingers; she didn’t want to hear it.  August’s now-stone mouth was frozen wide open, and she was starting to feel better already.  Smiling, she turned to face Kathryn and Frederick, both of whom were trying to subtly back away from her—but they weren’t quiet enough. 

“Going somewhere?” she asked, and they tried to run.

Not that it helped them; they only became more interesting statues.  _I guess True Love’s kiss won’t be saving those two,_ she thought with a chuckle, and decided to take herself home to her own love.  She wasn’t interested in what the people in town were saying, now.  Not anymore.

_Henry…_

She wouldn’t believe it.  She  _couldn’t._

* * *

 

David had deployed almost a hundred people in their search for Roland, but even as the sun set, no one had found so much as a clue.  Belle felt worry coiling in her gut stronger and stronger as each minute ticked by; she didn’t have to be a mother to be worried about Roland, particularly with Zelena likely to be to blame.  David had relayed Henry’s suspicions, and although Belle really _wanted_ to think the best of Emma, she had a bad feeling that Henry was right.

“I can’t see her doing that,” David said quietly as they walked along yet another residential street, hoping someone had seen _something_.  “Endangering a child?  That’s not like Emma.”

“But it is like the Dark One.”  Belle stuffed her hands in her pockets, thinking of the lengthy conversations she and Rumplestiltskin had shared concerning the nature of the darkness that now corrupted the Savior.  “Rumple told me that he was most dangerous in his early days, before he learned to control the darkness.  He and Emma have talked a few times, but she’s still going to have a hard time fighting back everything the darkness tells her to do.”

“Wait, you mean that the darkness has some sort of _voice_?”

“Rumple says that it never leaves.  It grows quieter with time, but even though the darkness tells you that it will shut up once you give in, it never really does.”  Belle took a deep breath.  “He told me this after the darkness was pulled from him.  He never talked about it before, just like Emma doesn’t.”

David looked broken.  “So, her choices aren’t her own.”

“No, they _are._ Usually.  The real problem is that her morality is broken.  Emma can still love, she still feels everything, but her ability to care about how other people feel is severely impaired.”  _Just like Rumple’s had been_.  With someone else, Belle might have said those last words, but she could see that David had already made the connection.  So many people in Storybrooke hadn’t, but David understood that much.

“I just want to get it _out_ of her!”

Belle stopped to look at the prince.  “Has it ever occurred to you that you might not be able to?  That this might _be_ Emma?  She was right when she said that she’s the best to hold onto the darkness until we can figure something else out…and she’s still Emma.  Underneath everything.”

David was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching the sky as if there were answers there.  Finally, he spoke in a whisper.  “Killian said that Emma told him that.  That she was the Dark One, now, and we shouldn’t try to change that.”

“Don’t give up hope.”  Belle reached out to squeeze his arm.  “Rumple and I are still looking, and Merlin’s memories will give Rumple a good grasp of how the Dark One was originally created.  I _know_ there has to be a way to save her—but I also know that you have to treat her like there isn’t.  You have to love all of her, David, not just parts.”

“I can’t condone what she’s doing.  If she’s working with Zelena…”

“Loving someone isn’t the same as condoning their dark actions,” she pointed out, thinking of all the times she’d called Rumplestiltskin out.  _I missed so much towards the end, but when he_ wasn’t _losing himself, it was working._   “But love helped Rumple fight the darkness, and it can help Emma, too.”

David’s helpless eyes found hers, and after a long moment, he nodded.  “I never really appreciated how brave you are.”

“It takes practice.”  Belle was glad that he couldn’t see her blushing in the dark.  “Do you want to head back towards Granny’s?  If anyone has found anything, they’ll be there.”

“Sure.  I think we’ve exhausted this street, anyway.”

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, before David spoke up again: “So, uh, here’s a random question for you.  What _are_ we going to do about the Sorcerer’s House?  It’s not like Merlin is going to move in anytime soon.”

“I have no idea.”  A surprised laugh wormed its way out of Belle.  “I never thought of it.”

“Your husband _is_ the Sorcerer, now.”  David gave her a wry smile, and Belle shrugged.

“We already have a house.”

“True.  Henry was talking about going by tomorrow, though.  He’s worried that there might be more hidden rooms than just the one with all the blank storybooks, and that there might be dangerous objects lurking there.”  _Objects no one wants Emma to have,_ David didn’t have to add.  Belle could hear it in his voice.

“Tell him to call me,” she said, making a quick decision. “I’ll go over with him.”

* * *

 

The ringing of his cell phone finally made Rumplestiltskin crack his eyes open.  The first thing he realized was that Merlin had vanished, and the second was that he had been _living_ Merlin’s memories as if they’d been his own.  Separating his own consciousness from that of the original Sorcerer was difficult for a moment, as was grasping everything he’d seen— _And it would be a lot easier if the damn phone would shut up!_   Squinting against a sudden headache of epic proportions, Rumplestiltskin fumbled for his phone.

Belatedly, he realized that he was lying on the floor of his shop, getting his brand new suit (gray again; Belle liked the way the color looked on him, although today’s shirt was maroon) dirty.  Sitting up only made him dizzy, but he needed to do that in order to fish his phone out of his pocket.  He didn’t even check the caller’s number.

“Yes?”

“What the hell took you so long?” Regina demanded from the other end, making his screaming headache wail so much louder.  “What were you doing, taking a nap?”

“Not exactly.”  Getting to his feet seemed like a bad idea, so instead Rumplestiltskin summoned the bottle of aspirin that he knew sat on his desk.  It landed neatly in his hand, and he downed two pills before continuing.  “What do you want, dearie?  Or did you just call to berate me for some random reason?”

“No.”  Regina sounded severely put out, and there was a time when his inner imp would have cackled gleefully at her unhappiness.  “I—we—well, we kind of need your help.”

“Is that so?” he asked before he could stop himself.  _Down boy,_ Rumplestiltskin told his worse traits.  He didn’t need to gloat and he didn’t need to be a jerk.  Being amicable—he wasn’t going to say _nice_ —wasn’t a weakness.  He needed to remember that.

Even if it was so much less terrifying to keep people at an arm’s length.

“Yes,” she growled.  “Look, we’re in the woods and stuck in a trap.  Are you going to come out here or not?”

Not if he was going to count on the painkillers to banish his headache, he wasn’t.  Sighing, Rumplestiltskin let magic wash over his body, banishing his dizziness and the pounding in his head.  He’d pay for that later—using magic to counter a magically-caused aliment was usually a bad idea—but he did feel better.  For the moment.  “Give me a moment.”

Hanging up the phone, Rumplestiltskin clambered to his feet and paused to look at his suit.  It wasn’t too rumpled, and the little dirt he’d picked up off the clean floor brushed off easily enough.  He didn’t enjoy looking disheveled, and vanity wasn’t a trait that had vanished with the darkness, so Rumplestiltskin didn’t teleport himself to Regina until he was certain that he looked the part.  Appearances, he had learned a long time ago, could mean everything.

When he arrived, he stood a bare three feet away from a green, spider webbed dome of magic.  It glittered slightly in the moonlight, trapping a very irate Regina and a slightly more bemused Robin, clearly undamaged by a series of attacks Regina had thrown its way.  Part of him wanted to chide his former student for wasting magic in such a spectacular failure, but Rumplestiltskin was wise enough—and maybe compassionate enough—to know that her desperation was fueled by worry.  Roland was nowhere in sight, so he had to assume the boy was still missing, and Regina was still fretting.

“I can’t take it down with light magic,” Regina admitted after Rumplestiltskin studied the dome in silence for a few moments.  She laughed bitterly.  “Zelena read me too well.  My magic isn’t fueled by the desire to hurt someone, anymore, and I can’t get dark enough to break it.”  Her look turned defiant.  “And I don’t _want_ to.”

“Nor should you,” he murmured, cocking his head to look at Zelena’s spellwork.  It was, as usual, nearly flawless, but Zelena’s impatience always left a flaw or two if you knew how to look.

“ _Please_ tell me that we don’t have to call Emma.”  Regina crossed her arms petulantly, and Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly.

“No.  Dark magic may no longer be my forte, but dismantling other people’s spells has always been a talent of mine.”  He just had to find the right threads—three of which he could see already, but instinct told him there were more. 

“You can’t do dark magic any more, either?” Robin asked.

That made Rumplestiltskin chuckle softly.  “Oh, I’ve no doubt I can.  But this isn’t worth delving into _my_ inner demons for.  The Apprentice might have wiped my heart clean, but that much darkness does leave a mark on the soul.  It’s easier to simply dismantle Zelena’s spell.”

“I _tried_ that.” Regina rolled her eyes.

“Your idea of dismantling a spell, dear, is hammering at it until it shatters.  I tend to use a bit more finesse.”

“Fine, then finesse us out of here!”

“As you wish.” He couldn’t hold back the smile as he grasped the five threads, twisting his hands _just_ so.  One moment passed, and then another, and then the spell collapsed in on itself, the dome disintegrating into nothing and vanishing.  Rumplestiltskin waved the random bits of magic away, flicking them off into nothing and letting Storybrooke’s underlying magic absorb what remained of Zelena’s trap.

“Is that it?” Regina stepped forward tentatively, seemingly surprised when nothing zapped her.

“Yes.”

“What do I owe you, then?”

“Have you ever known me to retroactively demand a price?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and watched a parade of confused emotions play across Regina’s face.  “I didn’t ask for anything up front.  I’m not looking for a deal.”

Regina frowned.  “The price…?”

“Is negligible.  I didn’t _use_ magic; I simply turned Zelena’s spell on itself.  Something youshould remember how to do.”  _Be nice,_ he could almost hear Belle’s voice saying, so Rumplestiltskin added: “I can loan you a book if you like.  Or re-teach you.”

Regina looked as taken aback by the offer as he’d felt making it, and they exchanged an uncomfortable glance.  No, everything wasn’t quite right between them—they were both such _different_ people now that going back to what they’d been to one another was all but impossible.  Still, they were working their way towards a healthier friendship, which would probably be a good thing in the long run.

“I’d like that.”  Regina cleared her throat.  “Unless, of course, you’re going to go try to kill my pregnant sister.  Not that I like her much, mind, but she is carrying Robin’s child.”

Just _thinking_ about Zelena was enough to make the memory of her hands on him resurface, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help the shudder that shook his body.  “No.  I have no desire to deal with her ever again.”  He swallowed hoarsely.  “Your sister.  Your problem.”

“Seriously?  No way you’ve turned over _that_ good of a new leaf.”

“Regina…” Surprisingly, it was Robin who spoke up.  “I, uh, think he’s telling the truth. Let’s not push it, okay?”

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin turned to meet the outlaw’s eyes.  Robin looked as unsettled as he felt, but the other man gave him an understanding shrug.  _He knows,_ Rumplestiltskin realized, and that thought was almost enough to make him flee.  Somehow, however, he stopped himself.  Of course Robin knew.  As Regina had just pointed out, the witch was carrying Robin’s _child._   Robin understood exactly how few boundaries Zelena respected—which was to say none at all—and he knew why Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing to do with her.   The outlaw was just kind enough not to point that out to Regina, who had probably never thought beyond what Zelena had done to Robin.

Fortunately, Regina didn’t press, and Rumplestiltskin was able to make his exit without telling his former student about what her sister had done to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly later update—I wound up going back and adding a scene at the last minute! Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Five—“When You Lock the World Out…”, in which Henry and Belle explore the Sorcerer’s House, Emma pays her father a visit, Rumplestiltskin gets another peek into Merlin’s memories, Emma seeks Guinevere out for revenge, and Emma’s newest misdeed is discovered.


	25. When You Lock the World Out...

“Thanks for picking me up, Belle.”  Henry grinned as she opened the gates to the Sorcerer’s House the morning after Rumplestiltskin had freed Regina and Robin.  “It’s kind of a long walk to get here from the loft.”

“You’re welcome.”  Belle smiled.  “It’s good to have company, after all, and you _do_ have a great point about this house.  There might be more than just those blank storybooks hidden away here, and I don’t think we can afford to have more surprises.”

“No kidding.”  Her step-grandson looked like he’d had quite enough surprises to last a lifetime.  “It might be nice to get ahead of a problem for once instead of running around like crazy after everything goes to crap.”

Belle almost chided Henry for his word choice, but she decided to let it pass.  Weren’t grandmothers supposed to be the indulgent ones, after all?  Regina could worry about policing Henry’s language if she didn’t like him using ‘crap’.  Besides, she quite agreed.  “Well, maybe we can figure out what other objects are hiding in the house and do just that.”

“Yeah.”  Henry’s grin was infectious.  “So, where do you want to start?”

“Well, I thought we could start with whichever room randomly shows up out of nowhere,” she replied as they walked into the front hall.  “After all, this house _does_ seem to sprout rooms when they’re needed.”

“Kind of like the Room of Requirement?”  Brown eyes sparkled.

“Yes, I was actually going for the _Harry Potter_ reference.”  Belle grinned.  “But clever allusions aside, I’ve really started to think that this house is more than it seems.  So far, there have been _two_ different portals in it—neither of which showed up until exactly when we needed them.  And the house itself just seems, I don’t know…”

“Magical,” Henry finished.  “I think you’re right.  There’s something really weird about this place.  Does Grandpa Gold know what’s up with it, or can Merlin’s memories tell him?”

The mention of the old sorcerer, who was usually inside her husband’s head and sometimes outside it, made Belle sigh.  “Merlin’s not that helpful.  Usually.  He has his own motivations, I’m afraid, and telling Rumple what’s in a house Merlin never actually used isn’t high on his list of priorities.”

“Oh.”  Henry frowned thoughtfully.  “Wait a minute, if Merlin never actually used the house, doesn’t that mean that it should be Grandpa Gold’s?  I mean, he _is_ the Sorcerer, now.  Maybe you two should move in.”

“We already have a house, Henry.”  But his earnest expression made her smile, and the idea _did_ make Belle think.  There were some good memories in their current home, but there were lots of bad ones, too.  And there were so many _reminders_ that the house had belonged to the Dark One that it sometimes took them both aback; Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin was trying to be better—and he _had_ changed so much—but she also knew that there were times that the pink mansion brought him back to the many lonely years he had spent there.  _Maybe Henry is onto something,_ Belle thought.  _But…no.  We can’t._

“Hey, what’s that?”

Henry had stopped by the big floor-to-ceiling windows in the huge living room, and was now pointing out at the sun-filled courtyard of sorts that seemed to serve as part of the backyard.  There was a fountain there, Belle knew, but Henry headed out the door before she could get a word out, striding up to the fountain and studying it.  Belle followed as quickly as she could, really looking at the fountain for the first time.  It was strangely simple for such a fancy house, with a round base and two progressively smaller cup-like edifices coming out of that.  Water jetted up into the air and then cascaded downwards gracefully, but it was just a decorative fountain.  Wasn’t it?

“There’s writing on the base,” Henry said, and Belle crouched next to him to read it.  “‘All Persons are Forbidden to Drink at this Fountain’,” the boy read.  “And there’s something else, but it’s not in English.  I can’t read it.”

“I can.”  The words were in Gillikin, which was a variation of Elvish.  Belle hadn’t tried to read anything in Gillikin since her days in the Dark Castle, but she _had_ been working her way through Elvish spell books lately, so it only took her a moment to puzzle out a translation.  “All those who drink from the Forbidden Fountain of Oz will be banished from memory into the Waters of Oblivion.”

“The Forbidden Fountain of _Oz_?” Henry echoed, and Belle could only nod as he turned to look at her with wide eyes.  “Okay, stuff at this house just got a lot more weird.”

“Not to mention more dangerous,” she breathed.

Belle knew two different legends concerning forbidden fountains, after all, and no one seemed able to decide whichapplied to _the_ Forbidden Fountain.  Which was supposed to be in Oz, not Storybrooke.  Still, one said that anyone who drank from the Waters of Oblivion would lose their memories…while the other said that they would be banished from the lands of fairy tales forever. 

It just figured that the inscription could be read both ways.  Another dangerous and magical thing had arrived in Storybrooke, and this really was the most inconvenient time for it.

* * *

 

They were _gone._  

Her trap had failed.  It _shouldn’t_ have failed, though, and Zelena wanted to scream.  Regina was all too full of herself, high on her so-called redemption and turning into someone who wanted people to think she was a goody-two-shoes.  Zelena knew better, and the trap had been designed to expose Regina for what she was, but _that hadn’t happened._   Dark magic hadn’t been used to break out of her perfectly made trap.  In fact, the trap hadn’t been broken at all.  It had been disassembled.

“It’s not _fair_!” she wailed at the sky, glaring at the trees and tempted to fireball them. 

Regina wasn’t smart enough to do this.  Zelena’s little sister wasn’t _patient_ enough to bother.  She was all brute power and as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head, even when she was using light magic.  _Regina_ couldn’t have done this, which meant someone had helped her.  It couldn’t be Emma.  Emma wanted Regina to suffer almost as much as Zelena did—and wasn’t _that_ just a priceless little change to the world?  So, who had done it?  Who had helped Regina?  It certainly wasn’t the idiot outlaw.  He wasn’t good for much except as a way to hurt Regina.  Robin was dull and magicless, a stereotypical ‘good guy’ with a dark past.  He was boring.  And useless.

So, then, _who?_

* * *

 

They were all still out looking for Roland, a fact that made Emma feel a twinge of sick regret.  She hadn’t meant for Zelena to go after the child—but that _did_ hurt Regina, didn’t it?  And Regina did deserve to be punished.  So long as Zelena didn’t actually hurt Roland, which Emma knew she could stop her from doing, everything would turn out for the best.  Emma could make sure events played out according to her plan.  The Wicked Witch thought she was so clever, but Emma was worlds more powerful than she was.  She could handle Zelena.

For now, however, she had someone else to visit.  

She’d been waiting in the sheriff’s station when he walked in, accompanied by several others who left soon afterwards, heading off in four separate directions upon David’s commands.  Emma watched from the shadows as her father studied a map, his arms crossed and his expression grim.  He looked worn and worried, and for a moment, she thought that Henry had been right—she _should_ have been there for him.  Emma hadn’t just lost her mother; her father had lost Snow, too.  And even though so much of her just wanted to be left alone to grieve, in her heart, Emma knew that was wrong.  _I’m not making this better by trying to face it alone,_ she thought, swallowing hard.  _Am I just making it easier for the darkness to influence me?_

Still in the shadows, Emma shook her head firmly.  She knew that she was the best one to contain the Dark One.  She was the Savior, and she was  _better_ like this.  She got more control over it every day, and that was why she was here, wasn’t it?  After all, her plan to make Regina suffer was bloodless.  Oh, Roland might be traumatized a little, but he was young.  He’d forget.  And Emma would stop Zelena before it went too far.   _I might even enjoy that._   First, however, her father.

David had turned to leave the station while Emma mused, so she stepped out of the shadows quickly, emotion overwhelming the need to look put together and in control.  “Dad?”

“Emma.”  The word came from his lips like a prayer, and the relief on David’s face was enough to make coming here worth it. 

She gave him a tentative smile.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  He didn’t look like he knew what to say, either, but David stepped forward with a welcoming but strained smile, opening his arms to her.  “Oh, Emma.”

She shouldn’t do it, Emma knew, but somehow she found herself stepping forward, burying her head in her father’s chest and holding onto him for dear life.  She’d _missed_ this, missed belonging, and she wanted to cling to him forever.  _Maybe I can come back.  I can fight this.  I can—_

_He won’t understand any more than the others do,_ a voice within her whispered, and Emma couldn’t tell if it was her own.  She didn’t think those were her thoughts, but she still knew it was true.  _Even Killian doesn’t really understand what you’ve become, much though he claims to.  But at least_ he _knows darkness.  This one still wants to be a hero and defeat the darkness._

“What’s wrong?” David asked suddenly.  He must have felt her stiffen.

“Nothing,” Emma said quickly, pushing the thoughts aside.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to come.  I just…”

“You were grieving.  I know.  I should have come to find you.”  Her father’s voice was gentle, far gentler than Emma deserved.  “I should have thanked you.  You saved my life.”

“No.”  Pain reared up, making her throat tight.  Emma closed her eyes against tears.  “I didn’t.  I didn’t save either of you.”

“If you’d let me argue against you ripping my heart out for much longer, I’d be dead, too,” David said softly.  “Instead…instead I carry your mother’s heart within me.  And I can feel her, here, with both of us.”

“You…you can?”  Emma looked up at him, gulping.  She hadn’t expected that.  She hadn’t known what to expect.  Most of the time, she tried not to think about how it would be with Snow gone, just tried to bury herself in avenging her mother.  But if what David was saying was true…

“Yeah.”  His smile was sad and a little broken, but strong all the same.  “We both love you, Emma.  No matter what.”

“I’m not sure I’m worthy of that,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

“Don’t say that.”  David’s words were surprisingly strong, and a large hand cupped Emma’s face gently.  “You’re our— _my_ —daughter.  And I love you.”

“I’m the Dark One.”  _You won’t understand._

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be loved.  Or that you shouldn’t be.  There are so many of us who love you, Emma.  So many of us who want to help you.  I know it’s been hard, and I can’t imagine how lonely you’ve been, but your family is here for you.”

A bitter snort tore out of her.  “That’s why Regina came to yell at me.”

“She _is_ Regina.  Yelling is her way of saying she cares.”

But the attempt at humor fell flat, and Emma pulled away, her face twisting up in a furious snarl.  “She cares so much that she let my mother’s _murderer_ walk away.  And Regina still wants to protect him!”

“Emma—”

“No!  _You_ might want to be understanding and not blame him, but I won’t accept that.”  She backed away another step, glaring.  “Arthur is going to die, and I’m going to make Regina pay for stopping me.”

David rocked back like she’d dealt him a physical blow.  “Is that why you let Zelena out? Henry said he thought it was you.”

_See?_ the darkness taunted her.  _Even the boy betrays you.  They_ all _will, eventually.  Love is weakness._ With an effort, Emma shoved the voice aside, not letting it goad her into more anger than she already felt roaring through her veins.  _Henry.  Think of Henry_ , she told herself, desperately grasping for the love she felt for her son.  Yes, Henry had guessed right, but she couldn’t hold that against him, could she?  It wasn’t his fault that he still lived with Regina.

_You should fix that.  Keep him to yourself.  Keep him safe._

“Where is he?” Emma demanded, avoiding the question David had asked.  “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s with Belle.  He wanted to help with the search, but with Zelena running around, it’s too dangerous.”  There was something sad in David’s expression, something resigned and broken that Emma refused to pay attention to.

“I won’t let anyone hurt him,” she snarled, affronted at the fact that her father even _thought_ she’d endanger Henry.  Letting Zelena run around freely went against Emma’s initial vow to feed the darkness by stopping wrongdoers, but it was only temporary.  She’d kept the magic-binding cuff, and would put it back on the annoying witch once she was done using her.  Emma could make things right.  She knew that.

“I know that,” David said softly.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

_Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, dear._

David cocked his head, looking confused.  “Like what?”

“Like I’m out of control.”  Emma took another step back, sucking in power to calm herself.  “I’m not.  I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Letting Zelena out was wrong,” her father said softly, stepping forward and reaching out to her.  “Help us catch her.  Help us find Roland.  Please.”

For a moment, she was tempted.  Emma knew that she could help, that she could step back into the inner circle again—only to have someone decide she wasn’t _good_ enough the moment they remembered she was the Dark One.  _I don’t belong there, anymore.  I’m not blind, now.  I used to worship the ‘right’ thing to do because it was expected.  Now I’m free._   Pushing aside her burning need to belong, as well as the almost overwhelming desire to hug her father once more, Emma pulled away from the gentle hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll talk later,” she promised, and vanished in a swirl of black smoke before her father could see her cry.

_He doesn’t understand.  He can’t._ She knew that, but then why did leaving hurt so badly?

_None of them can._

* * *

 

They stumbled on the room almost by accident.  After finding the Forbidden Fountain, Belle and Henry had continued to explore, finding a _second_ library full of actual books and not empty storybooks, an entire hall full of magical weapons (she’d had to pry Henry out of there), and a strange sort of garage holding two golden chariots.  None of the rooms seemed to move, but there were definitely rooms there that neither of them remembered seeing before.  Henry started taking notes on his phone as they headed out of the second library (which Belle had barely pried _herself_ out of), muttering to himself about how this house made up for never getting his Hogwarts letter.

“Have we seen this one already?” Belle asked, stopping in front of a blue door around the corner from the library.

“I think so?”  Henry looked down at his phone.  “Um.  Green door, purple door, double blue doors, garage with a chariot in it, and the room with no doors—nope, I didn’t make note of a single blue door.”

Chuckling, Belle reached for the doorknob.  “Well, then, let’s take a look.”

“Sure.”  Henry tucked his phone away while she opened the door, and then they both froze, staring at the brilliantly colored playroom—where Roland sat on the floor, playing with an amazingly detailed set of toy soldiers.

For a moment, they both stood frozen, staring at the little boy, until he looked up with a sunny smile.  “Henry!”

“Roland?” Henry stuttered, and then bolted forward.  “Where have you been?  Have you been here the entire time?  We’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you!”

“Uh huh.”  Roland nodded solemnly.  “Mama brought me here.  She said Papa is coming soon.  Have you seen Papa?”

“Yeah, he’s worried sick about you,” Henry replied, and Belle met his wide eyes as he turned to look at her over his shoulder.  They both could guess what had happened to make Roland think his mother had brought him there, and Belle felt sick.

“He doesn’t know about Zelena?” she asked, pulling her own phone out as Henry sat down next to Roland.

“No.  Mom, uh, wiped his memories of it.  She and Robin thought it would be easier for him.”

“I see.”  Belle wasn’t sure if that had been the right call or not, but Roland wasn’t her child.  “I’ll call Robin,” she said instead of casting judgment, quickly dialing her friend’s number.  He picked up almost right away.

“Hello?”

“It’s Belle,” she said without preamble, stepping out of the room while Henry asked Roland about the soldiers he was playing with.  “Henry and I are at the Sorcerer’s House.  We found Roland.”

“You _found_ him?”

“He’s okay.  But”—she closed the door quietly behind herself—“he thinks that Marian brought him here.  I think Zelena’s impersonating her again.”

“Oh, God, I—” Robin cut off, sounding nauseous.  Belle could almost hear him shaking his head.  “Regina and I will be right there.”

* * *

 

The second time Rumplestiltskin found himself within Merlin’s memories, he at least knew what was happening.  Yet seeing through Merlin’s eyes was eerie; now he could _think_ as himself even has he felt Merlin’s thoughts and feelings.  He was not quite Rumplestiltskin and not quite Merlin, more than a passenger yet less than a participant.  Yet he knew that he recognized the beautiful woman sitting across the table from Merlin—even if Merlin’s memories gave her a different name than the one that eluded Rumplestiltskin.

_“She’s gone, Merlin,” Danns’ insisted._ Her voice was compassionate while her eyes were cold; Merlin didn’t notice the victory lurking in the depths of the Black Fairy’s gaze, but Rumplestiltskin did.  He knew a manipulator when he saw one, after all.  Merlin, however, was grieving. 

_“She…she was so strong.  How could I let this happen?” Merlin was slumped in his chair, despondent.  Grieving.  “Nimue…”_

_“She volunteered,” the other reminded him, and Merlin’s head snapped up._

_“Because none of us knew what would happen!  I thought her goodness could overcome the darkness, and now—now—”_

_“Now she is a monster.”_

_Merlin slumped again.  “Yes.”_

_“We must act,” Danns said after a moment’s silence._ Rumplestiltskin studied her out of the corner of Merlin’s vision, managing to isolate himself from the Sorcerer’s crippling grief.  She wasn’t upset.  No, the Black Fairy was calculating and measuring, watching Merlin grieve without a flicker of regret.  She had supported him in creating the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin recalled.  Merlin had done the work, but Danns’ a’Bhais had encouraged him.  And now she watched Merlin mourn for the loss of the woman he had loved—a realization that rocked Rumplestiltskin to his very core—with mild concern.

None of that concern, however, was for the Dark One.  It was merely for Merlin.  And it was not, Rumplestiltskin realized, strong enough to stop her.

_“No.”  Merlin straightened.  “_ I _must act.  I allowed Nimue to take that darkness on.  Destroying her is my responsibility.”_

_“She’ll try to sway you,” Danns’ warned him.  “You have seen how she is, now.  She seeks to use your love against you, always.”_

_“I know that,” Merlin growled._

_“Then kill her quickly, and be done with it.”_

Those words echoed in his mind with finality as Rumplestiltskin snapped out of the memories, sitting behind his workbench and blinking rapidly.  Merlin _had_ hesitated, weeping for the woman he had loved when he summoned the Dark One.  He had fallen to his knees, nearly dropping the dagger, until Danns had arrived to remind him of his purpose.  She was his best friend, Rumplestiltskin realized.  _Sometimes his lover, too_.  Merlin’s love life had been complicated, although his grief for Nimue seemed real enough, he’d also had genuine feelings for the Black Fairy.  Not love, but a close friendship that had made him trust her enough that he killed his former love when she told him to.

_He didn’t know that would make him the Dark One, but_ she _had guessed._ Rumplestiltskin shivered wildly.  Bad enough that Merlin had let his own lover absorb the darkness and become the first Dark One; he had then killed her out of a broken sense of loss and duty, thus becoming the Dark One himself.

Shock had made Merlin drop the dagger, but Danns’ a’Bhais had not hesitated a moment before picking it up.

* * *

 

“I can’t do that twice,” Regina whispered to Robin, who had Roland in his lap and was holding onto him tightly.  The boy was oblivious to the danger he’d been in, giggling happily about his new toys.  He’d clearly been lonely—because Zelena _was_ bonkers enough to leave a four year old alone!—but Roland was unharmed.

And, unfortunately, of the belief that Regina’s loony half-sister was his mother.  Again.

“Why not?” Robin looked up worriedly.

“Zelena undid my _first_ memory wipe.  Messing with memories is difficult at best, and at his age, Roland’s mind is still developing.  Mucking around in his mind a third time might erase things we don’t want him to lose.”

“Oh.”  Robin glanced down at his son again, his face a mess of pain.  Roland, however, remained oblivious, and hopped down to go show Henry the very nice television that the Sorcerer’s House had apparently provided. “Then how do we explain this to him?  It’ll be like he’s lost her all over again.”

“I know.”  Regina sighed.  From what Roland had told them, Zelena had told him that she—“Marian”—had been away for a bit to find them a new home where they would live happily ever after as a family.  Now Roland wanted to know where his “mother” was, and there was no way to erase that.  “I guess we tell him the truth.”

“What, that the woman who killed his mother was impersonating her?” Robin hissed, and Regina laid a hand on his arm.

“We can tell him it was a mistake, and that his mother is still dead.  That Zelena is a bad person and was wrong to impersonate Marian.  We don’t have to tell him the rest.”

That was a horrible answer, but it was the best Regina had.  Judging from Robin’s sigh, he didn’t have any better ideas.   _Aside from putting my insane sister under a sleeping curse so that she can’t go after Roland again, anyway,_ she thought darkly.  The thought had occurred to her before, but maybe it was a decent plan.  People could give birth while under a sleeping curse, right?  She’d have to ask Maleficent on that one.

“I guess so,” Robin said softly, and Regina swallowed hard.  She desperately wanted to hold him, to give him shelter from the hell in which she _knew_ he was stuck, but Roland would wonder what was wrong if she did.  So, Regina contented herself with taking his hand and squeezing his fingers gently. 

_This is the_ second _time Zelena has hurt Robin and Roland to get to me,_ Regina thought darkly.  _But it’s going to be the last._   Her sister had wanted her to embrace her darkness again so that Zelena could ‘expose’ her for a fraud, but Regina wasn’t going to do that.  She was angry, yes—downright furious, in fact—but Regina had learned a thing or two since her days as the Evil Queen.  There were other ways to stop Zelena, and then _her_ victory would be the fact that Zelena was still healthy and alive to see Regina happy with her family. 

“We’ll tell him together,” she promised, and Robin gave her a grateful smile.  Whatever he had been about to say, however, died on his lips when Belle came back in the room.

“Zelena’s been staying here,” the librarian said, anger lurking in her blue eyes.  “I found the room she’s been using.  There doesn’t seem to be anything useful in it, but you might want to take a look.”

The last bit had been directed at her, so Regina nodded, trying a nasty smile on for size.  “Sure.  I’d love the opportunity to dig through my big sister’s toys.”

“Toys?” Roland piped up before Henry distracted him again, but the fact that Roland was listening made all three adults inch closer to the door.

“Well, at least that tells us where she’s been hiding.”  Robin ran a hand over his face tiredly; neither of them had really slept the previous night, not with Roland still missing.  “Though I imagine she’ll find somewhere else, now.”

“Maybe we should go knock on Emma’s door, next,” Regina grumbled, and tellingly, no one argued with her.

“I think we’re going to have to do something about this house, though,” Belle said logically.  “Henry and I found a number of objects and books that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and I think the house itself is magical.   We can’t let people like Zelena take this place over.”

“Shouldn’t that be your problem?  Or your husband the Sorcerer’s?” Regina asked before she could stop herself.  She was worn out and stressed, and more than a little annoyed that Rumplestiltskin had dropped the problem of Zelena so resoundingly in her lap.  Granted, Regina _did_ want to control how her sister was dealt with, but she would have thought the wily old bastard would be rather motivated to keep Zelena locked away.

Instead, he was holed up in his shop, researching obscure locator spells they now wouldn’t need.

Belle rolled her eyes.  “I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the Sorcerer had some unexpected visitors of his own.  The first was David, who looked haggard and horrified.  The other two, however, looked almost as dumbstruck but far less comfortable being there.  _Legacy of my reputation, I suppose,_ Rumplestiltskin thought wryly, watching King Midas look around the shop warily while Geppetto trailed behind him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and hoped that the two monarchs didn’t notice him.

“We need some help, if you’re willing,” David said by way of greeting, and something in his tone made Rumplestiltskin close the book he’d been reading. 

“Belle told me that she and Henry found Hood’s boy.  Is he all right?”  Rumplestiltskin figured that Regina could heal any problems Roland had, so David’s appearance suddenly pleading for his help made little sense.  Yet he doubted that David would have brought along Midas and Geppetto if this had been about the boy.  Despite himself, he was curious.

“As far as I know.  Regina and Robin went to get him.”  David took a deep breath and glanced guiltily at the other two.  “No, it’s…well, it’s something Zelena did.  We were hoping you might be able to reverse it.”

“Ah.  That depends on what it is.” 

“She turned my boy—and three others—into stone,” Geppetto spoke up.  The old man swallowed hard and looked a little terrified, but he forged onwards.  “No one found them until this morning.”

“August, Kathryn, Frederick, and Michael Tillman were helping in the search last night,” David explained.  “Everyone assumed they’d kept looking until Archie found them while he was walking Pongo this morning.”

“Can you turn them back?” Midas was more confident than Geppetto; he’d dealt with Rumplestiltskin more than once, after all, even when Rumplestiltskin had been the Dark One.  After all, Midas would have turned everyone and everything into gold if Rumplestiltskin hadn’t made that gauntlet for him.  “I’ll pay whatever price you demand.  For all of them.”

Geppetto turned towards Midas in shock, clearly intending to thank him, but Rumplestiltskin waved a hand.

“I’m not in that business anymore,” he said, wondering how many _more_ times he’d have to say something like that.  _Probably a thousand._ Granted, magic—even his—still came at a price, but when it came to actually helping others, it wasn’t a price anyone but Rumplestiltskin could pay.  “At least not for things like this.”

“Are you free now?” David asked as the other two gaped.

“Lead on.”

* * *

 

Well, that hadn’t exactly gone as planned.  Still, Regina looked stressed and terrible, and Emma was certain that Zelena had other plans to make her sister miserable.  _That’s good enough,_ she decided.  Regina was distracted, and Zelena had unknowingly done her a favor by paying that little visit to Rumplestiltskin.  The new Sorcerer had had an all-out panic attack, and since then, he’d stayed away from most people.  The woman Emma had once been would have pitied him, or at least felt a pang of guilt with the realization that Zelena had damaged Rumplestiltskin _far_ more than anyone had expected, but the new her simply shrugged.  It meant that neither of the town’s ‘helpful’ magic users were available to get in her way, so she was free to do as she saw fit.

Talking to her father had made her think of a few things, had made Emma realize that she didn’t have that much time.  She wanted revenge against Arthur, and the longer she waited, the worse acting against Camelot’s annoying king would look.  So, Emma needed to put her revenge first.  Zelena was clever enough to make Regina suffer for weeks before she got caught, so Emma realigned her priorities.  Arthur had killed someone she loved, so today someone _Arthur_ loved would die.

She teleported herself to ‘Widow Morton’s’ house with a thought, appearing on the front walk and striding towards the front door without missing a beat.  Emma didn’t know why Guinevere had been in Storybrooke this whole time, and she didn’t really care.  Arthur seemed to love his queen, so Emma would kill Guinevere.  _It’s justice,_ she told herself.  Maybe then she’d even leave Arthur alive afterwards.  She could make him suffer like she suffered, like her _father_ suffered.  Then he could live with the heartbreak.  _Yes,_ the darkness whispered, deep in her mind and starting to sound like an old friend.  _That’s beautifully ironic, and no one will be able to prove who did it.  Arthur will_ know _, but what he doesn’t see, he can’t prove._

She could come up with an alibi, too.  Someone reliable.  Maybe she’d go and apologize to Regina, say that she was sorry for overreacting, and express relief that Roland was all right.  She wouldn’t admit to letting Zelena go, of course—because it wasn’t like they had evidence, only a lunatic would believe Zelena if she let the truthslip—but Emma could play nicely, and then she’d have a solid alibi for killing Guinevere and she’d have a front row seat to Regina’s misery.  Yes, that would be perfect, she decided as she waved a hand to force the polished teak front door open.  Emma used enough magic that the door creaked and its hinges wailed, but she was eager to get on with it.  Eager to let her power out to play.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Guinevere said from the living room that was to the right of the front hall.  She was sitting in a leather armchair like it was a throne, watching Emma with uncannily calm green eyes.  And she didn’t rise.  “Honestly, I thought it would be sooner.”

“Are you in such a hurry to die?” Emma cocked her head curiously.  Guinevere hadn’t struck her as an idiot.

“Not at all.  Would you care to join me for a drink?  I’m very partial to this world’s coffees.”

“I’m not here to drink _coffee_ with you,” she spat, gathering power to herself.  Her magic answered eagerly, swirling within her impatiently, and Emma felt a slight but hungry smile creasing her face.

Guinevere laughed, sipping her coffee out of a fine white china that cup was decorated by a strange black and silver design.  “No, I imagine you’re here to kill me so that you can make Arthur suffer.” 

“You’ll learn not to be so blasé about that very quickly.”

“Hardly.”  The other woman put her cup down in its saucer primly and then rose.  She was tall enough to look Emma right in the eyes, but only barely.  Yet there was something about her calm that set Emma’s teeth on edge, something that set her instincts to screaming. 

Emma was out of patience.  “Do you have any last words for your dear husband?”

“No.  Only actions, and they’re for you.”

Magic roared out before Emma could reply, smashing into her and throwing her back against the wall with a _crash._   The power was unlike anything Emma had ever felt before, dwarfing even her own nearly-inexhaustible well of darkness, and it made her feel like she was trapped in a swirling vortex of fury and pain.  Angrily, she shook the blow off, bouncing away from the wall and gathering power into her own hands.  She didn’t need a complicated spell, just a hammer-blow, and Emma threw that at Guinevere with all her might.

Only to find that the other woman was gone, and her power dissipated into thin air.  Whirling left, Emma almost turned in time to block the next blow, but it slammed into her, too, throwing Emma towards the door.  Unfortunately, the door had somehow shut since her entrance, so she crashed into that, too, hearing wood splinter as she hit.  Grunting in pain, Emma struggled to her feet.  _Don’t stop now,_ the darkness taunted her.  _So far, you’re worse at this than the coward was.  At least_ he _killed an army of ogres in his first battle.  You’re having your ass handed to you by Storybrooke’s dance teacher!_  The mocking tone made Emma snarl wordlessly, and this time she summoned a pair of fireballs so potent and powerful that Regina would have wept with envy. 

She’d burn the entire house down if she had to, because there was no way she was going to let Guinevere—

The fire sputtered and died in her hands, leaving Emma to gape.  She could feel the magic closing in, suffocating her spells even as she worked them, and the Dark One definitely didn’t appreciate that feeling.  Desperately, she teleported towards the armchair that Guinevere had abandoned, hoping to free herself from the magical tendrils she could feel reaching out for her.  But they followed, even when Emma threw a tidal wave of power at her opponent strong enough to make Guinevere fall back a step.  Grinning, Emma wheeled on the older woman.

“I don’t know what trick you’re playing, but you can’t stand up to me,” she said, feeling the darkness singing viciously.

“Of course I can.”  Guinevere’s smile was serene. 

“Dream on.  If you really—” the words chopped off as the invisible tendrils turned to tangible arms of dark magic, whipping around Emma and suddenly tightening.

Spinning, she summoned her own power to burn through them, but the other woman’s magic twisted around Emma like a tornado, tightening until she could barely breathe and then picking her up off the floor.  Urgently, she looked for a way around that, but even the spells that the darkness told her _should_ break her free did nothing—and then Emma felt herself slam into the floor once, twice, and then a third time.  She cried out despite her best efforts not to, but Guinevere ignored her pain.  One slender white hand twitched, and Emma was torn off the floor after the third impact.  The tornado constricted, and suddenly its edges were like sharp knives, cutting into Emma’s clothes, her skin, and her very soul.

She fought furiously, but nothing she did worked.  Once, she almost broke free, only to have the power slam her back into the floor another three times, and Emma felt ribs break.  Her cries turned hoarse and painful.  _What doesn’t kill you is food for revenge,_ the darkness snarled.  _Kill her!_

_I can’t!_ Emma thought desperately, fighting with all she had and finding it not enough.  Finally, however, the black and silver tornado dropped her, and Emma crumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  Dizzy and almost drunk on the pain, it took Emma a long moment of blinking to realize that Guinevere was standing over her.

“Now,” the older woman said with a slight smile, “you were saying?”

_Kill her,_ the darkness whispered impotently, raging against having been defeated so ignominiously.

“I’ll kill you,” Emma whispered thickly.  Her mouth was full of blood.

Guinevere shrugged. “You’re welcome to try.  But if you persist, I will feel obligated to stop _you_.  Including your little games with the Wicked Witch.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed.  “You can’t prove anything.”

“Can’t I?”

“You’re not the type to sit on evidence you can use.”

“Oh, actually, I am.  I tend to wait until I _need_ something.  But what I need right now is time, so I’m willing to make a deal with you, Dark One.”  A thin smile touched the pale face.  “If you don’t say a word about my magic—which, as you undoubtedly surmise, is a bit of a closely-held secret—I won’t get in your way.  I’ll let you do what you want, unless, of course, it involves killing my _dear_ husband.  I can’t have that.”

“His death _is_ what I want,” Emma snarled.

“Are you so sure about that?  Is there nothing that you want more?”  The knowing look Guinevere gave her made Emma’s stomach twist up in a knot.  What _did_ she want? 

_I want my family back,_ she thought, and for once the desire was purely her own, not the darkness’.  The Dark One inside her was strangely silent, maybe cowed a little, and Emma’s thoughts were her own.  For the moment.  _I want to be rid of this darkness. I want to be me again—_

_I don’t.  Even if it’s pulled out of me, it’ll just infect someone else.  And I’m the Savior.  No one else can stand up to it like I can.  I just need…I just need to not be alone.  Then I can do this._   Emma couldn’t tell if the darkness was working on her or not; she didn’t think it was, but how could she tell when it often infected her very thoughts?  But her concern about Guinevere was genuine enough.   _And I need to figure out who the hell this woman is and if she’s a threat to Storybrooke._

“Why do you want time?” she demanded, struggling to her feet.  Emma was pretty sure that she had a few broken ribs, and her left leg felt strangely heavy, too.  She could feel the power rolling through her, though, making her body _work_ even when it hurt.  The darkness was good for that, she realized.  Only the dagger could kill her.  Anything else was just pain.

“I have my reasons.  Now, do we have a deal, or do we resume our little…tête-à-tête?”  That smile was sharp enough to cut diamonds.

Time would serve Emma, too, though.  Maybe being hit in the head was what she needed; she felt more like herself than she had in weeks.  This woman, whoever she was—Emma wasn’t convinced that she was merely Guinevere, not now—was dangerous.  And Emma needed time to figure out how to beat her and what she wanted.

“Fine,” she snapped.  “We have a deal.”

“Good.”  Green eyes narrowed.  “Now, Dark One, get out of my home.  You are not welcome here.  Yet.”

_Kill her!_

Emma would not be stupid just because the darkness was angry.  Leveling one last glare at Guinevere—she  _still_ wanted to kill the woman to make Arthur suffer, but Arthur no longer seemed to be a threat worthy of attention—Emma summoned up all the dignity she could muster and teleported away.

* * *

 

Even having seen Rumplestiltskin stabilize a magical portal—not to mention the dozen or so other acts of magic he’d seen from the man over the years—David was surprised how quickly the new Sorcerer was able to turn August, Kathryn, Frederick, and Michael Tillman back from being stone statues.  Rumplestiltskin merely studied the four of them for a moment, head cocked and wearing an unreadable expression, and then twirled a hand in the air.  Immediately, the stone façades melted away from all four figures, leaving them staggering and blinking.

“—id.  He said that he thought _you_ let Zelena out.”  August had clearly been in mid-sentence and hadn’t noticed that the situation had changed just a bit while he’d been a stone statue.

Still, it took a moment for David to comprehend what he’d just said, and when the words sank in, he felt like his heart had been torn from his chest.  _Again._   “Who were you talking to?”

August turned to stare at him, blinking in confusion.  “What—what the hell happened?”

“You were turned to stone statues,” Rumplestiltskin answered bluntly.  “You’ll be fine, though your mouth might be a _bit_ dry.”

“Yeah.”  The former puppet worked his jaw distractedly.  “Just a bit.  _You_ turned us back?”

“Yes.”  Did Rumplestiltskin flinch slightly?  David wasn’t sure.  He was still thinking about what August had said.  He knew what it had to mean, but he didn’t want to know.  He _didn’t._

“Well, I guess you’re not the Dark One, anymore.”  August shrugged.  “I guess all four of us just saw how much _that_ can change someone.”

“Emma did this to you.”  The words came out, flat and broken, before David could even completely admit it to himself.

“Yeah.  She didn’t like how we overheard Henry say that she’d let Zelena out.” 

Someone crushing his heart had hurt less than this.  “Oh.”

To give August credit, he looked unhappy, but that couldn’t even approach the wild maelstrom of pain in David’s heart.  He could almost _feel_ Snow’s hand gripping his desperately; his fingers closed tightly on thin air, because he needed someone to cling to, now.  His _daughter_ had done this?  To a man who had been her friend, and three other people?  She had seemed so conflicted when she had come to see him just that morning, so broken and so alone.  David had reached out to her, and he’d almost gotten through to her—and yet Emma had known she’d done this.  _She didn’t even mention that she’d left four people as statues.  Is this what she meant when she said I wouldn’t understand?_

Watching numbly as Midas hugged his daughter and son-in-law only increased the pain; David just stood there as Michael Tillman headed off with August and Geppetto.  _Emma_ , his daughter, had done this.  She was the Dark One, but he had been so convinced that she was doing better after she’d killed Granny.  Emma had seemed to be fighting the darkness; Killian had told David how afraid of it she was, and that she seemed to be winning.

Except this.  This was just plain cruelty, all because Emma hadn’t liked something people had told her.  _Emma can still love,_ Belle had told him.  _She still feels everything, but her ability to care about how other people feel is severely impaired._   Was that what had happened here?  Or had the darkness told her to do this?

“She didn’t kill them, you know,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly from his side, and David finally remembered to look at the _former_ Dark One.

“No, she just turned them to stone.”  David knew he sounded broken and bitter, but what parent wanted to see their child do this?

“Many Dark Ones would have.”  There was no condemnation in Rumplestiltskin’s voice; he merely spoke facts.  “She’s not lost yet.”

“But her doing this doesn’t mean she’s fighting it, either.”

“Does it?”  The other man snorted.  “Do you have any idea how many horrible things I did, particularly in the early days?  I was terribly fond of turning people into snails and crushing them, and yet—even after that—I did learn to fight the darkness.  Usually.”

“But she—”

“It’s not that black and white,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off, making David blink.  “This isn’t black and white.  She _can’t_ always win.  If you could defeat the Dark One by mere force of _wanting_ to, that darkness would not be such a terrible curse.  You can succeed for a while, but in the end, it always comes back to you.”

“You helped us.  You killed Pan.”  The words stuck in his throat.  “You weren’t indiscriminately turning people into statues, or snails, or _anything_ else.”  _But my daughter, the_ Savior _, is._ David wanted to cry.

“After centuries of experience managing that darkness.  She’s learning.”

“Is she?”

Rumplestiltskin gestured at where the four statues had stood.  “Otherwise, those four would be as dead as Granny.”

* * *

 

Roland was safe, so Henry tried to call Emma.  He _knew_ that she’d let Zelena out—she hadn’t quite said so, but Henry knew Emma well enough to know when she was lying.  And he desperately wanted to know why.  _Emma_ wasn’t like that; she cared about people!  No matter how angry she was, Henry knew there had to be a way to get through to her.  Grandpa Gold had told her that Emma needed love and support more than she’d ever let on, and Henry was determined not to leave her alone.

But she didn’t answer when he called, and after three attempts, he put the phone down glumly and headed downstairs to where Regina and Robin were trying to explain Marian’s death to Roland.  Then, a little bitterly, he decided that he should just talk to his mom’s boyfriend.  At least she let Killian through the door when she was upset, and _someone_ had to check on her.  Even if it couldn’t be him.

* * *

 

Killian let himself into the house when Emma didn’t answer his calls, either; Henry had found him in the diner with David, and had told them both about how Emma wouldn’t answer his calls at all.  They were all still more than a little shocked at the idea that Emma would _ever_ work with Zelena—dark as she was growing, it seemed so out of character for her.  David had already told Killian about how he and Emma had spoken earlier, and how Emma had _almost_ seemed willing to listen before she abruptly left, so Killian headed out towards the house he shared with Emma, hoping that adding his concern to David’s would get through to her.

Mordred, of course, walked up before he’d managed to make it five steps away from Granny’s front door.

“Killian, I—”

“Not now, mate,” he cut his newly-found uncle off.  “I have to be somewhere.”

Mordred stopped and studied him intently.  “I understand.  Can we talk another time?  There is something I’d like to run by you.  Something I think can help.”

A strange feeling twisted in Killian’s gut; he _should_ have told David, at least, about Mordred’s offer to help Emma.  Keeping it a secret from Emma was one thing; she’d made it obvious that she didn’t want to give up being the Dark One.  By now, Killian knew that they would have to save her over Emma’s objections, so although he felt guilty for deceiving her, it was for the best.  David, however…well, David felt like he did.  _I should tell him,_ Killian decided.  _But later.  First, I need to make sure she’s all right…and not letting some other psychopath out of prison._

“Tomorrow,” Killian answered.  “I’ll find you at your…castle.”  Saying that sounded ridiculous in this world, but his paternal uncle _had_ gone and built himself an impressive fortress in the forest, so Killian would call it what it was.

“Tomorrow it is.”  Mordred nodded and strode away, but neither of them noticed Zelena watching from the shadows.

* * *

 

“I think we have to do something about that house, Rumple,” Belle said as they prepared dinner together.  She was chopping vegetables—which they both knew was safer than letting her use the stove, even after all this time in Storybrooke (her early attempts at cooking had nearly burned the house down, which Rumplestiltskin _still_ teased her about)—while her husband worked on the chicken.  A part of her still marveled at the fact that they were back to an easy, domestic relationship that felt more _real_ and open than the few moments they’d managed to steal in the past, but the rest of Belle was getting used to having her husband back.

Blissfully, _delightedly_ , used to it.  She liked the man he was now, and she thought Rumple was beginning to do so, as well.  _For the first time in his life, I think he’s happy with who he is_ , she thought, putting down the knife to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek impulsively.

His glowing smile was a welcome reward for the kiss, and Rumplestiltskin beamed down at her.  “The Sorcerer’s House?”

“Unfortunately, Regina pointed out that it kind of is our problem.”  Coming up on her tiptoes, she perched her head on his shoulder.  “Given how you are the Sorcerer and all.  And I did find it in the first place.”

“And it’s chock full of magical objects, portals, _and_ the Forbidden Fountain,” her husband groused.  “As well as being, apparently, a safe haven for Zelena to use at her leisure.”

“On the bright side, I doubt she’ll go back?  Right after I found the room she’d been using, the house seemed to, um, swallow it whole.”

“Did it?”

Belle shrugged, squeezing her husband’s waist as she felt him try to relax despite the mention of Zelena.  “Well, the room disappeared.  So did the stuff she left in it.  I don’t think the house liked her at all.”

“Or perhaps you didn’t.”  Rumplestiltskin studied her contemplatively, and Belle knew the look on his face.  He had an idea, and it was going to be a good one.

* * *

 

“Emma?” Killian called gently.  She hadn’t been downstairs, but her car was out front.  While he knew that Emma teleported as often as she drove these days, the fact that the damn cat wasn’t downstairs indicated that she was home.  Poor Bandit was always more friendly towards Killian when Emma wasn’t around; at first, the cat had seemed hostile towards him, too, but the nastier Emma treated it, the more the cat sought him out.  Sometimes, Killian thought the beastie was trying to tell him something, but he knew that was more than a little crazy.

She didn’t answer, so he made his way up the stairs, pushing thoughts of Emma’s angry cat out of his mind.  The wooden steps creaked under his feet ominously, and Killian tried to push his irrational worry out of his mind.  _She’s the Dark One.  It’s not like anyone can really_ hurt _her.  I know better than anyone how hard that is!_

Yet Killian knew that there was a big difference between physical and emotional damage.  Emma was still suffering from the loss of her mother, still grieving deeply in a way she refused to share.  She said she was fine, that she was _stronger_ now, but he knew that the wounds ran deeper than Emma would admit.  She cried when she thought he wasn’t looking, cradling her baby blanket to her chest in dark corners when he wasn’t supposed to be home.  He’d caught her making dream catchers and drawing out her own memories of Mary Margaret to watch, but Emma always hid them away when he approached, and she wouldn’t talk to him about it.

Killian just wanted to help her, just wanted to _hold_ her, but Emma only wanted passion, lust, and—fortunately—love.  But she didn’t want comfort and she refused to be ‘weak’, no matter how many times he told her that grieving wasn’t weakness.  His heart broke for the woman he loved, because he knew that _Emma_ was there underneath the façade of the Dark One, suffering in lonely silence.  He’d never truly appreciated how much the darkness could warp someone until now, because while Emma had been closed off, she had never been—

“Emma!” Her name tore out of him as he opened the door to their room, finding Emma lying on her side on the bed, bruises covering her face.  Her expression was listless, and she just _looked_ battered; her tight bun was half torn out, and her clothes were dirty and even her pants were ripped above the left knee.

She didn’t even look at him, just kept staring at the far wall.  “I’m fine.”

“Emma, love, you look—you look—”

“Don’t say it,” Emma cut him off flatly, sitting up.  But Killian didn’t miss the wince of pain.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered, approaching her as slowly as he would a wounded animal.  These days, there was no telling what would make Emma flee.  “Let me help you.”

“I said _I’m fine!_ ”  Hazel eyes turned on him furiously, but the anger dissipated quickly, replaced by the same listlessness.

“All right.”  Killian reached the bed and crouched next to her, reaching out to put his hand gently on her arm.  “Can I do anything?”

“Yes.  You can leave.”

Resolutely, Killian pushed back the pain those cold words caused.  _This isn’t Emma,_ he told himself.   _This is the Dark One refusing to show weakness._ “I’m not going to leave you when you’re like this.”

“ _This_ is what I am,” she snarled, bounding to her feet, and shoving him back.  Tripping, Killian almost fell, barely catching himself as he flailed.  “Get used to it.”

“Have I implied that I’m not?” he demanded before he could stop himself.  “I’m trying to be here for you, but you keep locking me out!”

“You want me to be weak.  You want me to be who I _used_ to be, some afraid little damsel who you can play hero for,” Emma retorted, rounding on him with blazing eyes.  “But I’m not.  I’m stronger, and I don’t need your _help_!”

“You certainly need someone to help you from getting worked over like that.”  The moment the words were out, Killian knew they were a mistake, but Belle had been right.  Loving a Dark One was hard, even when you knew that the real person was under there and didn’t just have to take that on faith.  He loved Emma with all his heart…but saying that he didn’t want the old Emma back would have been a lie.

“I can take care of myself.”  Her eyes flashed, but her voice went cold.  “Now, why don’t you go help my father since you both have become so buddy-buddy?”

“We both want to help you, love.” 

Emma’s smile was frigid enough to cool the room by a dozen degrees or so.  “Someday, you’ll understand that I don’t need help.  Until then, get out.”

“ _What_?”  Shocked, he rocked back a step, staring at her.

“I said to get out of my house.”  Emma stepped close to him, laying her hand on his chest and leaning in.  “I’m not what you want.  You want _her_ , the woman I used to be.”

“I never said that,” Killian objected.  “What brought this on?  What made you think—”

“I can see it in your eyes!”

Hurt finally made his fury rise to meet hers, and Killian found himself shouting: “That’s because you’re not listening to what I’m saying!  I love _you_ , Swan.  Only you.  Loving means helping someone when you see them hurt.  It doesn’t mean I think you bloody weak!  You’re the strongest person I know.  You always have been.”

The anger in her eyes wavered, and for one heartbreaking moment, Killian could see Emma breaking through.  “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.  It’s like I can’t stop myself.”

“I know, love.”  Reaching out, Killian wrapped his good arm around her, and was so relieved when she didn’t pull away.  He didn’t understand, but he was going to do his best to stand by her. 

Did that mean he was enabling her?  He knew that David had asked her about letting Zelena go, and Emma had refused to discuss that.  Killian burned to bring the same subject up but he knew that would probably only result in Emma pushing _him_ away, too.  Killian refused to help Emma do anything so wrong, but was ignoring what was happening so that he could try to help the _real_ Emma—not this impostor who he saw daily—any better?  He didn’t know.  He just knew that he couldn’t abandon her when she was so racked by darkness and by grief.

“You should go,” Emma said softly, but at least now her voice was empty rather than full of darkness.  “I’m…I _can’t_ stop myself.  And I don’t want to endanger you, either.”

“You’d never hurt me.”  He knew that like he knew his own name.  Better, actually.

Emma drew away, tears in her eyes.  “I was almost angry enough to.”

“But you _didn’t_.”

“You should go.  I…I need to be alone for a little while.  I’ll call you.”  As he watched, the bruises on her face faded, and her clothing repaired itself.  It was like watching Emma vanish as the cracks closed, leaving only the Dark One in her place.

“I’d rather stay.”  Killian tried to step forward again, but he never made it, instead finding himself on the loft’s front doorstep. 

Inside, he could hear baby Neal crying, and he knew _exactly_ how the infant felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Twenty-Six—“You’re Locked In”, where Emma finds new purpose, Zelena throws a tantrum, Henry goes to his grandfather for magical help, and Sir Percival starts investigating Belle.
> 
> While you’re waiting, don’t be shy! Comments are cookies, and as I write madly for NaNo, they are the best encouragement ever.


	26. You’re Locked In

Emma was glad she didn’t have to sleep, because doing so without Killian there the night before would probably have been impossible.  But she couldn’t trust herself.  She _knew_ that, which was why she’d sent him away.  She had let Zelena out, and she’d even thought it was a good idea.  Self-revulsion bubbled up at that thought; Zelena had endangered a child who Emma knew, and Emma had done nothing.  _What am I becoming?_

_Better,_ the voice inside her whispered.  _Stronger.  You’ll take what you want._

Except she’d failed in that, too.  She had gone to take revenge on Arthur by killing Guinevere—as Arthur had killed Emma’s mother—and she had failed.  Guinevere, somehow, possessed powerful and terrifying magic the like of which Emma had never seen before.  Camelot’s queen, once merely an aloof widow who stayed on the fringes of Storybrooke society, had beaten the Dark One handily.  Fury rose up inside Emma at the very thought, but she pushed it down with an effort.  She had to figure out what had happened there.  She had to figure out what Guinevere was after, why the woman wanted _time_.  Emma had agreed not to tell anyone about the other woman’s magic, but she hadn’t said that she wouldn’t do anything in the meantime.  Or that she couldn’t lead others towards finding out about it.

Having a purpose made her feel better, more like herself.  She _could_ do this.  Emma could be the Dark One and still help others.  Oh, she still burned for revenge against Arthur and _needed_ to put Regina in her place, but once Regina had suffered enough, Emma would let that end.  And as much as the idea hurt, killing Arthur could wait, too.  First, she needed to figure out how to protect Storybrooke from Guinevere—for whom, Emma was beginning to suspect, Arthur might be no more than a pawn. 

_Did_ she _want my mother dead?_ The thought hit her hard, taking Emma’s breath away with the force of the blow.  It wasn’t impossible.  Arthur claimed not to have known what was happening when he’d stabbed Snow, but he might have been lying.  And Guinevere could _definitely_ have been involved if that were the case.

_Don’t trust her,_ the darkness whispered suddenly, making Emma blink.  _She’s more than you think._   Immediately, Emma tried to probe into that knowledge, but there remained a stubborn blankness, and emptiness in the collective memories of the Dark Ones that she hadn’t yet encountered.  Many times, she had been able to dig into those memories to find information, spells, and even actual images of past events, but now there was nothing save a vague warning that made her skin crawl. 

Emma felt cold.  She had sent Killian away to protect him from her darkness, but she wasn’t the real threat, was she?  Even the darkness within her wasn’t the threat.  She was fairly certain that she wasn’t just being paranoid, either.  There was something going on in Storybrooke, something she’d been blind to.  And everyone _else_ was so focused on her that they’d missed it, too.  But it was time that stopped.  One member of her family was dead already, and Emma’s instincts told her that Guinevere might endanger others. 

It was time to find out exactly who and what Guinevere was.  And then destroy her.

* * *

 

Mordred watched the Dark One leave her home, and grimaced.  He had feared that he was right, but the gauntlet confirmed his suspicions: she was keeping the dagger with her at all times.  Apparently, the new Dark One had learned from the experiences of her predecessors, and chose not to hide the dagger anywhere save on her person.  _Pity._   He needed the dagger for his plans, and asking Killian to get it from her would break the fragile trust between them.

Well, then.  He would simply have to find a way to force her to give it up.

* * *

 

“I’m not sure you want me to babysit, mate,” Killian said as David pulled his jacket on, and a part of David figured that the pirate certainly was right.  After all, what father in his right mind allowed a (mostly) reformed pirate to watch their small child?  But he’d come to know Killian fairly well in the past months, and he knew that the other man loved his daughter.  _He won’t let anything happen to Neal because of his love for Emma,_ David thought, throwing Killian a teasing smile.

“What, you can face horrible monsters without flinching, but you’re afraid of a baby?”

“Hardly.  But the little lad might be afraid of me.”  Killian’s expression grew a little pitiful.  “Wouldn’t he be better off with Henry?  I’m sure that he’d be happy to help.”

“Henry’s got other plans, I’m afraid.”  David had spoken to his grandson about said plans that morning, and had approved of Henry’s overarching goal—as well as his desire to pull his paternal grandfather into the mess.  “Besides, it’s only until Ella can get here.  She has to take Alexandra to the doctor’s this morning for a follow-up.  It should only be an hour or two.”

Killian groaned.  “While you get to do exciting things like organize a manhunt for Zelena.”

“The perks of being sheriff, I’m afraid.” David chuckled before turning serious.  “Thank you, though.  I feel a lot more comfortable knowing Neal is with someone I can trust.”

“I’m honored by your trust, David.”  Something flashed across Killian’s face that David couldn’t read.  “I merely hope I’m worthy of it.”

Was that the old doubts rising up, or something else?  David knew that Killian wasn’t always comfortable with how his past didn’t quite merge with the Charming family ethos, but he’d thought they were past that.

“You are,” he reassured the other man, and then headed out.  He had a Witch to catch.

* * *

 

“At least Rumple decided to give me _something_ useful,” Regina groused, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she put the magical globe down on the desk in her office.  Her old teacher might have stepped away from dark magic, but he was still as ornery and as difficult as ever.  Figuring out which way Rumplestiltskin was going to jump was _still_ a challenge.  “I would have thought he’d be as motivated as we are to get Zelena locked up again.”

“I really just think he doesn’t want to deal with her, honestly,” Robin said quietly from her side, and that made Regina turn to give him an odd look.

He’d said something just like that when Regina had asked Rumple about why he was staying out of this fight, and it hadn’t made sense then, either.  Rumplestiltskin had tried to kill Zelena—hell, he’d succeeded, technically!—and then he’d worked with her.  While Regina was prepared to admit that he had done the latter under duress, she _knew_ how much her mentor hated her sister.  She even agreed with him wholeheartedly, which meant that the old bastard should have been the one insisting on this spell, not her.  She opened her mouth to say just that, but Robin shook his head to forestall her.

“Just leave it,” her lover said gently.  “I understand things a lot better now, given what happened in New York.”

Regina frowned.  “What are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say that I’m not the only one who Zelena took advantage of,” he replied grimly, and Regina jerked back in shock.

Robin couldn’t mean what she thought he did.  No.  Zelena wasn’t that crazy—

But of course she was.  _She doesn’t have any sense of boundaries.  I thought_ I _was bad as the Evil Queen, but Zelena is far, far worse._ Regina turned the thought over in her mind carefully, divorcing emotion from the equation and thinking about what Robin was implying.  She’d never even considered it before, but Zelena had had the dagger for _months_.  And she seemed to hate Rumplestiltskin almost as much as she hated Regina—she’d even gone to great lengths to kill his son!  Regina had never stopped to wonder why, given that Rumple had taught them both.  _I assumed that was because of me, but what if there was something else there?_

Regina really didn’t want to think about that.  Their _mother_ had been involved with Rumplestiltskin.  Was she the only vaguely sane member of their entire family?  Regina knew that she’d done some terrible things in her life, but in comparison to her mother and her sister, she at least felt like she was a reasonably rational person. 

“Just thinking about that makes me sick,” she whispered. 

Robin’s smile was very crooked.  “You and me both.”

“Oh, Robin, I’m sorry.  I…” She didn’t know what else to say, so Regina just reached out to take his hand, and his smile grew a little less strained.

“Let’s just find her, yeah?  I know I’d sleep a lot better knowing she’s locked away again.”

Neither of them had to mention the nightmares Robin had experienced when they’d finally gotten to sleep the night before; Regina just squeezed his hand tightly and nodded.  “Me, too.”

Studying the globe, Regina took a deep breath.  For someone who had brewed more than a few sleeping curses, she really did hate pricking her own fingers, but the damn thing used blood magic, so blood it would have to be.  At least she knew that Zelena was the only relative she had running around town, unlike a certain pirate who had just discovered that he had an uncle and a grandmother he’d never known about.  _I’m glad Mordred isn’t_ my _uncle,_ Regina thought wryly.  _Even if it would mean he’d stop looking at me like I’m the most attractive woman he’s ever seen._

“I hate bleeding,” she grumbled, reaching her hand out.  But at least the irony of using her mother’s globe to find her sister was faintly amusing.

“Then why bother?”  Zelena’s giggle made Regina’s head whip around.  “I’m right here.  No need to go looking for me, sis.”

 “Well, that certainly saves time,” Regina growled, instinctively stepping between Robin and Zelena.  “So, why don’t you help things along and come back to the asylum quietly?”

Zelena lounged against the doorframe lazily.  “Fat chance.  I like my freedom.  I just wanted to come check on my _dear_ sister and ask how it was to have to ask someone to rescue you from my trap.”

“How about I ask you how it feels to be charbroiled?” Regina snarled before she could stop herself, and years of habit brought a fireball to her hand.

“Regina.”  Robin’s voice was soft, as was the hand suddenly on her arm.  “You can’t.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t want to hurt the baby, would you?” Zelena cooed.  “ _My_ baby.  Who you’ll _never_ have.”

“You don’t deserve that child.”

“Well, if I don’t, neither do you,” Zelena shot back.  “ _You_ were every bit as evil as I am wicked, yet you get to keep Henry.  And no one’s trying to lock you away, either, despite all you did.”

“I’ve worked to make up for that!”

Zelena snorted, but Robin got in before she could say more.  “Speaking of being locked away, how _did_ you get out?”

“Someone let me out, of course.”  Her eyes gleamed.  “But I won’t tell you who.  I’ll let you _guess_ , lover.”  She blew Robin a kiss.  “I’ll give you a clue, though.  Not everyone likes your precious Regina.”

“That’s _such_ a surprise.”  Regina rolled her eyes and took several steps forward.  “C’mon, sis.  Give it up.  Storybrooke’s not that big, and you’ve lost your hidey hole.  We’ll track you down wherever you go.”

“Not without that globe, you won’t!”  Zelena’s smile was dazzling, and Regina realized just what she meant a moment too late.  She whirled around, reaching—both physically and with magic—for the globe, but it was too late.  The globe and Zelena both vanished in a cloud of green smoke, leaving Regina and Robin alone.

Regina broke the lamp on her desk before she could rein in her fury.

* * *

 

Grandpa Gold really was very different now, Henry decided.  For one, he was a lot more soft spoken, a little more hesitant.  He also had a _lot_ less sharp edges, though Henry had a feeling he could be just as snarky and short-tempered if pressed.  But he smiled more, now, too, reminding Henry almost painfully of the dad he hadn’t known for nearly long enough.  His brown eyes were warmer, too, and Henry had a feeling that Grandpa Gold sometimes saw Baelfire when he looked at Henry, just like Henry sometimes saw his dad when he looked at his grandpa.

It made them both a little sad, but that was okay.  It was a good kind of sad, at least, or the best kind you could get when things were the way they were.  Right now, however, Henry had two other parents to straighten out, so as much as he wanted to start asking questions about his dad, he knew it needed to wait.  “So, I was kind of hoping you could help me with something,” he said after they got the hellos out of the way and settled in behind the counter in the pawn shop.

“What kind of something?” Rumplestiltskin asked curiously.  _Gramps would just say yes, but then, he doesn’t have the Sorcerer’s power at his disposal.  I guess that makes you_ have _to be careful, doesn’t it?_ But he didn’t mind the caution.  Henry liked the way his two granddads were different.  It made things interesting.

“Mom—Emma—is mad at my other mom.  I’m pretty sure she let Zelena out because of it.”  Henry tried not to sigh, and failed.  “I know Emma wanted to kill Arthur, and Regina stopped her.  Now that she’s the Dark One, I’m not sure she can forgive that.  Can she?”

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath before answering.  “She can, but it’s hard.  In the early days, feeling anything but fury and darkness is _very_ hard.  Emma’s strong—far stronger than I—but the darkness has its ways to warp things without you noticing.”

“I kind of figured that, yeah.  She’s not the same, even when she’s trying to be.”  Henry bit his lip.  He wasn’t there to complain.  He wanted to _help_ Emma, and the best way to do that was to get her to come back to her family.  Still, it was nice when Grandpa Gold put his hand on his shoulder.  Really nice.

“No, she isn’t.”  The fact that Grandpa Gold didn’t make excuses or try to tell Henry things weren’t that bad was a big relief, too, and it helped Henry force himself back on track.

“So, uh, I was wondering if there was a way to lock the two of them in a room together.  Without magic.  I’m sure I can talk Mom into it, but Emma’s going to be more difficult.  She might not want to.”

His grandfather’s eyebrows rose.  “You want to lock them up until they come to an understanding?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That’s a…novel concept.”  Henry could watch the brilliant mind whirling, could see options flashing through Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.  So he waited patiently, hopefully, until his grandfather said: “Unfortunately, there isn’t a location _inside_ Storybrooke where that will work.  Not one that can be constructed on short notice, or without a great deal of power we may not be able to spare at the moment.”

“But you have an idea.” Henry felt a grin tugging at his lips. 

Brown eyes met brown; Rumplestiltskin smiled back.  “Yes, I have an idea.”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Regina had been right.  She _had_ lost her nice hiding spot, all thanks to Rumple’s annoying librarian and Regina’s nosy brat.  Zelena had, of course, made that pesky little deal with Emma that said she wouldn’t hurt Henry—and keeping that deal was useful for the moment—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t punish Rumple’s little woman.  _And hurt_ him _while I’m at it.  I should have made him kill her when she came down to ‘rescue’ him,_ Zelena thought, still annoyed with herself for letting that opportunity pass by.  However, she could make up for that, now.  In part.

Most of the town was out looking for her, she knew, in a massive and pointless manhunt.  But none of them were hunting on the _nicer_ residential streets, particularly not the ones with the extra-expensive houses.  So, Zelena teleported herself to the front lawn of #403 St. George Street, pausing to study the massive pink house for several moments.  No one seemed to be home, which was a pity; Zelena would have happily burned Rumple’s former maid to a crisp.  But, still, she would be delighted to make the woman suffer, and what better way to do that than to destroy her home?

It really was an ugly pink monstrosity, anyway.

Zelena knew exactly which spells to use, and she twisted them up together before letting the power flow out of her hands.  Rumple always thought he was so smart, but he didn’t really have much in the way of protections on his house, now did he?  She imagined that most of them had vanished when he’d ceased to be the Dark One, and whatever magic he had now clearly wasn’t powerful enough to stop _her_.  That thought made her grin, and Zelena stayed to watch the pink house start to burn.

* * *

 

Her bird tracked Killian easily.  Pigeons were her animal of choice for Watching Spells, as they went everywhere and no one noticed them (they were also obstinate creatures that were touchy by nature, which Morgan appreciated), and this one was clever enough in its own way.  Morgan had befriended the bird before placing a minor compulsion spell on it that allowed her some minor control, but the bird generally seemed to understand what she wanted while she watched through its eyes.

Of course, her magic was still as touchy as the pigeon.  It came and went, still suffering from the massive outlay of power she had put forth so many centuries earlier.  Morgan supposed that freezing herself and a few others in that crystal cave had not been wise—nor had been her ill-advised foray _outside_ of it three centuries earlier—but her choices had been limited at the time.  She had already been exhausted by creating the portal that had sent Lancelot and his companion to the Enchanted Forest, and exhaustion had made her easy prey for the new Dark One.  Still, she _should_ have made sure to keep an eye on Ragnelle and the boys, even when her power flagged, which was why Morgan felt the need to spy on her grandson, now.

He really did look like Gwaine.  Watching him made Morgan’s heart tighten in her chest; she knew that she had never been the best of mothers, but she had loved her sons as well as she had been able.  Losing Gwaine, even though he had chosen the risks, had _believed_ in the plan she and Mordred had cobbled together, still burned, even after all these years.  She might have hated her husband, but Gwaine had been her son.  Lot had only ever been a brutal oaf who lied and murdered.

Killian, however, seemed to be cut from his father’s cloth.  Right down to loving someone to distraction. 

Even as she watched—with the pigeon perching on the white picket fence outside the Charmings’ loft—Killian pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket.  His face lit up when he saw who was calling.  “Emma!”

Morgan took a deep breath and inched the bird closer, catching some of what the Dark One said in response:

“…have said that.  I’m sorry.  I’m just trying to protect you, because I don’t want to be like Rumplestiltskin and hurt those I love.”

“You haven’t,” Killian told her in the voice of a man who was too deeply in love.  “And you won’t.  I know that.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

_You shouldn’t,_ Morgan thought towards her grandson.  She knew firsthand how much loving a Dark One could hurt…but at least this one seemed to love Killian back.  _I was a fool, but will he follow in my footsteps, or have better luck?_   There was no way to know, not really, until everything either fell apart or didn’t. 

“It starts by not pushing us away,” Killian told his Dark One.  “The croc— _Rumplestiltskin_ —and I may never get along, but even I can tell you that he did better when he was with Belle.  I think that he needed reminding that you need something to fight the darkness _for_.”

There was a long moment of silence, and for a moment, Morgan wondered if her grandson had gone too far, pushed too hard.  Then Emma’s voice came very quietly: “Killian, I…”

“It’s not just me, love.  It’s all of us.  You have a family who wants to love you and be here for you.  Don’t forget that.”

“I…I’ll try not to.”  The next words were so quiet that Morgan could barely hear them: “Can…can you come back?”

She didn’t bother to listen to Killian’s excited response.  Instead, she just turned the matter over in her head, wondering if her own prophecy—the one Merlin, the prat that he was, had absconded with and made his own—about the Savior destroying the Dark One might just be true, after all.  She’d always known things would be complicated, and Merlin _had_ foreseen that the two might merge…but perhaps things were not what they had anticipated. 

Sighing, Morgan realized that she really needed to talk to her son.  Mordred’s age-old quest might have turned out to be easier than anyone could have believed.

* * *

 

Rumple had been cranky about going to Granny’s for lunch, but Belle had talked him into it.  She liked checking in on Ruby every now and then, and besides, Ruby had taken to including extra pickles for free when her husband wasn’t looking.  Belle knew that Ruby had actually taken a liking to this new and improved Rumplestiltskin, who tried to pretend he wasn’t looking out for her.  He’d thrown Gilles Conomor (known as Bluebeard back in their world) straight out of the pawn shop for trying to rent the diner out from under Ruby, not even bothering to let Ruby know that Conomor had offered twice what Granny had paid for the place on a monthly basis.  He might not even have told _Belle_ about that if she hadn’t walked in on Conomor smugly pointing out that Gold had always been mercenary enough to take the money and not ask questions.

Some of Storybrooke, Belle reflected, really hadn’t seemed to get the memo that Rumplestiltskin was a very different man now that he wasn’t the Dark One.  She knew that Rumplestiltskin preferred that, in some ways; he still feared even the appearance of weakness, but she was slowly bringing him around to the view that not everyone viewed kindness as a weakness.

“Thank you, by the way,” Ruby caught them right after they stepped outside, making both Golds stop cold.

“For what?” Belle asked, but Ruby looked at her husband instead.

“Conomor came in here to try to intimidate me into giving up the diner.  After I hit him a few times, he admitted that he’d tried you first, and you sent him packing.”  Ruby’s smile was brilliant, but Belle caught a tinge of embarrassment in her husband’s expression.

_He really doesn’t know what to do with people thanking him,_ she thought, squeezing his hand and giving him a smile of her own.

“I, uh, well, you’re welcome,” Rumplestiltskin stuttered, and then managed to bring himself back on balance.  “Besides, it made good business sense.  Conomor was more likely to use the freezers to store dead bodies than lasagna, and you’ve always been a good investment.”

Ruby laughed.  “Well, then I promise not to put _him_ in the freezer if he starts sniffing around again.”

“How badly _did_ you hit him?” Belle wondered, and her friend shrugged.

“Not that hard.”  Ruby’s smile was devilish—but vanished as someone else walked up.  He was one of the knights from Camelot, though Belle didn’t know which, but just seeing him made Ruby’s entire expression freeze and her eyes narrow.  “Can I help you?”

“I am not here to cause a disturbance,” the knight replied stiffly.  “I merely wished to speak to the lady here.”

Belle blinked as those curious hazel eyes focused on her.  “Me?”

“Yes.  Please forgive me for the intrusion, My Lady.  I am Sir Percival, one of King Arthur’s most loyal knights.”  With that, he bowed and took her hand to kiss, something no one had done since long before the curse—or, no one save Rumple, anyway, who certainly didn’t do so in Percival’s courtly and stifled manner.

“Belle Gold,” she answered slowly.  Something about the intense way that Percival watched her made Belle uneasy, and she could see Rumplestiltskin watching warily, too.  _Good.  I’m not the only one who finds this odd._   Ruby seemed suspicious, as well, or at least hostile towards Percival.

“Belle?” The knight shifted minutely, letting go of her hand and looking disappointed.  “That is your name?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” A chill ran down her spine, and Belle exchanged a glance with Rumplestiltskin.

“It would help a great deal if you told us exactly what you’re looking for, dearie.”  There was an unmistakable edge in her husband’s voice, but for once, Belle didn’t mind.  The way Percival was watching her, like a dog who wanted to steal a bone, made her very uneasy.

“Nothing,” Percival said quickly.  “I am afraid I was looking for someone else.  Excuse me.”  He sketched a quick bow and departed before any of them could say more.

Belle bit her lip, watching him go.  Once she was certain he was out of earshot, she sighed.  “That was very strange.”

“I get the impression that _Percival_ is a bit strange.”  Ruby rolled her eyes.  “Last time he came to the diner, he was plotting revolution.”

“He was what?”  Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at Ruby, but his sneer wasn’t aimed at her.  “Fool.”

Ruby snorted.  “Well, I’m just glad he’s looking for someone instead of trying to incite a rebellion.”

“This time.”  Belle kept watching the knight’s retreating figure, and she didn’t miss the way Arthur met him across the street.  Something strange was going on, and she wanted to know what.

* * *

 

The dreamcatcher shook slightly in her hands as Emma watched herself stride into the diner, her eyes so bright and hopeful that they seemed to belong to a stranger.  She rushed forward, embracing both of her parents with all of her might—and despite their surprise, both hugged her back immediately.

_“Mom!  Dad!”  Going to the past had taught her some valuable lessons—and not about how time shouldn’t be screwed with.  It had made Emma really,_ truly _, appreciate both of her parents and who they had been, in addition to who they were.  And she’d almost lost her mother there, had been so certain Snow had been dead—_

The way fate seemed to come full circle just burned.  _Don’t think about that_ , Emma told herself, watching her mother’s confused smile through her tears. 

_“You weren’t answering your cell.  We were worried,” her dad said._

_“I’m fine.”  She’d turned to look at her mother, emotions welling up in a wonderful way like she could barely remember ever having felt.  “I’m home.”_

_Snow looked like she was afraid to hope.  “Do you mean…that you’re not…leaving?”_

_How could Emma have ever wanted to leave this behind?  “I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Henry had leapt to his feet.  “We’re staying in Storybrooke?”_

_“This is where we belong.  This is where our family is.”  Her eyes met her mother’s, and Emma knew that she’d never seen Snow look so happy._

Waving her hand, she banished the image as quickly as she could, unable to take the happy look on her mother’s face, unable to accept that her mother was _gone_.  She remembered how she’d told them that she loved them, how they’d embraced her without hesitation, letting Emma hold onto both of them tightly.  Her mother had been the first real friend she’d had that she got to _keep_ , and it felt like fate had cheated Emma by taking her away just when Emma _finally_ accepted her family.  It hadn’t even been that long since she’d internalized the fact that Storybrooke was her home and that she really, truly, had family…and now she’d lost her mother.

Emma could feel the tears streaming down her face, faster and faster and hotter and hotter, but she refused to let herself sob.  She had to move on.  She had to be strong.  She had to—

“Emma?” a soft voice asked, and suddenly she realized that Killian was right behind her, that he’d been standing there for some time and she hadn’t even realized it.  Gulping desperately, she turned to face him, the dreamcatcher dropping from nerveless fingers.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and Emma hesitated.

_Don’t let him see you weak,_ the darkness warned her.  _He’ll use it against you.  They_ always _do.  Look at Belle, all sweet and good.  Even_ she _used the dagger against her own True Love.  This one has hated the Dark One for centuries.  Don’t trust him!_

Killian could have betrayed her a thousand times, though.  He could have walked away.  He could have let her fall through the portal to the past by herself.  He could have not fought by her side a dozen times—but here he was.  Part of Emma, _so much_ of Emma, wanted to pull away.  She wanted to tell him that she was fine for the hundredth time, wanted to do this alone because she had always, _always_ saved herself.  But maybe this wasn’t about saving.  And maybe she didn’t want to be alone.

So, she didn’t pull away when Killian pulled her close, finally letting the tears spill over where someone else could see them.  Once she started, the grief seemed to well up uncontrollably, gushing out of her like a fierce river of pain.  “I miss her _so_ much.”

“I know, love,” he whispered, and Emma let Killian hold her.

She would grieve, finally, and then she would fight.  Emma had let herself lose track of why she’d taken the darkness on, but she could remember that, now.  She’d wanted to save everyone, and she _had._   And maybe she didn’t need saving, but that didn’t mean she could let the darkness rule her, either.  It had taken advantage of her grief over her mother’s death, had encouraged her to remain isolated and alone.  No longer.  No more.  Emma would fight.

* * *

 

A few minutes after they returned to the shop, Belle’s phone rang.  Being Belle, she put it on speaker when she didn’t recognize the number, and they both leaned in to listen.

“You might want to check on your house, _dearie,_ ” the familiar voice said, and Rumplestiltskin felt fear jackrabbit up his spine.  Just hearing Zelena’s voice was almost enough to send him into another panic attack, and while he was able to push his terror down—barely—he almost didn’t grasp the significance of Zelena calling Belle until it was too late.  “What’s left of it, anyway!”

A giggle, and then a _click_ —Zelena hung up before either of them could react.

Immediately, Belle took his hand, and Rumplestiltskin was ashamed of how comforting her slightest touch was.  _All powerful sorcerer, indeed,_ he scoffed internally, and then his mind finally overcame his emotions.

“The house?” Belle asked worriedly, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to focus.

“Let’s go,” he said, swallowing hard.  “Do you mind if I teleport us?”

She shook her head, clearly worried, and he reached for the still-unfathomable magic at his fingertips.  It barely took a thought to bring them to their front walk, a place instinct had told Rumplestiltskin it was wiser to aim for than anywhere inside the house.  Smoke engulfed them almost immediately, making Rumplestiltskin and Belle both cough, until he used magic to create a smoke-free bubble around them.  A wave of his hand forced enough of the thick black smoke aside so that they could see, but he almost wished he hadn’t.

“Oh, no…” Belle’s voice was haunted, and Rumplestiltskin felt her back up a step without meaning to; the heat was intense from where they were standing; their entire house was caught in an intense, _raging_ , conflagration.  He could feel the flames on his face as they grew larger and larger, stoked by dark magic that was way too far along to stop.

Quickly, Rumplestiltskin teleported them to the street, not wanting to risk Belle anywhere near that fire.  He didn’t have any particular fear of fire—not having set two buildings ablaze himself, both when he didn’t have a magical route of escape—but he still didn’t want to take chances.  Holding Belle tightly by the waist as they landed in the street, he scanned the inferno, watching the threads of Zelena’s magic and working to discover if it _could_ be picked apart.  Ironically, complicated spells were far easier to disassemble; the simple ones, ones that merely called upon a natural element or two with no finesse, were fiercer and often stronger, and much harder to deconstruct.  _Or reverse._

“Can you fix it?” Belle asked, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

“I can put out the fire and stop it from spreading,” he answered heavily.  “But the house…the house is lost.”

He would have to put out the fire if they didn’t want nearby houses to burn down, too; the wind was mild, but a tiny breeze was enough to spread embers.  And Rumplestiltskin _could_ rebuild the house with magic, but that would take a far greater outlay of power than he wanted to use—and would require actually building a new house.  The type of dark magic that had been used to create the flames completely precluded rebuilding the house as it was, which meant that it, and everything inside it was gone.  He could replicate much of it, although that would require him to _remember_ everything that was there…and it still wouldn’t be the same.  Mere desire did not great magic make, and he knew they’d lost most of their belongings, no matter what else happened. 

“Can I help?” Belle asked suddenly, and he turned to meet her blue eyes, recognizing the look.  She hated being helpless, but this wasn’t something he could teach her in a few minutes.

“Next time,” Rumplestiltskin promised.  “I…I have to do this now.”

“All right.”  She nodded quickly, and Rumplestiltskin saw Belle steel herself before stepping away.  They both wanted to hang onto one another at the moment—their home was in flames, with everything they’d built in this world turning to ashes.  _Well, almost everything._   Even through the thick smoke, Rumplestiltskin could sense his pair of fire-prevention spells still working.  Most of his wards had crumbled when he’d ceased to be the Dark One, and in the confusion of the past weeks, he hadn’t thought to recreate them.  Yet those two spells held firm, and would continue to do so if he could put the rest of the fire out.

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin strode forward a half-dozen steps, raising his hands and centering himself.  Sirens wailed in the distance, finally coming to stop the fire, but as much as Rumplestiltskin wanted to leave this problem to them, he knew that a magical fire would get worse before it got better if they tried to put the blaze out by conventional means.  So, he raised his hands slowly, summoning power—not something foolish like water—and envisioning the way in which the fire _itself_ was built.  After all, physical events weren’t too different from magic; they were each constructed of different elements which could be pried apart to break down the reaction.  One only needed sufficient power to do so.

And, in this case, sufficient magic to overcome the darkness Zelena had infused into her spells.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin had both.  He had wanted to be cautious with his power, had not wanted to dig too deeply until he understood it better, but apparently today was not a day to be conservative.  Letting out a breath, Rumplestiltskin _shaped_ the power he could feel surging eagerly within him, using one hand to smother the chemical reaction of the fire while the other employed light magic to counter the dark magic Zelena had used to set the blaze.  Nothing happened at first, so he dug deeper, feeling the air around him tremble.  One moment.  Two.  Power rushed through him, pure and clean, strong enough to take his breath away.  Chills ran up his arms immediately, and even though Rumplestiltskin heard brakes squealing as the fire trucks stopped behind him, he ignored it.

He could _feel_ the fire dying.  Slowly, he absorbed the magic Zelena had used—she’d tried to be clever and make it something that even he couldn’t dismantle; so long as the power was in the air, it would seek a new target to burn.  But Rumplestiltskin quickly realized that by pulling it inside himself, _his_ magic would wipe it clean, stripping the dark purpose away like it was straining impurities out of water.  The process was a little uncomfortable, but his power shielded him from the worst of it, and Rumplestiltskin let the spell roll through him as he pulled it free of the fire.  Then he finished the job of breaking down the actual flames, watching in his mind’s eye as the fire became embers, and then the embers turned to ash.

The smoke cleared last; he hadn’t needed to _see_ to know what he was doing, so Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother with it until he was done.  Besides, he really didn’t want to see the ruins of the home he’d lived in for 30 years.  He might not have chosen it, but that big pink house had become more his home than the Dark Castle had ever been.  _It was home because I had someone to share it with,_ he knew, glancing over his shoulder at his wife.

Belle, pale and stricken, looked at the burned out frame of their home with a sadness that dwarfed Rumplestiltskin’s own.  Aside from the library—which had long been protected against fire to keep Belle’s precious books safe—and the cellar where Rumplestiltskin did magic, the house could barely be called ruins.  Zelena had done her work well, and a magical fire always burned hotter than a natural one.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, coming to his side.

He was still shivering, Rumplestiltskin realized.  _Too much power?_ He wasn’t sure.  Shoehorning an original power into a now-purely human body did not come without a price, and he was both exhausted and full of energy.  Still, he could have gone six rounds with a dragon if he needed to, so he shrugged.  “Yes.”

“It’s all gone,” Belle whispered, and Rumplestiltskin wrapped an arm around her as firefighters cautiously approached the quietly steaming wreckage.

“I’m sorry.”  Now wasn’t the time to dwell on what was left.  Belle could see that as well as he could.  “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”  Belle snuggled into his embrace, and Rumplestiltskin felt arms wrap around his midsection.  They held onto one another in silence for a long moment until he heard his wife suck in a shuddering breath.  “It’s just…there were so many memories here.  Not all of them were good, but…”

“But they were ours,” he finished for her.  Belle’s head moved against his chest in a nod, and Rumplestiltskin bent to kiss her hair. 

“Well.  I guess we can dwell on that or we can look at this as a sign that we should move on.  Maybe a new start really is what we need, a new start for a new life without the darkness.”  The only semi-forced optimism in her voice made Rumplestiltskin smile.

“You are truly amazing,” he said wonderingly.

Belle looked up at him.  “Why?”

“Anyone else would weep and wail for what they have lost.  You find the silver lining, and I love you for it.”

“Only for that?” Belle’s smile turned cheeky, and it could almost hide the grief in her eyes.

“For many reasons,” Rumplestiltskin assured her, and then pulled her close once more.

It was a good thing that they already had another ready-made house to move into, he reflected.   The Sorcerer’s  House—now theirs, he supposed—was even full of predominately good memories.  They’d spent their honeymoon there, sharing a dance neither of them would ever forget.  Perhaps now that he _wasn’t_ the Dark One they could find a new beginning there like they hadn’t quite found in the house that the curse had given him.

After all, the Sorcerer’s House had already demonstrated a liking for Belle, which at least meant the place had good taste.

* * *

 

Zelena looked thoroughly disgruntled, and Emma was just fine with that.

Finding the Wicked Witch had been ridiculously easy, again.  Even with her new resolve to fight the darkness back, the power that came with being the Dark One was damned useful.  Emma just had to be careful _how_ she used it.  She was, however, beginning to appreciate the way Rumplestiltskin had felt.  The magic was unpredictable and dark, yes.  It had a price that needed to be managed.  Yet she knew that she was still _Emma_ ; she didn’t have to be a monster unless she wanted to be one.  Convincing the darkness of that would be hard, but Emma knew she was strong enough to do it.

“What do _you_ want?” Zelena demanded as soon as she appeared.  Zelena had taken up residence in Gold’s cabin this time, and part of Emma toyed with the idea of telling her predecessor where to find the obnoxious redhead.  _No.  He’d tell Regina, at the very least, and we can’t have that.  Not yet._

Emma might have decided to fight the darkness, but that didn’t mean she was any less angry with Regina.  Now, however, she gave Regina’s sister a cold look.  “I have a job for you to do.”

“I’m not your minion.”

“Do you really want to try that?” Emma raised her eyebrows, having little patience for Zelena’s posturing.  “Don’t tempt me.  I’m already contemplating putting you back in the asylum after that stunt you pulled with Roland.”

Zelena snorted.  “I didn’t hear you complaining when Regina was all in a tizzy.”

“Kidnap another child and you won’t live to hear me complain.”  _Just kill her.  Any child born of that woman doesn’t deserve to breathe, anyway,_ the darkness whispered, and Emma felt what was left of her soul recoil in horror.  Zelena certainly wasn’t worth the oxygen she consumed, but her child was innocent.  _Shut up,_ she told the darkness firmly, only to hear it cackle within her mind.

_Fight me all you want.  You know I’m right. This witch is a useful tool, but once her usefulness has ended, you’ll have to get rid of her.  She knows too much._

“For the Dark One, you’re an awful lot more bark than bite,” was the sneering response.

Quick as lightning, Emma teleported across the cabin, appearing with her hand wrapped around Zelena’s neck.  She slammed her into the wall.  Hard.  “Tell that to Granny,” she said softly, pushing aside the flare of guilt.  Fear was useful.  Fear was _power_. 

Blue eyes narrowed.  “What do you want?”

“I want you to spy on someone for me.”  Emma glared for another moment, and then released Zelena and stepped back.  “Queen Guinevere.  She isn’t what she appears to be, and I want to know why.”

“You want me to spy on some overbred royal?  _Really?_ ”  Watching Zelena be so put out almost made Emma laugh out loud.  “No.  Do you own dirty work.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”  The words came out on their own, but they felt so damn _good_ that Emma didn’t try to stop them.  Nor did she try to stop the magic that lashed out, catching Zelena right in the face.  The witch cried out in pain, too hurt to even counterattack, as Emma just smiled.  She was careful not to hurt Zelena’s child, of course, but Zelena deserved a little punishment.

_Leave her until tomorrow,_ the darkness whispered.  _That will teach even her._ The thought was certainly tempting, but…no.  With an effort, Emma pulled the spell off of Zelena after a minute or two, and waited for the witch to pick herself up off the floor.  Zelena panted heavily in both pain and fury, but Emma only gave her another small smile.  Several moments passed before Zelena seemed coherent enough to respond, but Emma was happy to give her the time.  After all, she _did_ have a job that she wanted Zelena to do.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked calmly.

“This wasn’t part of our original deal,” Zelena complained.

Emma shrugged.  “I’m changing our deal.”

“Then I want something in return!”

“This is hardly a negotiation.”  Emma crossed her arms.  “But now I’m curious.  What is it that you want?  If it’s revenge on Regina, I’m certainly not going to get in your way, provided you leave children out of it and abide by my other restrictions.”

“I want my pet back,” Zelena snarled, and that made Emma blink.  It took her a moment to realize that Zelena wasn’t talking about Walsh or some flying monkey.  No, she was talking about Rumplestiltskin, wasn’t she? 

_Kill her!_ the darkness demanded, making Emma blink.  Apparently the Dark One hadn’t enjoyed being controlled by Zelena, either—a fact Emma was definitely going to keep in mind.  _I am not going to lose the dagger,_ she told herself firmly, ignoring the darkness’ increasingly adamant insistence that Zelena needed to die.  _I saw enough to know how dangerous that is, and when my mother—_

_Don’t think of that._   That way lay pain, and Emma pushed the thought aside.

“How nice for you,” she said drolly, mostly to distract herself.

“Well?” Zelena snapped.

“Well, what?  If you want to poke that particular tiger, go ahead.  I won’t stop you.”  Emma snorted.  “I might watch and laugh, though.”

But she chose not to tell Zelena that Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, even when Zelena asked about his magic.  Again, Zelena would prove a useful distraction, keeping eyes off of Emma and letting her get about the business of figuring out exactly what Guinevere was up to.  She had no personal grudge against her predecessor.  He _had_ proven helpful, more than once, after all.  Still, she also knew that he could hold his own if Zelena was dumb enough to go after him a second time.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to be against Emma at the moment, but she wasn’t going to object if Zelena wanted to keep the Sorcerer’s attention well away from Emma.

The longer Storybrooke assumed she was simply brooding and grieving, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on the last chapter—I know reading an alternate season of the current one isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and I really appreciate that you’re all still here with me.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Seven—“The Stories People Tell”, where Killian and Mordred make plans, Morgan realizes where her mystery descendants must come from, Belle and Rumplestiltskin deal with the fallout of losing their home, and Henry conspires to bring his mothers together.


	27. The Stories People Tell

Emma seemed to be doing better, today.  Killian even wanted to believe that she might listen to his advice and let her family back in, but he’d also woken in the middle of the night to find her making dreamcatcher after dreamcatcher, staring blankly out the window and muttering to herself.  And yesterday he’d heard about the four statues she’d made out of people, one of whom had been her friend.  Even if she was trying, he knew that she still wasn’t _Emma_ , and he’d promised himself—as well as her!—to save the woman he loved.  So, he knew that he was doing the right thing in seeking Mordred out.  He might be reluctant to trust his uncle, but if the man could do what he said he could…

“The trap I am building will merely incapacitate her,” Mordred explained as he and Killian spoke in castle’s empty prescence chamber.  “It will allow us to take her to the Vault of the Dark One without her resisting.”

“Why build an elaborate trap for that?”  Something sounded a little off in the explanation.

“Because she has to be conscious in order for me to summon the dagger using her,” was the simple answer.  “But containing a conscious—and resisting—Dark One is nearly impossible.  I _do_ have a spell that will allow me to summon the dagger, assuming she doesn’t have it on her person, but she must be conscious.”

“That sounds...unpleasant.”  _And I shouldn’t be doing this behind her back, but I_ know _that she’ll say no._ The guilt was almost crippling.  _Emma truly thinks she’s better like this, but she is so very wrong._

“It will be very hard on her.”  Mordred frowned.  “I won’t lie to you about that.  But the Vault of the Dark One is the only place that can contain the darkness.”

Suspicion prickled on the edge of his mind.  “If it can do the job so well, why has no one ever done this before?”

“Most sorcerers don’t have the power.  And Merlin…Merlin was a coward.  He claimed to _love_ the woman he had turned into the Dark One, and listened to her.”

“I thought he killed the first Dark One.”

Mordred snorted bitterly.  “Oh, he certainly did.  But the old bastard waited until it was far too late and she was too far gone.”

There was something deeply personal there, emotion that echoed Killian’s own feelings for Emma.  “Who was she?” he asked quietly.  “She meant something to you, too.”

“She was my best friend.”  Mordred looked away.  “Merlin said she volunteered.  I never believed him.”

“I’m sorry.”  For the first time, Killian truly felt a kinship for this uncle he’d never known he had.  Yet they had a surprising amount in common, didn’t they?  Mordred had spent his lifetime looking for a way to rid the world of the Dark One.  Killian had done much the same, albeit for supposedly less altruistic reasons.  _Then again, if he was trying to avenge a friend, how different is that from what I sought to do?_

“It is the past,” his uncle replied hoarsely, shaking his head. 

“Aye.”  They stood in companionable silence for a moment, and finally, Killian nodded.  “I can bring her to your trap.  I’ll do whatever it takes to save her.”

“And I will do whatever it takes to rid the world of that menace.”

Nodding—as he tried to banish the sick feeling of betraying Emma—Killian turned to go, until Mordred’s sudden question made him stop. 

“The boy—her son.  He isn’t yours, is he?”

“No.  He…his father’s dead.”  _And I don’t think Baelfire would approve of my methods, but he isn’t here,_ Killian didn’t say.  Bae had always been a bit of an idealist, for all his bitterness.  But he was the only one who would probably have hated Emma becoming the Dark One even more than Killian did, so perhaps he would have understood.

Mordred merely nodded, and Killian left before he could start hating himself any more.  _I’m doing this for Emma.  I’ve got to save her._

_Before it’s too late._

* * *

 

Watching Killian gave Morgan a new purpose, so she went back to her original spell work that had determined she had three descendants in Storybrooke.  Six times she had done the spell, and six times the answer had been the same.  She had _three_ descendants in this town, impossible though that was to believe.

Somehow, blood magic always seemed to be present at the most significant moments of Morgan’s life.   She didn’t like it much, as a practice, finding it a sloppy way to create an easy and supposedly impenetrable magical ward.  She’d only ever used it to guard her books of prophecies aftershe’d been _certain_ that she knew of all of her possible descendants, but now she discovered that her initial instincts were entirely too correct.  Mordred had confirmed that the boy who had gone to Camelot with Killian was _not_ Killian’s son, which meant that either the boy—whose actual father was deceased—was her descendant, or Killian had had enough contact with the book that it had opened.

There was, however, another possibility.  Morgan was aware who Henry Mills’ biological mother was; she had been careful to research family connections and keep an eye on Storybrooke’s notable personalities.  Still, she hadn’t done that out of any expectation that any of them could ever be related to her.  Until this mystery had presented itself, _two_ descendants which she had not been aware of, Morgan had only watched out of self-interest and a healthy amount of caution.  Now, however…now she had to face the fact that she might indeed have descendants from the Enchanted Forest.

Oh, she had always known it was possible.  She had left her crystal cave twice to continue her old battle against the Black Fairy, and the last time had resulted in a child.  Then, after taking the Heart of the Truest Believer from a child in order to help Reul Ghorm—ungrateful, condescending, and holier-than-thou—she had tried to bury her guilt in a bottle.  Or, several bottles.  After finding herself pregnant, Morgan had been forced to use magic in order to discover the circumstances of the child’s conception.  Even now, three hundred years later, she didn’t much like to remember what had happened, even though much of it had been her own fault.

Blind drunk, Morgan had found herself in the bed of Hamelin’s local trickster, con artist, and thief.  The town had been deep in the Frontlands, and Morgan would never have been there if the young Truest Believer hadn’t been from the next town over, but she’d looked for a place to erase her misery, and she’d ended up gaining a child.  One she couldn’t keep.

Despite the circumstances of his conception, she had hoped that the child would inherit her own magic, but once he had been born, Morgan had known that he was fully human.  She had been called ‘le Fae’ because of her own half-faery blood, but this child—unlike Mordred, who had inherited her blood (as well as that of Arthur, who was half fairy himself)—was fully human.  And, more importantly, he was completely non-magical…which meant he would not be able to survive at all in the magic-laden crystal cave that Morgan and her companions resided in.  She had already expended as much power as she dared in allowing Accolon, who had only a touch of magic, to stay, and Morgan had still been barely able to shield him from the effects of the cave.  Had she tried to keep her infant son there, the child would have died.

So, she had brought the boy to his father, hoping that being responsible for a child would straighten out the reprobate she had drunkenly slept with.  She had checked on him once, against her best judgement, but Morgan had never allowed herself to go back.  And she had known, been absolutely _certain_ , that any child or grandchild that son had had would be long dead by now.  Three centuries had passed.  Without magic—which her youngest child had been born without—there was no way that there should be any descendant of that son still alive.  Yet Killian had told Mordred that his brother had died without issue and he had no children of his own.

But that was the only answer.

Agravaine had died as a child.  So had Viviane.   Gwaine had two sons, Liam and Killian, neither of which had children of their own.  Mordred had never married, never had children.  And Morgan’s spell had been very specific, which left only one possibility.  The son she had abandoned must have had children, and two of his descendants were here.

Sitting back in her chair, Morgan stared out the window.  It was possible that young Henry Mills was her grandson or great-grandson.  She needed to find out who his father had been.  Yet if Henry was of her bloodline, who was the other?  She was inclined to believe that the boy was, yet she knew the boy had no siblings.  And his mother’s line was clearly not related to Morgan.  _I must find these answers_ before _Mordred acts.  Otherwise…there is no telling what might happen._

* * *

 

They had spent the night at Granny’s because Ruby insisted, practically dragging the pair to the inn and refusing to accept no for an answer.  Rumplestiltskin knew that Ruby cared for Belle, and while he was touched that the owner of the bed and breakfast wanted to look out for his wife, he certainly hadn’t expected Ruby to extend that same care towards _him_.  But Belle’s friend had clucked over him almost as much as she had over Belle, refusing to accept payment for the room no matter how much he argued with her.  Truth be told, he’d argued less than he’d meant to, but after watching their home go up in flames, Rumplestiltskin was a bit numb with shock.

By morning, however, he was even more flummoxed.  Never in his life had he had someone reach out to him in a time of need.  He knew what to do when people wanted to kick you when you were down, and he knew what to do with people who ignored your pain because you weren’t _good_ enough to deserve to hurt.  But kindness…kindness wasn’t something he was used to.

“Rumple?” Belle asked as they slid into a booth in the diner for breakfast.  He’d been able to give them each new clothes with magic, but no one knew better than Rumplestiltskin that magically-created clothes (even ones that used actual clothing as a basis, so that they couldn’t be vanished with a counterspell) were not a long term solution.  Still, he’d refused to show up in the diner looking like homeless refugees, which meant the Golds were as immaculately turned out as usual, with Rumplestiltskin in a dark blue suit and Belle in a white shirt and maroon skirt.

“Yeah?”  Blinking, he turned to notice that Belle had slipped in beside him instead of sitting across from him, but he didn’t ask why.  Rumplestiltskin relished the closeness, too.

Her eyes were full of concern.  “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.”  The answer was automatic.  They’d functioned quite normally so far, after all—but innate honesty reared its head, and Rumplestiltskin let out a breath to continue quietly.  “I’m just not…used to this.”

“To what?”  Belle cocked her head.

“People wanting to… _help_.”

“Wha— _oh_.”  Comprehension, or at least partial-comprehension, flashed across her face.  Belle reached up to touch his cheek, her fingers tangling gently in his hair while Rumplestiltskin leaned into her touch.  “Someday,” she whispered, “you’re going to tell me about your old life.  Before you were the Dark One.  Maybe then I’ll be able to understand you better.”

“Someday.”  It was a hesitant promise, but a promise all the same, and Belle clearly knew that.

“Here you go,” a new voice interjected, and steaming plates of eggs, bacon, and potatoes landed in front of them as Rumplestiltskin looked up at Ruby.  She gave him a fierce glower.  “No arguing about this, either, Mister.  Breakfast is on the house.”

Her bossy tone made him blink.  _No one_ had dared talk to Rumplestiltskin like that when he was the Dark One—except Belle, who could say anything to him.  Even if someone had been so foolish, there never, ever, would have been the undertone of affection Ruby had just directed his way.  That undertone was what made Rumplestiltskin just stare at Ruby stupidly, wide-eyed and horribly lost.

“Thank you, Ruby.”  Fortunately, Belle was far better at social interactions than he, and she smiled as she patted Rumplestiltskin’s arm.  “He’ll behave.  Won’t you, Rumple?”

He felt like someone had hit him between the eyes with a hammer.  “Uh…of course.  Yes.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.”  Ruby’s answering smile, interestingly enough, was still friendly.  Then she headed back towards the bar, yelling cheerfully at one of the patrons not to drink _all_ of her coffee just yet.

Dazed, Rumplestiltskin watched her go, still trying to wrap his mind around this strange feeling of _belonging._   All of his life, he’d been a man of extremes.  Whether as the town monster or the village coward, he’d always been an outsider.  People had avoided him in fear or spat on him in contempt.  Never, even as a child—when he had been ostracized because of his father’s reputation—had Rumplestiltskin belonged.  Belle had become a part of Storybrooke because of her good heart and giving nature, but he had always stood apart.  Once, Rumplestiltskin had thought he might fit in, just a little.  When they’d returned from Neverland, he’d _almost_ been a part of the family, yet his own death, and then his son’s, had ruptured that link forever.

Until now.  Suddenly, he wasn’t a monster.  He was just a man—one whom people weren’t even shrinking away from in fear.  Emma’s actions as the Dark One seemed to have bought him far more understanding than he expected, though the fact that he’d been the one to turn August and the others back from being stone statues probably hadn’t hurt on that front.  The people in the diner respected his power, but somehow, they no longer _feared_ him.  And that was unexpectedly nice.

“You should eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”  Belle elbowed him gently to get his attention, and Rumplestiltskin smiled sheepishly.

“I guess I should.”

Her glowing smile warmed his heart, and Rumplestiltskin was quite certain that Belle’s love was slowly filling up the still-blank parts of him.  He hadn’t checked his heart since he’d reacquired magic, but instinct told him he was right.  He certainly _felt_ less empty these days, felt more like a man he might actually someday grow to like.  That, he was positive, was Belle’s doing.  _You make me want to go back to the best version of me,_ he had told her once.  That was truer now than ever.

They ate in companionable silence, relishing the warmth of one another’s presence.  It was a nice beginning to what Rumplestiltskin knew would be an ugly day; they had to go out to the burned remnants of their home and rescue what they could, before deciding if they were indeed going to move into the lakeside mansion that everyone simply called ‘the Sorcerer’s House’.  The other option was to rebuild where the old house had been, but neither was eager to do that.  Not really, anyway.  Still, sifting through the rubble was not going to be fun.

Rumplestiltskin’s musings were interrupted when Leroy slid into booth across from them.

“So, you guys gonna go out and deal with that mess today?” The dwarf smiled cheerfully, which made the old, dark, part of Rumplestiltskin want to turn him into a garden gnome.  _Not a snail.  Snails don’t look like that._

Fortunately, Belle spoke up before he could give into that (admittedly not very strong) urge.  “After breakfast.  The firefighters wanted us to stay away until today, just in case the fire reignited.”

“Sounds a little paranoid when they’re not the ones who put the fire out, if you ask me.”  Leroy glanced at Rumplestiltskin.  “Wasn’t it some sort of magical fire, anyway?”

“It was.  But Belle convinced me to humor them.”  He shrugged.  “Besides, I didn’t much relish the idea of picking through the wreckage in the dark.”

“You want some help with that?  Me and the boys can head down.  Doc’ll stay here and help Ruby, but a few of the Camelot folks have started work, and we’ve got the time.”

Yet again, the unexpected—and unasked for—kindness stunned Rumplestiltskin, and all he could do was stare as Belle gave Leroy a glowing smile.

“We’ve be grateful.”  She glanced his way, giving him a discreet elbow when he was too shocked to find his voice.  “Wouldn’t we, Rumple?”

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin had to clear his throat.  “Yes, we would.”

* * *

 

“Percival says that her name is ‘Belle’,” Arthur said with a sigh, sinking into a chair. 

His wife studied him critically; Arthur looked much less alien now that she’d convinced him to stop wearing armor and dress in modern clothing; although she was a traditionalist at heart, thirty years in Storybrooke had given her an appreciation for modern technology and clothing.  Her husband had resisted, of course—he felt he had an image to keep up—yet she’d finally won him over.  Along with most of the knights who had survived Mordred’s purges and Camelot’s fall.

“Does he know anything about her background?”

Unfortunately, she had not ever bothered to learn much about the town librarian; oh, ‘Guinevere’ knew what the rest of the town knew, but not much more.  Belle Gold was supposedly the florist’s daughter and had been locked in the asylum during the first curse.  Her father had been a minor lord or knight in the Enchanted Forest, yet this Belle seemed to spend very little time with him these days.  Instead, she had chosen to marry the now-former Dark One.  Who rumor said she had also forced from town prior to the darkness’ attempt to consume him.

_Yet the fact that she was locked in the asylum really means that she could be_ anyone.  _Magic can do much to change peoples’ memories,_ she thought, folding her hands as patiently as she could.  Arthur, on the other hand, stood up to start pacing again.

“She has family here.  A father,” he growled.  “But it doesn’t make _sense_.  She looks just like Colette should.”

“She does, yes.”

“Don’t just _sit_ there, Gwen.  We have to do something.  Our daughter is missing!”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, darling.”  She sighed heavily, working to rein her impatience back.  “You know it isn’t my name.”

_Some mere queen of Camelot would not have been able to overcome the Dark One, and the woman these people_ think _I am would certainly not have enjoyed it as much as I did._   That thought brought a wry smile to her face, but Arthur’s thunderous scowl told her that now was not the time to share her amusement with her dear husband.  He’d only get touchy, and a touchy Arthur was much harder to manage.

He snorted.  “What, you’ve decided to give up on the fiction already?”

“Hardly.”  There were times when this human she had decided to bring into her plans was truly tiresome, but had she not, he would likely still be thinking _small_ , seeking to search out the Dark One’s dagger, just so he could kill Merlin and ‘complete Excalibur’.  _Such small goals._

“Can we focus on finding our daughter instead of your grand plans?” he demanded. 

“They’re your plans as well.  Unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

Arthur’s scowl deepened.  “Of course I haven’t.”

“Good.”  Standing, she stepped over to face Arthur, reaching out to touch his face.  She really was terribly fond of him, although she’d never expected to be when she’d decided to take a human girl’s place and wed Camelot’s future king.  “I think we have to face the possibility that our daughter is not here.”

“She _has_ to be.  Lancelot—”

“Took her to the Enchanted Forest through that time portal your sister created.  And then your son spent centuries trying to kill her.   Are you so certain he didn’t succeed?” Even she couldn’t keep her calm, now; she had only ever had one child, and Colette had been stolen from them at barely ten years old.

“Morgan says he didn’t.”

“Morgan says,” she mocked him.  “Your _sister_ would be happy to murder any child of mine.”

“Can’t you do something to find out?  Magic, or something?”  Arthur looked truly anguished, and she realized that she needed to tread more gently.  He would grieve before seeking revenge, but _she_ would skip straight to destroying whoever had slain their child.  Yet Arthur was one of the most cold-blooded and driven human men she had ever known; even Merlin had quailed at Arthur’s methods, for all Merlin had chosen him.  _Yet I am the one who guides him now, old friend,_ she thought without a smile.  _I believe I won._

“Of course I can.  If Colette is here, I will find her.”  Touching his face again, she smiled gently.  “Did you ever think I would not?”

“Not truly.  I’m simply worried.”  Arthur swallowed.  “If Lancelot hurt her…”

“If _anyone_ hurt her, we will destroy them utterly,” she promised, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss.  “Now, leave the magic to me, my love.  You continue our work in Storybrooke.”

* * *

 

“You two need to talk,” Henry told his mother, who merely crossed her arms and gave him what he’d always thought of as The Look.

“And are you going to tie Emma down for that talk?” Regina snorted.  “Trust me, that won’t be easy now that she’s the Dark One.  And I’m _not_ going to risk her turning you into a statue.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me, Mom.”  Henry was certain of _that_ , even if he was increasingly wary of what else Emma might do. 

“No, but she doesn’t want to talk to me, either.” 

“I know.  She’s still mad at you because you didn’t let her kill Arthur and because you yelled at her.”  As far as Henry was concerned, those were really _stupid_ reasons for Emma to be angry at Regina, but he knew from talking to Hook that Emma was still fuming.  But then, he really was coming to understand how unpredictable a Dark One could be—and how easy it was for his mom to turn to anger.  _She’s got all that darkness living inside her. It’s got to be hard._

_And doing it alone only makes it harder.  We’ve_ got _to find a way to bring her back into the family, otherwise she’s only going to get worse._   The quickest way Henry could think of to do that was to mend the rift between Emma and Regina, but in order for his plan to work, he had to have at least _one_ of them cooperating.  And Regina would be a _lot_ easier to convince.

“I don’t give a damn about Arthur!” Regina snarled, starting to pace.  “I stopped her for her own good, not because I care what happens to some two-bit egotistical monarch from Camelot.  I still can’t believe she’s angry at me for that.”

“You held grudges for just as stupid reasons,” Henry pointed out, feeling a pang of loss for his grandmother. 

The same thought obviously occurred to Regina, because she stopped pacing and sighed.  Pain creased her face, making her look far older than she was.  “Do you have an idea in mind?”

“Yeah.  Grandpa Gold helped me come up with it.”  Despite the fierce way he missed his grandmother, Henry had to smile.  Being able to conspire with his dad’s dad was _fun_ , particularly now that Rumplestiltskin’s clever and twisted mind could be turned to good purposes.

Regina groaned.  “I’m not going to like this one bit, am I?”

* * *

 

Mordred had contemplated asking Killian to distract the Dark One, but in the end, he’d decided that was a fool’s errand.  His nephew still didn’t want to believe the worst of the woman he loved, despite the fact that that it was obvious that—to Mordred’s experienced eye—the Dark One was gaining more and more control each day.  So, instead he waited for the pair to leave, and then quickly set about disassembling the protection spell on the front door.

That took more work than he wanted to admit, as Mordred only wanted to dismantle it temporarily and not utterly destroy the spell.  He didn’t want the Dark One to realize he’d been there, after all.  He wasn’t interested in tipping his hand so soon.  So, he took the necessary ten minutes to create a temporary _blip_ in the spell that he could step through, certain that even if the Dark One realized someone had been in, she would not be able to identify _who_ had broken into her home.  Particularly not now, while she was off on Killian’s ship as Killian tried to help her find a little bit of peace. 

“I know you’re in here, cat,” he called without closing the door. 

Mordred waited a few moments, listening.  He could use a spell to find the elusive feline, but the more magic he used inside the Dark One’s home, the more likely he was to be pinpointed as the source.  So, he let a minute tick by, and then two.  Cats were experts at moving quickly and quietly, and he was almost certain that this one was watching him from somewhere.

“Believe me when I say that I’m the only one who might possibly help you.”  Mordred cocked his head, stretching out and _feeling_ for the dark magic that surrounded the cat.  It was close, but he couldn’t quite feel where.  “Unless you prefer to take your chances with the Dark One.”

Smiling, Mordred looked down into the angry eyes of a red tortoiseshell cat.

“That’s what I thought.”

Bending to pick the unresisting cat up, Mordred stepped out the door and teleported them both away the moment it closed behind him.

* * *

 

“This is nice,” Emma said quietly.  The _Jolly Roger_ hadn’t needed to go far to help her feel a little bit more normal, but now that they were in the harbor, she understood why Killian had been so keen on getting away.  She turned to smile at him.  “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, love.”  Killian looked worried, though, and Emma frowned.

“What is it?”

He looked away for a moment.  “You didn’t tell me about the people you turned into statues.”

_That._   Emma shrugged.  “It didn’t seem important at the time.”

“ _Emma._ ”  The recrimination in his voice was clear, and she sighed.  “You know that’s wrong.”

“I know,” she admitted.  “It’s just hard to _remember_.  And it’s even harder to care.  I think…I think I just need someone to remind me of that.”

“Perhaps the first step will be stop running around by yourself like that.”  Had his arms not wrapped around her so gently, Emma might have been offended, but the embrace was so welcome that she made herself listen.  “If you can’t trust yourself, perhaps you can trust me.”

_He’ll abuse that trust,_ the darkness whispered, but Emma swatted it aside.  Or tried to.  _They all do,_ the voice persisted.  _You’ll love him, and he’ll leave you.  Maybe he’ll only banish you, or maybe he’ll fulfill his greatest wish and just_ kill _you._

“And what should I trust you to do?” she asked, spinning around in his embrace and grabbing for the quickest way she knew to silence that nagging voice—through desire.  Emma batted her eyes and looked up at Killian, rubbing her body against his.

“Let’s start with not letting you change the subject through seduction,” he replied throatily, but he did bend his head to kiss her lightly.

That kiss was a promise of more, and it helped Emma beat the voice back.  For a moment.  “But it’s so much more _fun_.”

“Aye, but then we’d forget what we were talking about.”  Killian gave her a smile, but Emma could sense the worried undercurrents, so she sighed.

_Later,_ she promised the darkness.  She could feel it coiling within her, could feel it pushing for release, but Emma managed to push the feeling back.  _I’ll pay for that later,_ she knew, but for now, she wanted to be Emma.  Not the Dark One.

“I know.” She sighed.  “I know I’ve been different.  I know I’m not… _good_ anymore.  But I’m not doing this for no reason.”

_Let them all think I have some grand plan,_ Emma decided.  They didn’t have to know that she was making things up as she went along, because now she was _did_ have a plan.  She had a purpose.  That had been what she’d been missing, Emma realized.  She needed purpose in order to keep the darkness in check.  Then she would be all right.

_You can have it all, you know,_ the darkness whispered.  _Find a reason to make Guinevere out to be evil; that shouldn’t be hard.  Then, when you kill her to ‘keep Storybrooke safe’, you can have revenge on Arthur_ and _keep your family._ Emma knew she would have to be careful, but the darkness was right.  She could have everything.

“Sharing that reasoning would help us understand.”  Somehow, Killian managed to saw those words without sounding like he was trying to blame her, for which Emma was very grateful—if his words had been accusing, she wasn’t sure how she might have reacted.

“I will,” she promised.  “Just…not yet.”

“Then when, love?”

“Soon.”  Emma just buried her face in his chest and tried to will the darkness back.  

* * *

 

Her library had survived.  Or the books had, anyway.

Belle felt enormously guilty for being so grateful for that, but amid the wild grief whipping through her, that was the one high point.  Their entire home, full of memories, their belongings, and their _lives_ , had been destroyed, but Belle knew better than most that a life could be rebuilt.  New books could be bought, too, but the books that had come over from the Enchanted Forest, from the very first library Rumple had given her, were now irreplaceable.  They lay in a pile on the east end of the burned up rubble, having fallen there when the room around them and the shelves they’d been on burned away, but each individual book had been fireproofed.

“I’m so glad that you were paranoid enough to fireproof the books,” Belle said softly as they picked their way across what was left of their home, squeezing her husband’s hand.

He gave her a wan smile.  “After you lit the kitchen on fire the second time, I thought it prudent.”

“Not funny.”  But her glare was half-hearted.  “Besides, I know you only fireproofed the cellar because you’re something of a mad scientist, only with magic.  _I_ remember you blowing up your tower more than once.”

“Semantics.”  His scoff was worthy of the sparkly, scaly-skinned Dark One he’d once been, and Belle found herself smiling back. 

Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin had fireproofed the cellar, too and although Belle knew he would deny having done so to protect the rest of the house from any magical accidents, the unintended benefit of those protection spells had kept Rumplestiltskin’s magical haven from burning up, as well.   _And those spells protected the spinning wheel he’s still too traumatized to use,_ she knew.  But Belle didn’t mention that.  Spinning was still a touchy subject, much though she hoped he would eventually return to his old hobby.

Taking a deep breath, Belle tore her mind away from such thoughts.  “So, shall we start finding everything salvageable?”

“I see no reason to wait.”  Rumplestiltskin glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the group that had accompanied them.  Leroy had been true to his word and had rounded up several dwarves, but Jefferson and Dr. Whale had shown up to help, too.  Belle knew that they had both been friendly acquaintances of Rumplestiltskin’s in the old world.  August, Frederick, and Kathryn had arrived a few minutes ago, along with a few people who Belle barely knew.  Ruby had promised to come by later, even though her kindness from that morning and the night before had thrown Rumplestiltskin for a loop.

Sometimes, Belle forgot how different her husband’s early life had been from her own.  He rarely spoke of it; most of what she knew were from hints had dropped here and there, but Belle had really started to realize that he wasn’t used to people being _kind_ to him.  He still seemed utterly mystified that people would actually _want_ to help them, so she just squeezed his hand again.  Back when he was the Dark One, she knew he would have made some quip about not wanting people to paw through his stuff, but now he just gave her a self-conscious shrug. 

“I’ll start with the books if you want to start with the cellar,” she offered.

“The cellar can wait.  I’ll put a few spells on it to keep fools out, but everything there will have survived just fine.”  Belle followed his gaze, noting that the wooden doors to the cellar were still actually intact, although the white paint on them was bubbled from the heat where it hadn’t been completely burned away.  Her husband gestured vaguely to the right.  “I’ll start over there since you’re starting with the books.”

“Do you still want to just crate everything up?”

“Dove should be here with crates soon, yes.”  His eyes grew vaguely unfocused.  “It’ll be easier to move everything later if it’s in one place, even if I have to use magic.”

“Papa already said that we can use his truck.”  Belle had called her father the night before. 

“Let’s see if we have enough to bother, first.”  Rumplestiltskin headed across the wreckage to the right, to where their more personal belongings probably were.  Their bedroom _had_ been over there, and Belle knew from reading the internet the night before that strange and unexpected things often survived fires. 

Steeling herself, Belle headed over towards the haphazard piles of books.  Some were buried under debris while others sat on top of their burned-out bookcases, looking strangely pristine amongst the destruction.  As she picked her way across what had been the parlor and through a still-standing doorway, Belle tried to swallow back her grief.  That was smoke making her eyes sting, wasn’t it?  _Do the brave thing and bravery will follow,_ she told herself firmly.  She and Rumple were both safe; they were together and they could rebuild.  That was what mattered.

Leroy, Doc, and Jefferson came over to help her as she started picking books up, helping her put them in the crates that Dove brought over.  They worked in silence, because there really wasn’t anything that could be said to make things better.  Even though they had somewhere else to go, a ready-made home in which to make a fresh start, nothing could lessen the heavy feeling of having lost their first home.  The pink mansion had been the first real place of safety Belle had come to after the curse; Rumple had brought her here and helped her learn about the Land Without Magic, with all its strange technologies and frightening contraptions.  Here, they had spent the early days of their love together.  There had been fights and misunderstandings, loneliness and heartbreak, but this had been _home_.

Belle blinked harder, forcing the tears aside.  Everything would be fine.  She would make sure of that.

“You okay, sister?” Leroy asked, his voice far gentler than usual.

“I’m fine,” Belle sniffed.  “It’s just…”

“Hey, it’s gonna be hard.”  His calloused hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed.  “But you’ve got lots of friends, and we’ll help you find that green bitch, too.”

For once, Belle didn’t feel like trying to be kind to Zelena.  _“Green bitch,” indeed._ She managed a smile.  “Thanks, Leroy.”

“You’d do the same for us.”  Another squeeze of her shoulder, and then Leroy bent to pick up an armful of books.  “But _geez_ , these books are heavy.  You’re going to owe us dinner or something in your new place.  Maybe call it a housewarming party or something.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”  Then Belle giggled, thinking of how her husband would react to having that many people in their house. “Rumple will _hate_ it, but we’ll definitely invite you over.”

“He seems a lot nicer these—”

A sharp cry of pain cut Leroy off, and Belle suddenly felt something _sizzle_ up her spine, a feeling of darkness that was almost magnetic.  A cold hand of fear tightened around her heart before Belle could even whirl around, and she knew what she was going to see before she turned.  Belle started running before she even saw her husband falling—but falling Rumple was, and he crumbled to the ground before Belle could struggle her way across the wreckage to him. 

_“No!_ ” 

Aside from that first cry, Rumplestiltskin had fallen silent, but Belle could feel the dark magic working on him.  For a moment, Belle could _see_ the magic crackling over him, too, but once she focused on it, the magic seemed to vanish.  Stumbling and tripping over rafters and broken furniture made her rush to his side seem to take forever, but finally Belle was able to throw herself to her knees at his side.

“Rumple?”  She reached for him desperately, but a vicious spark shot out when she made to touch his shoulders, throwing Belle back.  She landed hard on her behind, her arms flailing wildly for balance.  Belle managed to catch herself before she fell flat on her back, pain shooting up from her palms as she did so.

Gasping, Belle pushed herself upright and looked down at her hands.  Both looked burned and tender, bright red and with the skin already starting to bubble slightly.  Her hands wanted to shake, but Belle refused to let them.  Who cared about slightly burnt hands when Rumple was lying like that on the ground, motionless save for the rhythmic tremors racking his body?  Carefully, Belle crawled back to his side, trying to figure out what in the world was happening. 

“Rumple?”

“Careful, Belle.”  Jefferson had reached her side and was kneeling next to her.  “I’m no sorcerer, but I can see magic all over him.”

“I know.”  Belle swallowed hard.  “I can feel it.” 

“You can?”

Belle nodded distractedly, watching Rumplestiltskin shake and twitch.  He wasn’t moving.  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were open, but they stared blankly at the sky, full of pain that he seemed unable to scream out.  Her heart twisted, pounding like thunder in her ears.  “I can’t just sit here and do _nothing_!”

“Let’s see if we can get him somewhere more comfortable,” Jefferson suggested.  “Take his feet, Victor.”

Belle hadn’t noticed the doctor come up, but Whale appeared on her left just as Jefferson reached out to grab Rumplestiltskin by the shoulders.  Unlike Belle, Jefferson actually managed to touch him, but the same spark ripped out, catching Jefferson square in the chest and throwing him backwards.  Jefferson cried out, sprawling back and gasping for air.  For several moments, he twitched and shuddered in a mirror image of Rumplestiltskin, but then the Hatter came back to himself, struggling upright with Whale’s help.

“Don’t touch him.”  Jefferson wheezed heavily, clutching at his chest.  “That spell— _urgh_ —it’s leeching his magic out.  I didn’t have enough to keep its attention.”

“What about someone without magic?” Whale asked.

“It hurt Belle, too,” Jefferson replied, and Belle didn’t bother to correct him.

Instead, her eyes were riveted on Rumplestiltskin.  So thatwas the magnetism she’d felt, the _pull_ of magic being dragged out.  Focusing on the magic made it harder to see, and even though Belle kept telling herself just to relax and let the magic flow, she found doing so was way harder than she would have expected.  _Magic is emotion,_ she remembered Rumplestiltskin saying a hundred times.  Belle was no expert, despite her ability to find the appropriate spells in books; all of her reading had just told her how much she didn’t know.  But instinct told her that Zelena hadn’t meant for this spell to kill Rumplestiltskin.  No, Zelena wanted him drained of magic so that she could _own_ him again.

“No.”  The growl slipped out before Belle even knew she was speaking.  “I’m not letting her do this.”

“Belle?” Leroy’s hand landed on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. 

“Stand back.  I don’t want anyone hurt by this.”

“By _what_?” Jefferson demanded, and Belle barely glanced his way.

“I don’t have time to explain, but I’m not letting this happen.”  She shifted closer to Rumplestiltskin, not quite touching him yet but preparing herself.

“Be careful,” Leroy said quietly, but he stepped back.  So did the other two, and Belle ignored the dubious glances they exchanged.

Magic was emotion, and True Love was the most powerful magic of all.  Belle knew she couldn’t kiss this problem away; this was no curse.  She had managed to give Rumplestiltskin strength when Merlin’s power had slammed into him with True Love’s kiss, but he had been awake and fighting, then.  No, this needed someone to interpose their magic between Rumplestiltskin and the spell sucking _his_ magic away, just long enough for Rumplestiltskin to get the upper hand.  Belle didn’t think that Zelena’s spell would actually work the way Zelena had designed it, though.  Rumplestiltskin was an original power, and Belle had probably read more about that than even her husband knew.  He _was_ magic, now, which meant that Zelena’s spell _couldn’t_ drain him dry.

Unfortunately, Belle had no idea what it would actually do to him if she let the spell run its course.  And she was _not_ going to wait and find out.  She knew she had magic; Belle only hoped she had enough to do this. 

Slowly, Belle reached out and placed her hands above Rumplestiltskin’s shaking chest.  She didn’t quite touch him, instead letting her hands hover about an inch away as she dug deep into her love for him.  _I have to save him_.  She knew that she had magic, knew that she loved him, and Belle _knew_ she could save him.  Even if she had to risk her life to do so—even if it costher life—Belle would not fail. 

“I love you,” she whispered.  “And I am _not_ losing you.”

White light began to glow beneath her hands, growing brighter and brighter until Belle had to squint to keep looking at Rumplestiltskin.  Little by little, she could feel her power growing, and Belle focused it by sheer force of will, directing her magic between her husband and the spell that was trying to drain him dry. 

A second ticked by.

Belle’s hands started to shake with the effort, but she could _feel_ the cracks forming in Zelena’s magic.  Hate and malice could not overcome love, and Belle’s own magic was shaped by her soul, not the destructive jealousy that Zelena had channeled into this spell.  Yet Belle’s inexperience nearly doomed her, and instead of splitting Zelena’s spell apart, she simply sought to interject herself in between it and Rumplestiltskin—

The magic hit her like a hammer, and Belle barely managed to scream before the spell turned on her, sucking _her_ magic away.  She thought she heard Leroy shouting as she collapsed, but Belle couldn’t quite make out the words.  The relentless pull engulfed her; she was shaking and twitching and unable to make a sound. She knew that her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see.  Everything was dark and pain, and she was stuck in a vortex that pulled her down and down, further away from the man she loved and towards nothingness.  _Is this the price?_ Belle had forgotten to try to manage the price.  She hadn’t known enough of what she was doing, but she would pay whatever price the magic wanted if it saved Rumple.

Suddenly, the darkness tore away from her, and light exploded back into her eyes.

“Belle!”  Arms pulled her up, and she tried to jerk away until she realized that those were Rumple’s arms.  His hands were on her face, and his words were sharp with worry.  “Sweetheart, what were you _thinking_?”

“I wasn’t going to lose you,” she whispered drunkenly.  The world was spinning, and everything _hurt_.

“Oh, Belle.”  He pulled her close, and Belle let herself slump into his shoulder.  Her limbs felt like jelly, and she was so very dizzy.

“Did I save you?”

“Of course you did,” Rumplestiltskin whispered into her hair.  “You foolish, _brilliant_ woman, of course you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for those of you who don’t follow me on tumblr: although I’ll be incorporating pieces of what we know about the Drk One’s creation (as of 5x07) into this story, I’ll also be sticking with the slightly more complicated version of the Dark One’s mythos already presented here—with more details to come.
> 
> Next up is Chapter Twenty-Eight—“Through the Shadows They Wander”, in which Mordred tries to make a deal, Regina and Henry go to visit the Golds, Killian reaches out to David for help with Emma, a cat is transformed, and Emma tries to bring herself back from the edge.


	28. Through the Shadows They Wander

Her stepson—if one could call a mortal enemy that—knocked on her door right as ‘Guinevere’ finished completing the spell she and Arthur had discussed the day before.  She knew who stood on her doorstep before she even stood from the desk in her study, and she contemplated not answering.  There were few words to be said between them that had not already been said; between Mordred’s attempt to kill her and the way she had been indirectly responsible for the deaths of two of his siblings, they were not exactly on good terms.

Still, she had some time before her spell produced results; even an original power could not speed blood magic along.  So, she opened the door with a playful smile on her face.

“I think your magic is sufficiently advanced to tell you that your father is not home, so whatever are you doing visiting me?”

Mordred glared.  “I’d like to come in.”

“I’m sure you’d like _many_ things, dear, but we don’t always get what we want, now, do we?” she purred, enjoying the fury that flashed through his eyes.  Mordred was too self-controlled to really let his anger show, but that meant any indication of his feelings was just that much sweeter. 

“Don’t play games with me, Danns’,” Arthur’s bastard snapped, and his use of her true name made her eyes narrow.

“You have not earned the right to call me that,” she said softly.  Dangerously.  Mordred, of course, had known who she was for some time—the boy had been clever enough to plant Lancelot in her bed, so many years ago, and Arthur’s ‘greatest’ had helped Mordred uncover the truth.  But that did not mean that she had to like it, or accept him addressing her so informally.

Danns’ a'Bhàis had few friends, and even fewer whom she would ever consider her equals.  Mordred was neither.

The ice in her tone was enough to give Mordred pause.  Still, neither of his parents possessed much ability to yield, so Danns’ was far from surprised that he was as stubborn as both of them put together.  “In that case, then, you may just want to talk to me.  Assuming you’d like to keep your identity a secret, that is.”

“And what exactly are you going to tell them?” She snorted.  “Are you going to turn town crier on me and announce that the _terrible_ Black Fairy is amongst them?  They’ll barely shudder.  To these people, the Black Fairy is merely a legend, long since lost in the shadows.  And we both know that my dear sister won’t help you.  She’s had quite enough of you and your mother.”

“And how do you think my _father_ will take the news?” Mordred’s eyes narrowed.

“Your dear father has known for years.  Since before you tried to kill me the first time.”  Danns’ laughed lightly.  “Do you think me that much of a fool?  Arthur knows exactly who and what I am, and he’s _quite_ content with our marriage.”

Mordred’s brown eyes widened ever so slightly, which was, for him, an impressive crack in his normally impassive façade.  Danns’ hated those eyes—they reminded her of Morgan—but she enjoyed watching her enemy reeling.  And he was.  _That means it’s time to invite him in,_ she thought, smiling again.

“Do come in, though, since you’re so insistent.”  She even stepped back invitingly.

“I think I’ll stay outside, thank you.”  Mordred was wary again, and she could feel his magic reacting to his emotions.  Mordred was quite powerful for any sorcerer who identified himself as human (despite being part faery on both sides, which made his magic, much though he disliked it, half-fae), and Danns’ had no desire to pick a fight.  Or at least not one that she couldn’t contain inside her own home, where she was at her strongest.

“It’s such a pity that you’re so welded to your mother.  We might have been great together,” she mused, mostly just to see how he reacted.

“You’re married to my father.”

Danns’ shrugged, keeping her whimsical smile firmly in place.  “Still.  A pity.”  But she’d toyed with him enough; Mordred was a dangerous foe, and not one to be underestimated.  Even if goading him was _so_ much fun.  So, she got down to business.  “What exactly do you want, Mordred?  I doubt you came here exclusively to threaten to expose me.  You want something.”

“I do.”  Cold brown eyes met hers.  “I want to destroy the Dark One.”

“And why would I let you touch my pet?”  She was offended at the very idea.  Danns’ had been rather impressed by Emma Swan; the girl wasn’t as subtle as Danns’, but then again, she didn’t need to be.  Still, she had an impressive grip on her power, when the darkness wasn’t goading her into foolishness, and Danns’ did so enjoy controlling the Dark One.

“Because you don’t need her, and you _do_ want Arthur alive for whatever plans you have.”

“Are you threatening to kill your own father?”

Mordred shrugged.  “I nearly succeeded last time.”

He _would_ kill Arthur, Danns’ knew, and although that would be an irritant—she was found of her husband, after all, and Arthur was rather useful when it came to convincing humans to follow her—she wasn’t prepared to give Mordred that much.  Besides, the fact that he was here, making _that_ offer, told her far more than Mordred wanted her to know.

“You know…” She chuckled softly.  “That’s the first sign of weakness I think I’ve ever seen you show.  Were you not able to get _this_ Sorcerer on your side, either?”

Again, the flash of fury.  The last part had been merely a guess, but Danns’ could see that she was right.  She let him stew for a moment before continuing:

“So, the odds are against you.  If you can give me what I want, I allow you to attempt to destroy the Dark One.  Agreed?”

Mordred’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “What do you want?”

“My daughter.”  The words came out more sharply than she intended, and Danns’ took a deep breath to still her anger.  “Unless you’ve already killed her.”

“I haven’t.  And I don’t know where she is,” he said immediately.  “Besides, what makes you think that I’d kill my own half-sister?”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s either the fact that you attempted to kill her once, or the fact that we both know I had a hand in killing your beloved brother.” 

“And _my_ sister.  Don’t forget her.”

“That was your stepfather’s doing.”  _And there is no proof at all that I encouraged him.  Only Morgan’s suspicions,_ she thought, managing not to smile.  _It is a pity that I could not deal with Nimue in a similar fashion, but at least I_ did _manage to convince her to volunteer when Merlin started searching for the ‘perfect host’ for the darkness.  You would think that his lovers would have learned by then._ Danns’ had never tolerated competition well.

“Let’s not lie to one another,” he growled, and Danns’ shrugged again. 

“Very well.  Since you don’t have what I want, I cannot help you.”

“I gave you my information in good faith.”  Mordred met her eyes fearlessly, and Danns’ decided that he was right.  She should give him something in return.

“Very well.  I will give…one, no _two,_ attempts to destroy the Dark One,” she allowed.  “Because I think we both know that you’ll never manage it on the first try.”  She waved a hand before he could speak.  “Oh, don’t be offended.  We both know that neither you nor your mother know as much about the Dark One as you would like.”

Mordred glared, but in the end, he took her deal.

* * *

 

Regina gave her son a hard look after she put the car in park.  “You know, I’m not sure how happy I am with you hanging around _this_ grandfather.  Particularly if he’s giving you _ideas._ ”

“My idea involved magic-blocking cuffs for both of you,” Henry replied cheekily.  “But Grandpa Gold said you’d like his version better.”

_What kind of manipulative child am I raising?_ Regina wondered.  She’d assumed that Rumplestiltskin’s calculating nature had come from him being the Dark One, but apparently the man knew how to scheme without that curse.  _And it seems to be hereditary, which is just great._ Glaring at Henry got her nowhere, however, because he was already hopping out of the car.  Sighing, Regina followed suit, watching her excited son bound up the steps of the Sorcerer’s House.  She supposed that Henry connecting with Rumplestiltskin had always been inevitable, and at least her son had chosen to do that when Rumple was no longer the Dark One.  _Now he’s the new Sorcerer, but at least he seems to have a moral compass that isn’t solely affixed to Belle._

Granted, Regina couldn’t throw many stones about making bad choices and embracing darkness.  She’d been there, and she was self-honest enough—most of the time—to remember that she’d made her own choices, even if her old mentor had pointed her in that direction.  He might have made her into a monster, but Regina had _let_ him do it.  Back then, she’d been hurt too badly to care what kind of person she was.  Now she was paying the price for that, just like Rumple paid the price for being the Dark One.

But she ran out of time for thoughts when Henry just waltzed through the front doors.  “Henry!  People live here, now.”

“Sorry, Mom.”  The grin Henry wore spoiled the apology, but Regina chose to ignore that, trailing her son into the second library, where both Belle and Rumplestiltskin were sorting through one of at least a dozen crates of books.

“I think we have two of this one,” Rumplestiltskin was saying, holding a large hardcover, with a green binding with silver borders.

“It’s one of my favorites.”  Belle turned a pleading look on him, and he shrugged. 

“Have it your way.  We certainly have the space.”

“Someone’s getting a little whipped, isn’t he?” Regina said before Henry could speak up, making both Golds turn.  Her tone might not have been as nasty as it once would have been, though she was still determined to keep up the banter they’d always had.

“Given how I’ve seen you with your beau, dearie, you don’t have a lot of room to complain,” Rumple retorted immediately, but his face softened when he noticed Henry.  “Hello, Henry.”

“Hi, Grandpa. Hi, Belle.”  Henry’s smile could win anyone over, and Regina wasn’t sorry at all to see it work on these two.

“Hey, Henry.”  Belle turned to Regina, and although her smile didn’t falter, Regina sensed a slight reserve entering her voice.  “Hello, Regina.”

“Hi.”  She tried to smile without grimacing; Regina had apologized to Belle for stealing her heart, but she knew that things still weren’t okay between them.  She’d never really understood how much it _hurt_ to have your loved ones used against you until Zelena had gotten loose and taken Roland.  Once, she had thought that as long as the person you loved was still alive, anything else could be overcome, but she had underestimated the pain that it caused those she used.  _I won’t make that mistake again._

“I came to help you unpack.”  Fortunately, Henry filled the silence with his enthusiasm.  “If that’s okay.”

“We’d love the help,” Belle replied immediately.  “Wouldn’t we, Rumple?”

“We would.”  His smile was far from the ‘yes, dear’ that Regina would have expected, and she supposed that maybe she should really start looking at her old mentor in a different light.  _He’ll protect Henry,_ she thought.  _That much I know._

“Do you just want the books on empty shelves, or do you have a way you want them organized?” Henry asked Belle, and Regina watched with wry amusement was her son and the local bookworm promptly started discussing the various ways to add Belle’s already impressive stack of books to the new library.  Why Belle needed to have so many books when she already ran the _town_ library, Regina would never understand, but there were certainly worse things for Henry to be interested in than books, so she didn’t comment.  _Far worse, particularly in this town._

Still, that meant she found herself standing next to Rumplestiltskin in uncomfortable silence, which was more than a little awkward.  After a few moments, Regina finally decided to just bite the bullet and ask the question she wanted to.

“So, I hear Zelena left you a present after she burned your house down.”

That comment earned her a dark look.  “Something like that.  Who told you?”

“Dwarves talk.”

“Lovely.”  Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “Yes, your dear sister left a little trap behind, and I was stupid enough to walk into it.  _That_ won’t be happening again, I assure you.”

“I hear the little wife saved you from it,” Regina couldn’t help pressing.  “With magic.”

Now his smile was positively feral.  “Let’s just say that you’ll have a much harder time ripping her heart out a second time.”

“I—” Regina cut herself off, determined not to flinch.  Squaring her shoulders, she summoned up all the dignity she could muster.  “I apologized to her.”

“Which is the sole reason I’m not keen to return the favor with your beloved outlaw.”  Yes, there was definitely a warning in that tone.  Rumplestiltskin might have had a slightly more accurate moral compass these days, but he still had teeth.  Not that Regina really minded; she’d always preferred straightforward warnings to a vague threat. 

“You’re not stupid enough to start a war with me,” she snorted, just to see what he’d say.

“I might have said the same thing about you, once.”

Was he really going to be that obtuse?  “I was _desperate_.  Zelena had Robin and Roland!”

“Yes, because you have a monopoly on love and loss, don’t you, dearie?” Once, those words would have been a snarl, dark and dangerous.  Now, however, Regina could see the old pains lurking in his eyes, and that made her snarky retort die on her lips.

_Robin figured it out, and he barely knows him.  Yet I’ve known Rumple for most of my life, and I missed all the signs,_ Regina thought suddenly.  Even worse, though, Rumplestiltskin had lost his son.  They’d all mourned Neal and then ignored that fact, but Regina knew what losing Henry would have done to her.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin understood desperation, didn’t he? 

“All right, so we’re both screwed up, all right?  I’m trying to be better, and so are you,” she snapped.  Uncertainty always made her hostile, and Regina struggled not to squirm.  But her next question came out plaintively, almost as if she was begging for an olive branch.  “Is that enough?”

_I’m not begging.  What he thinks doesn’t matter to me at all,_ Regina tried to tell herself, but she knew it wasn’t true.  Rumplestiltskin had been something of a crazy uncle for most of her life; he’d been her teacher and her friend, her opponent and her ally.  They’d tried to one-up and double-cross one another a hundred times, and they’d both hurt one another in the process.  Now, however, they were family, and Regina finally understood that they needed to stop doing that. 

“Hell if I know,” he admitted quietly, and Regina found a sad smile twisting up her face.

“Well, at least we’re both clueless.”  Casting about for a change of subject—there were too many emotions inherent in _this_ one—she gestured at Belle.  “So, she’s got magic, huh?  Why didn’t you teach her before?”

“Because I didn’t know before.”  He smiled wryly.  “It’s amazing what being the Dark One can blind you to.”

“Can it really do that?”  Given how Emma was acting, Regina figured knowing how that curse worked might be a good idea.

“That and more,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly. 

Regina watched him for a moment, debating if she should ask more or not.  Deciding that she shouldn’t, she said: “So, are you going to teach her?”

“Well, leaving her _un_ -taught is a bad idea.”  A genuine laugh bubbled out of Rumplestiltskin, startling Regina with its warmth.  “She’ll only read books and get herself in trouble.”

“Well, that’s got to be better than teaching Emma was.”  Much to her surprise, Regina found herself chuckling, too.  “Getting her to _touch_ a book was a chore.”

“You two deserved one another.”

Pain bubbled up; the Emma who had become her friend seemed gone, now.  Regina had done so much pointless research trying to figure out how to bring her back, but that had been overcome by events.  First, Camelot had started smashing into Storybrooke, then Snow had died, and now Zelena was out making people miserable.  She’d lost track of that goal, but maybe going along with Henry’s plan was the way to make that right.  _You know what? Emma can be as angry with me as she likes.  I’m a big girl; I can take that.  I just need her to stop taking it out on everyone else._

“Do you think we can bring her back?” Regina asked before she could stop herself, her eyes on Henry.  “You’d know better than anyone.”

“I do.”  His voice was equally quiet.  “The problem will be getting Emma’s agreement.  She’ll have to be willing—it won’t work if she isn’t.”

“And right now she’s high on being the Dark One.”

“Exactly.”

They stood in much more companionable silence for a long moment, before Regina decided that she really did need to get back to running the town.  Unfortunately, the newcomers from Camelot—who seemed to at least not _appear_ as monsters now that they were in the Land Without Magic (even though, apparently, some of them had been at least half-monster back home)—were still testy and quarrelsome.  Even worse, many of them couldn’t decide which of their so-called kings to follow.  And the ones that could seemed determined to fight with those on the opposite side.  The entire mess was giving Regina one hell of a headache, and she was actually rather glad to have somewhere safe to leave Henry this Saturday afternoon.  She’d probably have a riot or two to break up before the end of the day, and leaving Henry somewhere safe was nice.

So, she said her farewells, which Henry barely noticed with his head in a book, and turned to leave.  But then a thought stopped her cold.

“Question for you,” she said, turning back to face her old mentor.  “Mordred told me that he was looking for someone named ‘Colette’.  I don’t remember bringing anyone here with that name under the curse, but I only tracked the important people.  You, however, _like_ to traffic in names, even ones everyone else find insignificant.  Is it familiar?”

The way Rumplestiltskin’s face went carefully blank gave Regina one hell of a clue.  “I believe I have heard of someone by that name, yes.”

“My, _that_ was a careful answer.”  She waited for more, but he didn’t volunteer anything.  “C’mon, Rumple, give me something.  Is she someone dangerous?  Should we let Mordred find her?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”  His eyes slid towards Belle, almost too briefly for Regina to notice.  “She’s dead.”

* * *

 

Talking to David while he fed an infant was a little disturbing, but Killian was getting more practiced at it.   Eleven days after Snow’s death, David seemed pretty practiced at the single father routine, and Neal seemed to be settling down with it, too.  _The poor lad will never remember his mother, though._ That thought made Killian swallow hard.  _All the more reason to get Emma back to normal.  Her brother needs her as much, if not more, than the rest of us do._

“Sorry to drag you over right now, but I can’t leave him with babysitters all the time.”  David smiled sheepishly.  “What did you want to talk about?”

_It’s now or never.  Set your sails or fall off the wind,_ he told himself firmly, and took a deep breath.  “I’ve been approached by someone who says they can get the darkness out of Emma, whether she’s willing to lose it or not.”

“Who?”

“Mordred.”  Killian watched David’s expression change, but he wasn’t certain what the other man was thinking.  “I know what Arthur says about him, but—”

“Relax.  I’m hardly inclined to trust the man who killed my wife, even if I do believe it was an accident,” David cut in.  “I’m just more interested in why Mordred would want to help Emma.”

“He, uh, well, he’s my uncle.”  Saying that to David sounded strange, but the mercenary part of Killian’s mind had to wonder if that at least made him _more_ suitable for Emma rather than less.  Killian had always known that, as an orphaned pirate, he really wasn’t that good of a catch, at least not in a political sense.  But now he was royalty, too.  Hopefully that meant something.

“Don’t take this wrong, but family isn’t always a reason to trust someone.”

“Oh, I know that.”  Killian shrugged.  “Still…I believe him when he says he’s been trying to defeat the Dark One for a long time.  He seems to have been almost as obsessed with as I was.”

David snorted with laughter.  “Is that a family trait?”

“Must be.”  Killian hadn’t quite looked at his previous quest like that, before, but he could at least laugh at himself when David phrased it that way.

“All right,” David said after a moment.  “You feel we can trust him, but what about Emma?  Have you talked to her?”

“I…I hadn’t dared,” he admitted.  “She says she’s not ‘ready’ to give up the darkness, but I think it’s corrupting her.  Even when she tries—and she _does_ —she can’t make the right choice.”

“She needs to make this one.”  David’s answer was surprisingly firm; Killian had expected him to jump at the opportunity to get his _real_ daughter back.  “We can’t make it for her.”

“What if the darkness won’t _let_ her make it?” he demanded.

“Then we convince her.”

“And if we can’t?  What then?”  Neal spat out his bottle and started to cry as Killian’s voice grew louder, but guilt over disturbing the child only stoked Killian’s anger.  “Do we just _leave_ her like this, or do we take the best chance we have to free her of that horrible darkness?”

“We don’t know what she’ll say until she says it.”  Killian _hated_ it when David used that reassuring tone; he wasn’t a child to be coddled.  But Emma’s father wore an increasingly stubborn expression.  “We have to give her the chance.”

Killian opened his mouth to object, and then snapped it shut.  He wasn’t going to convince David. If losing Snow hadn’t shaken the man’s belief in everyone’s inner goodness, shouting at him certainly wasn’t going to do the trick.

No, he had to be careful.  Sneaky, even.  So, for now he agreed with David aloud, saying that it would undoubtedly take Mordred some time before he was ready to do anything, and that Killian would tell David when anything changed.  Then he quickly changed the subject, telling David about how sorry Emma was for turning those four people into stone statues.  That wasn’t even a lie, because he knew that _Emma_ was sorry; it was only the Dark One who was unable to feel remorse.  He tried to underline that fact for David, but he was pretty sure that the other man just didn’t get the point.  David still wanted to believe that Emma could fight past the darkness, if only they gave her enough love and support.  Killian, however, knew better.

Come hell or high water, he was going to get the woman he loved back.  No matter what it took.

* * *

 

“I don’t get it,” Henry said a few hours after Regina left, making Rumplestiltskin turn his head.  They were almost done putting books away, despite the fact that Rumplestiltskin had managed to resist the urge to use magic to get the job done.

Granted, going light on magic usage was easier than it usually would have been; Rumplestiltskin was still incredibly tired after Zelena’s spell had tried to sap the magic out of him.  Even unchecked, her spell probably wouldn’t have killed him, but it _still_ had given her a store of power that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t eager for her to have.  Belle had stopped it, of course—even if she’d done so inexpertly and put herself in _far_ too much danger—but he probably would have survived the spell, regardless.  _You’re an original power, now,_ Merlin reminded him, though the old Sorcerer’s voice was growing fainter by the day.  _Only a secondary power can actually kill you._

“Don’t get what, Henry?” Belle spoke up when tiredness and distraction kept Rumplestiltskin’s mind wandering.  She looked exhausted, too; they’d clung to one another throughout the night, too tired to do anything but be glad they were both alive.  A corner of Rumplestiltskin’s oft-beaten heart still marveled at the fact that this utterly amazing woman would risk so much to save him, but he knew—and finally accepted—the fact that she loved him as much as he loved her.

“Why would she _ever_ work with Zelena?”  Henry turned to face Rumplestiltskin as he answered, making it obvious who the question was intended for.  “Zelena kidnapped two kids, and one of them was Alexandra, who Mom made a deal with _you_ to protect.  Back when you were still doing the stealing babies thing, I mean.”

“Yes, I remember.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled wryly; even now, he viewed the deal with Princess Ella to be one of his finest moments of planning.  And even his mostly-better conscience could stomach it, given that Rumplestiltskin had known that he’d never take Ella’s child.  He’d always wanted her to break that deal, and he’d _counted_ on the Charmings throwing him in prison.  As unpleasant as that stint in solitary confinement had been, it had gotten him exactly what he wanted: Emma’s name and an eventual deal with the Savior.

Henry’s brown eyes studied him intently, and something told Rumplestiltskin that his grandson understood entirely too much.  About him, anyway.  “I don’t understand how she can do that.  She hasn’t been the Dark One for very long, and the darkness _can’t_ be taking her over yet, can it?”

“No, it isn’t.  But it isn’t that simple, either.  Do you remember how I told you that the darkness is the hardest to control in the beginning?”

“Yeah.  You said that Emma will _think_ things are her choice, and that they’ll get her what she wants, but everything she does will still be tainted by the darkness.”  Henry frowned.  “But that still doesn’t explain why she’d even _want_ to work with Zelena.”  His voice grew very quiet.  “Zelena killed my dad.”

Beside him, Rumplestiltskin heard Belle’s breath catch, but he was too busy fighting back his own sudden pain.  _At least I got a chance to say goodbye,_ he realized suddenly.  _Henry never did._   That thought was like a kick to the gut, and he could see tears shining in his grandson’s eyes.

“I don’t think that matters to your mother right now,” he said hoarsely.  “When you’re the Dark One, you think that the end justifies the means.  You think you’re doing the right thing.”

“How can working with my dad’s killer be _right_?” Henry demanded.  “I know she’s in love with Killian, now, but that…that shouldn’t matter.  She _cared_ about Dad.  I _know_ she did.”

It felt like a giant fist had closed around his heart.  “That…that doesn’t always enter your mind as the Dark One,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  “You try to cling to those you love, convinced that you can right any wrong you do, that you’re _right_ to do it.  But you rarely are.  Just like I wasn’t when I kept using Belle.  I kept telling myself that I’d make it up to her, but I never did.”

“Can you now?”  Henry’s eyes were wide and a little terrified, and he had never reminded Rumplestiltskin of Bae so much as he did in that moment.  “I just want my mom back.”

_“Are you really that unhappy, Bae?” he’d asked, unable to understand how his son couldn’t treasure the new and better life they had.  “I conjure anything you desire.  Name it.  What do you want?”_

_“I want my father.”_

_Somehow, the man snuck out from behind the monster.  “All I want is your happiness, Bae. If you find a way, I’ll do it.”_

Of course, he had broken that promise.  He’d hurt his son, the one person who had mattered to him, all because he hadn’t been strong enough to overcome the darkness inside him.  But it wasn’t just about strength, was it?  Rumplestiltskin had hated himself for years for that choice, and yet he’d watched _the Savior_ make the same mistakes.  Emma was worlds stronger than he was, yet she’d succumbed, too.  She hadn’t done something as heinous as abandoning her son, but she’d hurt Henry all the same.  And Henry deserved so much better.

“I know,” he whispered heavily, and then reached out tentatively to put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder.  “Beneath everything she is, Emma still loves you.  And we’ll find a way to bring her back.  I promise you that.”

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep!_ Merlin’s warning, however, was unnecessary.  Rumplestiltskin knew how magic could hold someone to a deal, to their promises, and he was counting on that.

_I’m not,_ he thought back, looking straight into Henry’s eyes.

“What if she doesn’t want to?” the boy asked.

“That’s where you come in,” Rumplestiltskin reassured him, squeezing Henry’s shoulder.  “As strong as she is, even Emma will have a hard time coming back for herself.  It’s too easy to find a reason not to.  But I believe she’ll come back for you.”

* * *

 

Emma had listened to those words with mixed feelings: on one hand, she _knew_ she was better like this.  On the other, however…part of her knew that she wasn’t.  Henry didn’t think so, anyway, and Henry’s good opinion still meant more to her than everyone else’s combined.  Killian said he wasn’t afraid of the darkness, but Henry was so good and so pure.  He had grown up with the Evil Queen, and yet had somehow remained untainted by Regina’s darkness.  No matter how far she had fallen, Emma didn’t want to corrupt him with hers.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to emerge from hiding until Belle took Henry to the kitchen to make lunch.  Rumplestiltskin promised to be along shortly, but she _felt_ his eyes slid to where she’d concealed herself in one of the large cabinets against the southeast wall.  Being noticed almost made her teleport away, but Emma was curious.  And so was the darkness.  _Exploit his weaknesses,_ the voice whispered.  _If he won’t answer you, use Belle.  He’ll do anything for her.  He’s such a fool for love._   Pushing the voice aside, Emma stepped out of the cabinet, cocking her head at her predecessor.

“Do you truly believe that drivel, or were you just saying it to make Henry feel better?”

The Sorcerer met her eyes without even the slightest hint of contempt.  “I believe it, actually.  You love your son.  The darkness hates that, but you do.  He’s your humanity.”

“Apparently that doesn’t work very well for Dark Ones, since you abandoned yours,” Emma retorted nastily, not liking how well Rumplestiltskin’s words echoed her own thoughts.

His flinch was rather gratifying, but his answer was dry: “Then I recommend you stay away from magic beans and portals, dearie.”

“Very funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”  Rumplestiltskin turned to face her fully as Emma scowled.  “The choice is still yours.  You chose to take the darkness on to save others.  You can still be the first Dark One to ever choose to give it up.”

“I need it.”  _Without the darkness, you’re weak.  You can’t even protect those you love._ Emma didn’t like the way he was looking at her, like he knew too much.  “I have things I need to do.”

“That’s not you speaking.”

_He knows too much._   Fuming, Emma teleported herself closer, looming over the smaller man and letting the darkness roll out of her in waves.  _He thinks he knows me.  He thinks he knows my son.  But he’s a weak coward, hiding behind power.  Again._ But he’d flinched again, and the darkness very much enjoyed the way he didn’t like anyone in his personal space.  _He’s damaged.  Weak._  “This _is_ me,” she snarled.  “This is what I am.  _You_ know that better than anyone.”

“Do I?  Strangely enough, here I stand, free of that darkness that’s even now twisting your soul in knots.”  Rumplestiltskin leaned in, and even though Emma could see what it cost him, could see part of him shying away, his voice was level.  “Do you want to pull your heart out and see what that darkness is doing to you?  You, whose own darkness was taken away, who just wanted to _save_ someone who had wronged you so many times but had somehow become your friend.  You were a hero, Emma Swan.  Now you’re telling yourself that you can still be one, that you can have it all, but deep down, you know you’re wrong.”

“And what would you have me do?” Emma demanded.  _You must find a way to control him.  Take Belle.  Then he can’t stop you._   The voice was almost overpowering, almost so loud that she didn’t hear his response.

“Fight it.  If a coward can manage that, surely the Savior can battle a little darkness.”  His smile was dark.  “You’re supposed to be a hero.  Act like it.”

Emma felt her eyes widen, fury whipping through her.  “What the hell do you think I’m trying to _do_?” she snarled.  “I did what had to be done to protect people!”

“I think you’re lying to yourself, and you know it.”  The smile turned mocking.  “ _Dark One._ ”

_Rip his heart out!_ the darkness howled, beating against her like Emma’s soul was bars to its cage.  _You’re so close.  He can’t stop you._ She was shaking with rage when her hand started to come up, already clenched in a fist like she held Rumplestiltskin’s heart and could crush it.  It  would feel so _good_ to make him shut up, this barely-reformed former Dark One who claimed to know her too well.  He _did_ know too much, too much to let him live—

Oh.

_Oh._

“You’re baiting me on purpose,” Emma whispered, shock giving her a moment’s clarity.  Still the darkness raged, but she was so startled that she felt its fury at a distance.  “Don’t you know how _dangerous_ that is?”

“Better than anyone.”  Now he stepped back, clearly having noticed her hand and preferring to open the range between them.  Rumplestiltskin spread his hands, palms up and open.  “Differentiating between the darkness’ voice and yourself is hard, but you have to learn how.  Otherwise you _will_ be lost, and everyone you love with you.”

_Don’t listen to him!_   With an effort, Emma pushed the voice aside.  Doing so made her head pound madly, made her see sparks.  “I think I can.  Usually.”

“Good.  Then you have to learn to stop yourself, or decide you want to be rid of the darkness.”

“Even if I did, it would just infect someone else.”  Bitterness rose like bile in her throat, and Emma didn’t _think_ those words belonged to the darkness. 

Rumplestiltskin didn’t deny that.  “I’m working on that.  I think there is a way to trap it elsewhere.”

“Excalibur?” The darkness had been whispering incessantly about King Arthur’s missing sword, and Emma was starting to think that perhaps—despite what the darkness said about using it to snuff out all the light—she might be able to somehow use it to defeat the darkness.  Assuming she could hold onto enough of her soul to do so.

“No.”  He studied her for a moment, like he wasn’t sure what she meant, but then Rumplestiltskin’s eyes went unfocused for a long moment.  “Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because all magic comes at a price.  Destroying magic—or that elemental darkness inside you—would cost something more than either of us are prepared to pay.”  There was a strange vibration in the air, then, something magical that Emma couldn’t quite place.  But it reminded her strangely of Queen Guinevere’s immense and terrifying power.  Rumplestiltskin, however, seemed oblivious.  “Better to untether it from the requirement for a human soul, and to trap it.”

Emma stared at him. “You really think you can undo what Merlin did.”

“Anything magic has woven together can be unraveled.”

“I have to finish something first,” she temporized, feeling the darkness roaring back to life.  Self-awareness had beaten it into submission, but now the Dark One wanted to be back in control.  “I can’t let it go until then.  I need it to do what I have to do.”  _Because the Savior would be against killing Guinevere and Arthur, and my mother deserves revenge._ Just thinking of Snow made pain well up, though, so Emma forced herself to focus on the big picture.  _And I don’t think a Savior can protect Storybrooke from this threat.  It takes someone more cold-blooded._

Rumplestiltskin eyed her contemplatively.  “Just don’t take too long.  The more good you think you can do, the deeper the Dark One gets its claws into you.”

“And why would you _ever_ want to help me?” the question came out more angrily than Emma wanted it to, but she needed to know.  “We’re not friends.  We’ve nevereven really been allies.”

“Once—a lifetime ago, it seems—you told me that we were family because of Henry, and that was why you were going to save me.”  Calm brown eyes met hers.  “Now it’s my turn to save you.”

_“Why?”_

“Because I won’t let Henry go through what his father did.  I can’t save my son, but I can save yours.”  Rumplestiltskin looked away for a moment, and Emma didn’t miss the pain in his suddenly tight expression.  “And you with him.”

* * *

 

He had studied the cat for a day, just to make sure that he could properly counter the magic on him.  Dark One magic was something that Mordred knew all too well, but Emma Swan’s seemed to have a slightly different flavor than he was used to.  Perhaps that was because she had actually used magic prior to becoming the Dark One—or maybe it was because she hadn’t done that terribly _well._   Oh, she seemed to have been powerful, but that very power led to recklessness.  Sloppiness.  Everything was easy, so she just flung enough power to get the job done, an attitude that Mordred found rather offensive.  _He_ had power to spare, but his real strength was his knowledge.  Mordred had stood up to multiple Dark Ones over the years, and only one of them had ever bested him.  Not, however, because he was so powerful.

Truth be told, any Dark One should have been able to get the better of him.  For a human, Mordred knew himself to be incredibly powerful, but elemental darkness was in another class entirely.  Still, its very strengths were also its weaknesses; with that much power, few Dark Ones ever bothered to learn the true ins and outs of magic. Most figured out how to balance the costs of their magic, albeit badly.  They were still all drained of their souls at a remarkably quick rate, because they all believed they could beat the darkness and never bothered to manage it properly.  _All except one.  Maybe two, if she learns anything, but I can’t afford to give her that time._

Mordred knew that he had to hurry.  Danns' a'Bhàis was not known for her patience, and she didn’t always keep her deals, either.  Still, he didn’t regret having gone to her, even if their conversation had only made him hate his father more.  _He_ knew _she was the Black Fairy for_ years _before the war,_ Mordred thought with disgust.  _Does that mean he knew that Merlin was the Dark One and that she was controlling him?_

“Mordred.  You’re wool-gathering.”  His mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Mordred turned to face her sheepishly.  They were alone in his presence chamber, save for the cat that was sitting on the windowsill, growling.

“I’m planning.  There’s a difference.”

Morgan only rolled her eyes, and Mordred knew that his lie hadn’t fooled her a bit.  Sometimes, having a supremely intelligent parent—only one, thankfully; the other was more ambitious than smart—was such a drawback.  Mordred knew where he’d inherited his brains and his cunning from, but just for once, he would have liked to outsmart his mother.

“Do get on with it.  As you are undoubtedly aware, your dear stepmother will not give you much time to _plan_. Particularly if you are determined to continue with your plans.”

“I don’t have a choice, Mother.  This might be my only chance to destroy the Dark One once and for all.”  Not rolling his eyes took all of Mordred’s self-control.  His mother had tried to dissuade him, speaking of the Dark One’s love for his nephew, but Mordred knew what happened to those who loved the Dark One.  _It’s kinder if we do this now.  The longer we wait, the harder it will be for Killian._

Morgan eyed him.  “Don’t act precipitously.”

Mordred, however, had been the recipient of that look far too many times, and as much as he loved his mother—and respected her intelligence—he knew she was wrong about this one.  She had always been hesitant to destroy the Dark One, first because Merlin had taken on the darkness, and later because she felt Danns' a'Bhàis was a bigger threat.  What Morgan never seemed to grasp was that if the Black Fairy could get the Dark One under her control again, there would be _nothing_ to stop her from establishing her power.  _And now we can’t even depend upon Father’s love of Camelot to stop her.  He was in_ league _with her the entire time!_

Angrily, Mordred wheeled on the cat, gathering power and _ripping_ the spell that trapped a man in feline form apart.  It was probably a little more painful for the cat than was kind, but Mordred was too annoyed to care.  Besides, even as the cat’s furry legs turned into human limbs, his body stretching and tail disappearing, Mordred figured that the slight, large-eared man dressed in a leather jacket and jeans really wouldn’t mind.

“Bloody hell,” Will Scarlet swore.  “That was unpleasant.”

Lowering his hands, Mordred studied the younger man.  He wasn’t a sorcerer, though he’d clearly been exposed to plenty of magic in his day, and he didn’t seem to be some great warrior, either.  “Why in the world did the Dark One choose _you_ for her pet cat?”

“Who are you to ask that question?”  Will scrambled to his feet, his expression just as disgruntled as it had been when he’d found him in the Dark One’s house.  “Not that I’m not thankful for you turning me back, mind.  I just want to know if I’ve jumped out of the fryin’ pan and into the fire.”

“Mordred of Camelot,” he introduced himself, eschewing the slight bow their world would have required.  This Storybrooke was a strange place, but Mordred would not make himself look like an old-fashioned fool.  “And you are?”

“Will Scarlet.”  A sarcastic smile twisted up the other man’s face.  “An’ my question stands.  What the hell d’you want with me?”

“We have a mutual enemy in the Dark One.”

“What, did she turn you into a rodent or something?”

Much to his surprise, Mordred found himself chuckling.  “Hardly.  But I know her kind all too well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nice of you to turn me back an’ all, but I’m thinking you’ve got something you want in mind, so let’s just get to the point, yeah?” The smaller man turned to face him like a scrapper, almost bouncing on his toes and waiting for something to go wrong.  _Come to think of it, if I’d been the Dark One’s pet cat for the last two weeks, I’d be rather paranoid, also._

“I was rather hoping you could help me, to be honest.  You were conscious inside your feline form, no?  Aware of who you were and what was happening?”

Scarlet grimaced.  “Yeah.  An’ it was no fun, let me tell you.”

“I won’t waste your time by offering meaningless pity.  Instead, I’ll offer you a chance to get even.  Assuming you don’t want to go find a corner to hide in, that is.”  Mordred watched Scarlet’s eyes narrow as he spoke, and barely restrained his own smile.  The first step to getting someone to do what you wanted them to was always to subtly imply that they were too afraid to do otherwise—most men would subconsciously move in the direction you wanted simply to prove that they weren’t a coward.  Scarlet, he could tell, was hardly extraordinary in that respect.

“I’m listening.”

“My purpose is to destroy the Dark One,” Mordred said frankly, sensing that Scarlet would be more than open to that idea.  “Anything you know about her plans, her habits, or her weaknesses would be of assistance.”

“Oh.”  Scarlet laughed.  “I can help with that a _lot_.  Not with her habits, mind—I tried to avoid her, and the boy toy redeemed pirate, as much as I could—but I can tell you something that will damn well guarantee that _no one_ in this town will ever fight for her again.”

Now _that_ was interesting.  This Dark One had far too many allies for Mordred’s liking, and he felt himself lean forward.  “You have my attention.”

“Last time I started talkin’ bout this, she turned me into a cat.  If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep that from happening again.”

“Whether or not your information is useful, you have my protection, of course.” Mordred had thought that was obvious, but apparently Scarlet didn’t agree.

“Yeah, but can yeh stand up to her?”

Mordred only smiled. 

After a moment, Scarlet shrugged.  “Alright.  She killed Granny.”

“Who?”

“You really haven’t been here long, have you?”  Scarlet rolled his eyes.  “Granny was the old woman who owns—owned—the diner.  Everyone liked her, or at least loved to hate her.  Right old bat she was, but the hero types covered it up to ‘protect’ their darling Miss Swan.  But I saw it happen, which was why she turned me into the cat.”

Yes, that would do nicely.  It was hardly what Mordred had expected, but that little piece of information—if it was truly as inflammatory as Scarlet claimed—would do beautifully.  The entire town would turn against the Dark One and her family, and Mordred would be able to take advantage of the resulting confusion.  Then, once his trap was completed, he could claim the dagger and do _exactly_ what needed to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Nine—“Faithful in Love,” in which Zelena decides to take revenge on Robin, Belle and Rumplestiltskin receive very unexpected visitors, Emma makes a crucial choice about which side she’s on, Morgan faces her past, and Killian faces a dilemma.


	29. Faithful in Love

Waking up in a different bed was strange.

The house had directed them—rather forcefully—towards a new bedroom on the second night Belle and Rumplestiltskin had stayed there.  On the first night, ready to drop from exhaustion and overuse of magic, they’d headed for the bedroom in which they’d spent the night of their honeymoon.  Rumplestiltskin had been too tired for the old guilt to get a grip on him that night, but he thought the house sensed the next morning.  Although he had meant every word of his wedding vows, and had wanted so badly to keep them, Rumplestiltskin knew that he’d betrayed and used Belle right from the beginning.  Now that he wasn’t the Dark One, he could fully appreciate how badly he’d hurt her, and sleeping in the bed that he _should_ have shared with Belle that night instead of messing with the Hat only made him feel worse.

The evening after he and Emma spoke, however, the Sorcerer’s House locked the door to the bedroom they’d spent the previous night in, and opened another door down the hall, the hinges creaking just so that Belle would notice.  There, they’d found a bed that was utterly identical to the one Rumplestiltskin had given Belle in the Dark Castle.  Upon inspection, Rumplestiltskin began to suspect that it might be the same bed, which said fascinating things about the Sorcerer’s House.  The place itself was magic, almost like the Dark Castle.  Yet this house was solid enough; it had been created by the second curse, but for what purpose?  Rumplestiltskin suspected that the Apprentice might have added a bit of Merlin’s magic to the mix once Snow and Regina had cast the curse, but there was no way to ask a dead man.  And Merlin didn’t seem to know.

The question became rather academic and unnecessary in the face of Belle’s delight, however, and she’d been determined to show him how very much she’d _always_ wanted to share this bed with him.  They’d worn one another out with their enthusiasm, and for the first time since Zelena had escaped, Rumplestiltskin was able to sleep without having nightmares. 

He knew that they would have to deal with Zelena eventually.  A month ago, Rumplestiltskin’s first response would have been to kill her—or at least to turn Zelena’s spell back on her, removing her magic and draining _her_ dry.  He would probably have taken a care for her child’s safety, because even as the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin had avoided harming children, but he would surely have gone after her instead of staying here with Belle.  _Is this me choosing her, or am I just telling myself that?_   Rumplestiltskin supposed he was still just a coward at heart, a coward beneath the power he used to make himself appear strong.  He’d learned a little courage in his days without magic, but that courage didn’t seem to equate to rushing after Zelena and seeking vengeance.

Yes, he was furious over the loss of their home.  He felt violated all over again, and wanted to wrap his hands around Zelena’s neck and squeeze her life away for what she’d done to Belle.  For all of Belle’s strength, and despite the quick way she’d managed to adapt to their new surroundings, Rumplestiltskin knew that Zelena had destroyed the one place Belle had felt safe since Regina had first taken her captive thirty years earlier.  The fact that Zelena had done that made part of Rumplestiltskin want to destroy her utterly, made the darkness that still lived inside him—echoes though it might have been—burn for murder, for revenge.  But he’d given into that once, hadn’t he?

And he really didn’t want to deal with Zelena.  Perhaps that made him more of a coward than ever before, but Rumplestiltskin still had a hard time not shaking every time the thought of facing her crossed his mind.  _I’m not the only one she’s wronged,_ he told himself, and he didn’t know if that was some new sense of fair play or cowardice.  _And there’s a child who---rightly or wrongly_ — _will consider Zelena his or her mother._

She had taken Rumplestiltskin’s child from him.  But could he take _that_ child’s mother from him or her?

He might never be a good man, might never be the type of man he was trying to be, one who was worthy of Belle.  But Rumplestiltskin had learned one thing, if nothing else: he was no longer the lonely sorcerer in his mountaintop castle.  He was no longer a law unto himself.  Zelena had not made only the Golds suffer; she had hurt so very many, and she would have to pay for that.  Rumplestiltskin had no problem with helping others to make her pay the price for her actions, but was finally in a place in his life where he didn’t feel like he had to deal with her alone.  _For once, I trust that she won’t be let to get away with it just because she has targeted people outside the heroes’ small circle of family._

That, however, was a problem for later.  That morning, his interest lay in Belle, who had actually out slept him for once. That was a rare occurrence, particularly now that he was no longer the Dark One.  Requiring sleep still took some getting used to after three hundred years of not needing it, after all.  So, he took advantage of the time to watch his wife sleeping, admiring how soft her features were when she was at peace like this.  She was so beautiful, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t sure how an old monster like him had ever earned her love.  He had never met someone with such a beautiful soul, someone who loved so fiercely and so bravely, with so little thought for herself.  The fact that Belle’s exterior was as lovely as her interior almost didn’t matter; although Rumplestiltskin enjoyed that on a visual level, he loved her for _who_ she was.

Part of him still couldn’t believe that they were together again.  A month earlier, he’d been the Dark One, plotting and scheming desperately to get Isaac to write the darkness out of the story.  He hadn’t known—and truly hadn’t cared—what else the Author planned to do with everyone else.  Rumplestiltskin had just been out of ways to defeat the darkness without arranging his own death.  He had tried everything else, and somehow, the thought of trying True Love’s Kiss again had never even crosses his mind—though even now, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how much of that had been because he’d known how badly he’d broken Belle’s heart, or if the darkness had simply blinded him to it.

Yet here they were, three weeks and one day after the Apprentice had pulled the darkness out of his heart, repairing their marriage and together again.  Why Belle continued to see _any_ good in him, even when he was actively trying, was beyond Rumplestiltskin.  He knew he didn’t deserve her, and yet he _also_ had learned to fight for her.  He would do everything in his power to be worthy of this amazing woman who owned his heart.  _Everything._

_I love her so much._

She stirred, so he leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder.  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Hmm?”

“I was going to get up and cook you breakfast, but instead I decided to enjoy the view.”  Despite his earlier thoughts, Rumplestiltskin certainly _did_ enjoy watching her.  Belle was barely covered by the sheets—she was a bit of a blanket thief, really, but she also tended to throw the blankets off of both of them when she got hot—and Rumplestiltskin loved watching her.

“Did you, now?” she murmured, blue eyes finally flicking open.  “And are you going to do anything than look?”

“Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?” He started to smile, but Belle rolled over and kissed the expression away.

“Is that answer enough?”

He grinned.  “I do believe even I can interpret that one correctly, yes.”

* * *

 

Catching Regina’s idiot outlaw was harder than it should have been.  Finally, however, she found him without the brat—who she _really_ didn’t want to deal with today.  Apparently, Robin was starting to help out in the sheriff’s station, and now he was even wearing a _badge_.  Oh, the irony was delicious, and only Regina would be so stupid as to make a thief into a sheriff’s deputy.  Well, Regina and the blockheaded prince who thought he could catch her.  David was at least as empty-headed as Zelena’s sister.  Maybe more so.

Robin had learned a lot about the modern world in New York, but he still didn’t drive.  Zelena couldn’t really hold that against him—she couldn’t drive for the same reasons—but that was the _only_ thing she didn’t actively dislike about him.  Seriously, after living with the world’s most boring outlaw for six weeks, Zelena had been ready to murder him solely based on that.  The only reason she hadn’t was that Regina would never have believed she was carrying Robin’s posthumous baby, so she needed the outlaw alive so that he could tell the story.  _But, really, couldn’t some famous thief actually_ steal things, _instead of going on about this code of his?  Playing Marian for him was downright sickening,_ Zelena thought, watching Robin walk out of the sheriff’s station.

Quickly, she looked left and then right, never moving out of the shadows in which she hid.  No one was watching—at least no one that she could see—so it was time to execute the next stage of her plan.  Tempting Regina with darkness to save her little loverboy had been fun, but someone else had bailed Regina out of that trap.  So, now she would put her dear sister in a vise that no one would be able to help her escape.  Regina would be trapped by her own past actions, and _she_ would get to watch someone she loved revile her for it.

A quick twist of her wrist swept Robin off the street, and the idiot didn’t even manage to yelp until after they’d landed in the forest, not far from his former camp.  Most of the outlaws had found themselves actual housing now, but the remnants of the camp were still there, and Zelena had spent a bit of time building tents with magic and making the place more hospitable.  She didn’t like roughing it in the woods—she hated roughing it of _any_ sort, actually—but it would have to do for now.

Robin whirled to face her, but she got in first, smiling.  “Hello, lover.”

“If this is some other way of getting your stupid revenge on Regina, you can just stop now.  I’m not playing your games.”

Zelena pouted.  “Of course you are.  You don’t get a choice in that.”

“Yes, I do, and I’m leaving.”  Robin started to stride past her like she wasn’t even worth talking to, and Zelena felt resentment and fury rise.

“You’re not going anywhere!” A quick motion of her hand created quicksand under his feet, and Robin stumbled, almost falling flat on his face.  Unfortunately, he caught himself.

“Is this _really_ what you want to do?” he asked incredulously.  “Haven’t you taken this ridiculous rivalry far enough?”

He thought she was ridiculous?  Zelena wanted to kill him, even if she had better ideas of how to make him suffer.  “Not when she’s going to take my baby!”

“That child is mine as much as it’s yours,” Robin snarled, finally goaded to anger—and he was so much more interesting when he was angry!  “People who truly care about their children don’t _rape_ someone else to produce one!”

She rolled her eyes.  “I didn’t hear you objecting at the time.”

“That’s because I thought you were _Marian_.  I wouldn’t touch _you_ in a thousand years.”  His glare was a thing of beauty, full of disgust and fury, and Zelena couldn’t wait to turn that on Regina.

“Oh, you will.”  Zelena pulled a vial from her pocket and strolled forward.  Fortunately, the outlaw was only _so_ stupid, and his eyes immediately went to the bottle, which was full of sparkling but clear liquid.

“What the hell is that?”

“A bit of water from a very special fountain.  One from Oz, of course.  But I know how to use it, so I added a little extra _spice_ ,” she told him, watching with glee as Robin’s eyes went wide with fear.  “You’ll forget Regina, and everything you’ve been to one another.  And then I’ll be able to implant some lovely memories for the two of us, about how we’re _so_ excited to have this baby together, and how you _hate_ my sister.  She killed Marian, of course, so you want nothing to do with the vile Evil Queen.”

“ _You_ killed Marian.”  She loved the way his voice shook.

“Oh, but you won’t remember, lover boy.  You’ll just remember being with me.”  Zelena waved a hand, freezing him in place when he tried to object.  “Time to drink up!”

* * *

 

Pinpointing one’s descendants in such a large town was more difficult than Morgan expected.  Back in Camelot, or in the Enchanted Forest, it would have been so much easier.  People lived further apart in the old worlds, and Morgan had forgotten about the rules of the new _reality_ in which she lived.  Four of her spells had fizzled right out before covering even a tenth of the town, and two of the spells had covered the _same_ percentage of people, much to Morgan’s annoyance.  But she was not the type to rant and rage over problems, at least not at her age.  When she’d been younger, she’d been far more impulsive, but Morgan had been born, linearly speaking, over nine hundred years earlier.  She liked to think that she’d learned a thing or two in that time.

Her current method wasn’t working.  She would have to be more direct.  That would take more time, but she would start with her own book, which she _should_ have done in the first place.  That spell was simple and did not require too much power, which was good, because she had all but tapped out the reserves she still had.  Morgan was a Half-Power, so near as she could tell, but some of the great magics she had worked in her youth had drained her far too much.  She was still a low-level sorceress, still capable of using magic, but drawing on it deeply left her far weaker than it should have.  _Worry about that later,_ she told herself, raising her hands over the book of prophecy and whispering the required words.

The results came to her quickly, and made Morgan sigh.  Unfortunately, Killian appeared to never have _touched_ her blood magic-protected prophecies…which meant someone else had.  Again, her mind turned to the child she had left behind, flipping back to over three hundred years before the first curse had been cast.  She had told herself that she would never go back, that she would stay in the cave and leave her child with his father, yet she’d had to know.  She’d had to be certain. 

So, Morgan had watched him one day, returning to Hamelin just one time.

_The boy didn’t have a bit of magic._

_Morgan sighed, watching the seven year old child—_ her _child—struggle to raise the full bucket of water out of the well.  He was small and slight, perhaps a little underfed, and was admittedly cute, at least for a child.  He also had a pair of sorrowful brown eyes that were hauntingly familiar…but he had no magic._

_She didn’t even have to cast a spell to know the truth.  The boy was fully human, and nothing else.  Despite his lineage, he was mortal.  Human._ Normal _.  She had nothing against humans on principle, of course, but there was no use denying that this was a disappointment.  Oh, she had known that he was human when he had been born, else she never would have left him in his dishonest father’s hands._ I could not take him with me, and yet…yet I hoped things had changed, _she thought from the shadows_.  _There had been a tiny chance that the boy might develop into more than just a boring human, but it appeared that he took after his father._

_This trip had turned out to be useless after all, just as Accolon had said it would be.  Her visions clearly didn’t revolve around_ this _boy.  Fortunately, she still had one son left, and Mordred was now certain to be the deciding force in the wars to come.  It certainly wasn’t going to be this one, anyway.  Still, she kept watching as the boy finally wrestled the bucket out of the well, filling the one he had brought along with him and standing on his toes to put the original one back.  Then he picked up his own bucket, lugging it inexpertly off to the east, towards the shops on High Street._

_After a few minutes, the boy bumped into the baker.  Morgan paused in her shadowing of him to listen to the short conversation, curious to see how the boy would handle the hulking man who clearly looked down upon him._

_“Where are ye takin’ that water, laddie?” the baker demanded gruffly._

_“To my aunts’,” the child answered, his voice so quiet that Morgan had to cast a quick spell to hear him._

_“Who might ‘ey be?  I ain’t seen ye ‘round here before.”_

_“The town spinsters,” the boy whispered, and Morgan wanted to shake some confidence into him._ Where is his father?  Did the fool finally get himself killed? _She didn’t even remember his name, only his leering face.  And the horrified expression he had worn when she left their child in his arms._

_“Eh,” the baker spat.  “Strange ‘uns, those two.”_

_Morgan watched as he only shrugged, clearly intimidated by the butcher.  Part of her wanted to step in, wanted to say_ something, _but that was a road she wasn’t prepared to go down.  You walked away, she told herself._  He’s human, without magic, and therefore useless for your cause.  _She had made the right choice.  She had made the_ only _choice.  More importantly, her last child could not survive the ravages of the crystal cave she still waited in, and Morgan had not the power to protect him._

_So she walked away before the baker took the bucket from the boy, before she could see him walking home in tears to the two women who had taken her place.  She had to leave.  She could not come back.  She would never see him again, and she would have to forget.  A human child had no place in her world.  He would be abused far worse there than he ever could be here, and Morgan could do nothing for him.  She had not the power to protect him, even from her own home._

_Seer though she was, Morgan did not anticipate seeing her youngest son_ ever _again._

* * *

 

“We should go to the shop today.”  Belle eyed the much reduced stack of boxes and sighed.  “I _should_ open the library, but—but I don’t really want to be alone.”

She hadn’t meant to let the last words slip out, but Belle couldn’t really regret them when Rumplestiltskin’s arms slipped around her from behind.  She leaned into her husband, letting her eyes slide shut and burying her face in his shoulder.  Belle wanted to so badly to be strong, and usually she managed to do so, but she had promised her husband that she wouldn’t hide her own doubts or demons if he wouldn’t hide his.  _A burden shared is a burden halved,_ she told herself, and was surprised to find how true she found that.

“Then don’t.”  His voice was gentle.  “It’s hardly been two days, sweetheart.  I know I’m still feeling unsettled, too.  We’d made our lives there…and now it’s gone.”

“Sometimes I think it’s a good thing,” she admitted.  “Having a fresh start will probably help us, because we won’t look around the house and think of everything that we did or didn’t do there.  I mean, I’m grateful you could save my books and everything out of the cellar, but I’ll miss everything else.  Is that shallow of me?”

“Of course it isn’t.”  Rumplestiltskin’s words were slightly muffled against her hair, but Belle could understand him just fine.  “You spent thirty years in two different prisons, and before that, much though neither of us likes to phrase it so, you were _my_ prisoner.”

“Caretaker.”  Belle spoke the correction out of habit, and then shook her head.  “Honestly, Rumple, I didn’t feel like your prisoner the moment you let me out of that dungeon—after what, a week?”  She smiled at the memory.  “No prisoner could ever walk all over their captor in the ways I did you.  You let me get away with so many things, and I knew that even then.  Besides, I learned what being an _actual_ prisoner was like with Regina.”

She felt his arms tighten around her, and Belle snuggled closer, slipping her arms around her husband’s waist in turn.  “I’m still so sorry for that.  If I’d realized she was lying and looked for you—”

“We can’t change that, and you didn’t know.”

“Still, if I’d been half as smart as I’m supposed to be, you wouldn’t have spent thirty years in prisons.”  He hesitated, and Belle could practically feel him fighting back his instinctual self-loathing.  “And I know that’s why you’re so upset over losing the house.  It was the first place of safety and freedom you had after being locked up for so long.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”  Belle bit her lip, thinking about what Rumplestiltskin had just said.  But he was right, wasn’t he?  She’d gone to the little apartment over the library after that first big fight of theirs, but she’d moved back into Rumple’s house the day he returned from Neverland.  That had been the moment where they _knew_ they’d spend the rest of forever together, and Belle had always felt like the pink house was more home than the apartment had ever been.

“I know.  You’re too optimistic.”

“I guess.”  Knowing what caused her mixed emotions made them easier to overcome, though, didn’t it?  Belle let out a breath.  “I still feel guilty about closing the library so often, though.”

Rumplestiltskin’s sudden chuckle startled her.  “Has it occurred to you that you could always hire an assistant?”

“An assistant?”

“Why not?  At this point, it’s not like Regina is going to tell you no.”  She could feel his sly smile.  “And I’m quite sure you can find someone who likes books enough and wants a job.”

“I can think of a few people.”  A smile tugged at her lips despite the loss that still weighed on her heart, and Belle looked up at her husband.  “But you know what?  Having you is what’s important.  Everything else is replaceable.”

His hand came up to touch her face.  “You are my world, Belle.”

“And you’re mine.”  Coming up on her toes, Belle kissed him lightly.  “Not some house, and not stuff.  You are my home.  Wherever we may be.”

* * *

 

For a moment, she contemplated letting Zelena force that potion down Robin’s throat.  Making Regina suffer the loss of her love would be rather beautiful irony.  Perhaps that was what Regina deserved.  A few days ago, Emma certainly would have let it happen.  After all, why else free Zelena?  She’d known that Zelena would go after Robin eventually, and Emma had calculated that, whatever collateral damage Zelena caused in the process, she would be able to live with it.  But now her conscience stirred.

Not because she was any less angry at Regina.  If possible, Emma was even _angrier_ with Regina, now, having watched Henry’s other mother continue to exist in the warm embrace of _Emma’s_ family and be at peace with her own lover.  Regina was happy while Emma remained isolated—and yet she was self-honest enough to realize that was her own doing.  She had chosen to separate herself from her family so that she could protect them from the toxic darkness inside her.  Emma knew that, but it still burned to watch Regina sit down at breakfast with _her_ son, _her_ father, and _her_ little brother in a carrier by David’s side.  She’d seen that this morning, and the darkness kept whispering that she should simply allow Zelena to ruin Regina’s life, once and for all. 

Except she knew how she would have felt if someone tried to do the same to her.  She wanted her family back, and if someone had tried to take Killian from her the way Zelena wanted to take Robin away…

_Enough is enough,_ Emma decided.  Besides, she had other things for Zelena to do.

“I don’t think so.”  She stepped out from her hiding place amongst the trees and plucked the vial out of Zelena’s hand right before the Wicked Witch could force the sparkling water down Robin’s throat, waving a hand and releasing Robin from the spell that held him in place. 

“What?” Zelena yelped, looking affronted as Robin wisely skittered back a few steps, rubbing his jaw and eying the bottle that Emma now held.

“I have better things for you to do than play house with him.”  Emma met those angry blue eyes easily; Zelena didn’t frighten her.  The other woman had stolen a child, burned a house down, and kidnapped an unsuspecting outlaw who didn’t have magic.  Emma could have done that in her sleep _before_ becoming the Dark One.

“I don’t care!  I want Regina to suffer, and this is how I’m going to get it.”  Zelena glared.  “ _You_ said you didn’t care about my methods.”

Emma shrugged. “I’m changing our deal.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?” she laughed, drawing her magic, her darkness, closer to the surface.  Even Robin seemed to feel it, judging from the way he shivered, and Zelena definitely did.  Of course, the witch sneered derisively, but Emma knew she was masking fear.

_I’m not a Dark One you can cage and control,_ she thought coldly.

“And how are you going to make me do what you want?” Zelena challenged her, baring her teeth.

“Do you really want to have that conversation?” Emma kept her voice mild, cocking her head.  She could think of a thousand ways to make Zelena suffer, but sometimes a carrot was a better tool than a stick.  “Or would you rather have something for yourself that Regina can’t match?”

Oh, that got her attention.  “Like what?”

“I was thinking of a king.”  Emma didn’t need the darkness to figure out how to manipulate Zelena, not really, but the suggestions that it whispered in her mind _were_ a little useful.  “There are two new ones to choose from, after all.”

“I’m listening.”  Zelena’s eyes were narrowed, but Emma knew she had her.  And Robin’s, too, but she’d deal with that later.

“Well, you could go for Arthur, but he seems rather nauseatingly attached to his wife.”  She shrugged.  “So, I would recommend Mordred, though _he_ seems interested in Regina.  At the moment.”

“Why in the world would he want _her_?” Zelena demanded.

Emma just shrugged.  “I can’t imagine.  Perhaps you should…redirect his interests.”  She could see the wheels turning, and it just took a little tiny poke to send the hamsters in the direction she wanted.  “Still, if you want him to have _real_ power, you might want to dispose of Arthur, first.  If you do, you’ll be able to ally with the one true king of Camelot…who also happens to be a sorcerer that would put Regina to shame.”

Having faced Mordred, Emma had a pretty good grip on his talents.  He _was_ certainly more practiced than Regina, not to mention powerful enough to give even the Dark One pause.  The darkness inside her hated him, too, so she was rather happy to send Zelena his way.  _Particularly if she kills Arthur, first.  That would dispose of_ two _problems.  And then I will get to see how Queen Guinevere—or whoever she actually is—reacts._

“I _might_ be persuaded.”  Zelena was temporizing, but Emma knew she had her.  She could see the interest in Zelena’s eyes, so Emma only waved a hand casually, gesturing at Robin.

“Take your time.  But leave him with me.”

Robin took a step back; Zelena considered him wolfishly.  “Well, I hope _you_ go for a little revenge at least.”  A pouting sneer.  “Dark One.”

Emma waited for her to vanish before turning to face Robin.  The outlaw spoke up immediately: 

“Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it.  If I have to listen to another villain’s self-justifying monologue, I’m going to vomit.”

“Someone’s been taking lessons on being snarky from Regina,” she commented mildly.  Emma hadn’t expected Robin to bite back so quickly.

He shrugged.  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve always been this way.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter to me.  But I would think some thanks are in order, since I _did_ just save you from a memory wipe and a very nasty fate.  Unless you wanted to jump into bed with Zelena.  Again.”

“No.”  The stormy look on his face spoke volumes.  “But I’ll wait on thanking you until I find out exactly what you have in mind for me.  Because I doubt you’re going to send me home with cookies and flowers.”

“No, and I’m not going to send you home with a memory of my conversation with Zelena, either.” 

Emma saw no reason to lie to him, instead turning to look at the vial of water she still held in her hand.  It was from the Forbidden Fountain, and Zelena had been right.  A bit of magic _could_ change the waters’ properties, allowing someone with enough skill or power to manipulate how much a person forgot.  Emma hadn’t considered how useful the fountain at the Sorcerer’s house might be until Zelena brought it up, but the waters really _were_ spectacular.  The longer she studied the vial, the more she understood about the fountain, and oh, it could be very useful.  If someone drank enough of the water, they would actually be exiled from the lands of fairy tales and magic forever.  _And I can_ definitely _make use of that._

_Send him,_ the darkness whispered.  _Make him drink enough, and Regina will never see her soulmate again.  You know you want to._

With an effort, Emma shoved that voice aside, just as Robin spat out:

“So, you’re going to feed me the same thing she was.  Who am I going to wake up thinking I love instead of Regina, then?”

“Oh, no one.  You’ll remember Regina; I’m not that cruel.”  Emma smiled.  “But I can’t have you sharing my plans, either, so drink up.  Unless you _do_ want something worse to happen to you.”

Robin eyed her warily as she offered the vial.  “Why should I trust you?”

“I could have let Zelena erase your memories and seduce you.”

“True enough.”  Robin took the vial from her and studied it for a long moment before shrugging.  “Bottoms up, I guess.”

Emma watched with narrowed eyes as Robin drank the water, judging the moment to teleport him away.  If she timed it _just_ right, he wouldn’t remember anything from the moment Zelena pulled him away from the sheriff’s station, and she could return him to the exact spot he’d left.  Robin might not even realize he was missing some memories, which, as far as Emma was concerned, was ideal.

Unfortunately, she missed the timing by a few seconds, and Robin saw Emma before her magic swept him away.

* * *

 

“It’s not working.”  Belle huffed in frustration and then turned her glare on him, looking away from the candle on the front counter.  “Why isn’t it working?”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t remember ever having seen Belle so frustrated.  His wife was so brilliant that she always succeeded at every task she set for herself, and usually on the first try.  Belle wasn’t accustomed to encountering problems that she couldn’t think her way through; applying enough study and enough intelligence _worked_ for her.  Now, however, she was growing increasingly discouraged.  He reached out to put a gentle hand on her arm.

“You’re thinking too much.  You’re trying to think about whyand howit will happen instead of _willing_ it to happen. Magic is not an intellectual endeavor.”

“It is for you,” Belle snapped, and then flushed with embarrassment.  “I’m sorry.  But I see how you study, and how you construct spells.  And potions are about thinking!”

He should have known that his usual lines wouldn’t work on her; Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “Yes, but now you’re talking about power, sweetheart.  And power begins with emotion, not intellect.  You have to feel the magic before you can control it.”

“Tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“Of course.” Rumplestiltskin stepped around behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently.  Belle was tense, so very tense, so he absently rubbed his thumbs against the taut muscles in her neck until he heard her sigh softly.  “Remember what I told you before?  I need you to find a memory, a moment when you found pure joy.  A time you were so happy you could burst.”

“I can think of several—”

“Just one,” he cut her off gently, shifting so that he could bring his face closer to her left ear.  “You only need one.  Do you have it?”

Belle let out a deep breath.  “I think so.  Yes.”

“Then hold that thought in your mind.  Remember how that moment made you feel.  Remember the emotions, the joy, the _feeling_ , not the specifics of what happened.  Hold onto that feeling, and close your eyes.”

“Why?”  Typical Belle she wanted details.  Specifics.  Analysis.  As frustrating as those tendencies were while teaching her magic, Rumplestiltskin had to bite back a fond smile.  The amount of love he felt for this woman—particularly now, when it was _only_ his love, untainted by darkness howling within him—could lift him up on any given day.

_I need to bottle that love,_ he remembered abruptly.  They’d talked about it, but he’d yet to get around to making that True Love potion.  _Soon.  But not now._

“Will you trust me?” he asked instead of answering her question. 

“Of course.”

Hearing that from her, after all they had been through, filled his heart to bursting.  Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.  “For now,” he promised.  “I’ll explain later.  But now, close your eyes and _feel_ that memory.  Call that joy to your heart and let it fill you.”

Dark magic had been so much easier for him as the Dark One, for obvious reasons.  But every now and then, he’d been able to summon up enough joy to do something else, and Rumplestiltskin was now able to explore the light side of magic as well.  Belle, however, practically glowed with power as she did as she was told. He could feel the magic filling her.  She opened her mouth to ask more, but he squeezed her shoulders to cut her off.

“Now, focus on the candle.  Hold onto those feelings, and just tell the candle to light.  Don’t think about how or why.  Just will it.”

“But how—”

“No questions.  Just _will_ the candle to light.  You can do it, Belle.  I know you can.”

Rumplestiltskin felt the magic before Belle did, probably, felt it building and filling her.  The flame sprang into existence a moment later, flickering out of nothingness as a small spark and then growing larger—too large—until it calmed back down, settling into a more-or-less normal size for the candle.  Belle’s eyes popped open almost immediately, and she squealed with delight.

“I did it!”

“I told you so.”  His own grin was rather ridiculous, though; Rumplestiltskin didn’t get to say _I told you so_ very often to his brilliant wife, and he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.

“So you did.”  Belle turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.  “I _suppose_ I should listen to you about magic.  You are the Sorcerer, after all.  Doesn’t that make you some sort of expert?”

“I do think so.”  He winked.  “Perhaps”

Rumplestiltskin, of course, had been considered an expert on magic for many, many years.  Yet he’d never been so _comfortable_ in that knowledge before.  As the Dark One, knowledge had simply been a way to access more power.  Oh, he’d enjoyed the pursuit of said knowledge—there was a reason he and Belle had fallen for one another, after all, and their first shared love had been books—but it had always been a means to an end.  Even if that end was only finding a way other than spinning to quiet that inner voice, or using knowledge and study to fill the empty years.  Now, however, he really could use magic to help people, just like he’d wanted to in the beginning.

He could also enjoy learning.  And teaching.  The fact that he’d loved to teach, loved the connection it gave him with people (a connection he would never have had otherwise), when he’d been the Dark One had been one of his deepest secrets.  How else could he ever have something close to a friend?  Until Belle, no one had ever wanted to be around him for _him_ ; they’d always wanted something from him.  Yet when he was teaching, Rumplestiltskin had been able to pretend that his students cared about him. 

Now, however…now everything was different.  And he had the woman he loved in his arms, beaming at him. 

“So, what next?”  Belle bounced eagerly, which did unfortunate things to his libido.  The idea of her doing magic was _already_ something he found incredibly sexy, and Rumplestiltskin half wondered if he’d need his own spells to keep himself from being distracted.  Fortunately, her glowing smile turned his mind away from the old loneliness and heartbreak, far more easily than it once might have.  He wasn’t quite a new man, not exactly, but Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t let himself be dragged down by the darkness that had corrupted him for so long, either.  _I love this woman so much._

“I thought you might learn to put the candle out before we move on,” he suggested, and Belle looked a little disappointed.  Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her gently.  “Small steps, sweetheart.  You have to master the basics, first, and _then_ you can move onto bigger and better things.”

“I know.”  She nodded firmly, and he could see her researcher’s face sliding firmly into place.  “All right.  Do I do the same thing?  Feel the emotion and then will the candle out?”

“Exactly.”

Belle turned around, and Rumplestiltskin shifted his hands to her waist instead of letting go of her.  She shot him a quick over the shoulder smile, and then closed her eyes again.  He felt her exhale slowly, and then, almost immediately, the candle went out.  Belle’s eyes flew open again.  “I did it!”

“Of course you did.  I’ve rarely known you to need to be told how to do something more than once.”  Teaching someone had never felt this good.  Was it simply because of how very much he loved her, or was it that the joy of using light magic was contagious?  _Some call magic an addiction, but this,_ this _is my addiction.  Watching Belle smile, watching her learn and grow and love every moment of it._   Yes, magic could be a drug—but there really was nothing wrong with the ‘high’ if it came from what that magic could do.  Once, with the darkness eating at his soul, Rumplestiltskin had felt the rush of power, of hurting and manipulating others.  It had been a high like none other.

Except this.  This was stronger.  Using magic to help others, like his innocent spinner self had once wanted to do, felt far better.  And this time, he knew he wasn’t teaching an Evil Queen or a Wicked Witch.  He was teaching Belle, who always helped others.  Even when people ignored her, belittled her accomplishments, or flat out told her she was wrong, Belle wanted to help them.  _She cares for even those who have hurt her_.  _Including me._   Rumplestiltskin knew that he would never, not in a thousand years, earn the forgiveness his wife had already given him.  But he also knew he would try.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Belle teased him, breaking through his reverie.

He grinned.  “Won’t it?”

“No.”  She swatted him playfully.  “What now?”

“Oh, I’m afraid you’re going to be relighting and extinguishing that candle for most of the afternoon,” he told her seriously.  “It has to become…instinct.  Second nature.  You need to be able to reach for your magic and find the appropriate emotion immediately, without hesitation.  And the best way to do that is by starting small.”

“That makes sense.”  Her blue eyes twinkled as she glanced at him.  “So, I guess I shouldn’t start with trying to save someone from a dangerous spell, then?”

“No.”  He still couldn’t get over what she had done; the very thought made Rumplestiltskin shiver.  Belle had nearly drained _herself_ dry saving him, but she had saved him.  He’d had to pry Zelena’s nasty little spell off of her afterwards, though, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin had actually thought he would lose her.  “No, you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t regret doing it.”  Belle’s voice was a whisper, but she met his eyes steadily.

“And I’m grateful, sweetheart, it’s just—” He swallowed hard.  “I just want to protect you.”

Belle turned to cup his face in her hands.  “Sometimes, it’s about protecting one another.”

“All right.”  Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes as he breathed the words, and felt Belle’s forehead come to rest against his.  “I love you so much.”

“And I love you, too, silly man.”

Holding her was heaven, but before either of them could say or do more, the door to the shop opened, complete with the little bell ringing.  Sighing, Rumplestiltskin pulled back, expecting to see David or even Regina.  But the snarky remark died on his lips when Sir Percival walked in, followed closely by Arthur and Guinevere.  _Well, I wasn’t expecting royalty so early in the morning,_ he thought, but managed not to say it.  Barely.

“Are you Lady Belle?” Arthur asked without preamble as Percival fell back, seemingly guarding the door to keep anyone else from entering the shop.

“I am.”  She glanced Rumple’s way, and he could sense her discomfort.  Sir Percival had asked the exact same question three days earlier, and they had both found it odd, then.  The knight had been persistently focused, but Arthur was even more so.  His blue eyes burned into the pair, pausing on Rumplestiltskin…hostilely?

It had been some time since someone had looked at him like that, yet Rumplestiltskin somehow got the impression that it was because of the way his left hand was still resting on Belle’s waist.

“Was your mother’s name Colette?”  Again, the question came from Arthur.  Guinevere just watched with uncanny eyes, and somewhere deep inside Rumplestiltskin, instinct twinged.

_I’ve seen her before.  Not here.  Here she was Widow Morton, but…in Merlin’s memories?_

But reaching for Merlin provided no answers.  The old sorcerer was growing weaker and weaker, particularly after that little spell of Zelena’s.  He barely spoke to Rumplestiltskin, now; their communication tended to come when memories of Merlin’s bubbled up and caught the new Sorcerer unawares.

“Why do you want to know that?” Belle was growing tense, and Rumplestiltskin gently squeezed her waist, running his fingers comfortingly against her side.  She wasn’t ticklish, not like he was, and they both knew her mother was still a sensitive subject, even after all these years.

Arthur grimaced.  “Please answer the question.”

Camelot’s formerly sleeping king sounded desperate, however, and Rumplestiltskin knew that always tugged on Belle’s heartstrings.  So, she nodded slowly.  “Yes.  My mother’s name was Colette.  She died years before the curse.”

“She died without ever telling you about her family, didn’t she?” Arthur now looked devastated, yet Rumplestiltskin did not miss the slight hesitation that came before Guinevere reached out to put a hand on his arm.  _Widow Morton,_ he mused.  _Mort, as in death?  The curse never chose names by accident._

Belle blinked.  “She never spoke much of them.  She told me she’d been taken from her home as a child.”

“She did?” Arthur and Guinevere exchanged looks, but it was Guinevere who spoke up.

“We lost our daughter a long time ago,” she said softly.  “She was stolen from us by a knight we once trusted, taken to a realm outside of Camelot.  We have searched for her ever since…and now blood magic leads us to you.”

“To me?  You think… _I’m_ a descendant of your daughter’s?” Belle gaped.

“Our daughter’s name was Colette.”

Belle stared; Rumplestiltskin felt her groping for his hand and met her fingers halfway.  “You’re…you’re telling me that I’m your granddaughter.  That you’re my _grandparents._   But how?   You lived centuries before I was born.”

“We don’t know,” Arthur answered.  “When you were stolen away, we searched ceaselessly.  There were rumors that my stepsister—Morgan—created a time portal for Lancelot to take Colette through, but Morgan never admitted to it.”

“Wouldn’t that break the laws of magic?” Belle glanced Rumplestiltskin’s way, and he knew she was taking refuge in knowledge and logic to distance herself from the emotional implications of what she’d been told.  He answered anyway.

“Not exactly.  The laws of magic say that you cannot change the past.  Technically, sending someone—or several someones— _forward_ into time would change nothing.  But it would take an extraordinary amount of power.” 

Rumplestiltskin spent a moment musing on exactly how much power it would take to create such a time portal.  Zelena’s had been nothing in comparison; she’d wanted to go back less than a century, and she had had the Dark One’s power at her disposal as well as her own.  To create such a spell alone, and to use it to send at least two people forward approximately eight hundred years, would have taken a sorceress of the likes he had never met before.  _Emma could have had the power, perhaps, if she’d been properly trained before becoming the Dark One._   Either way, if Morgan le Fae had done it, she was indeed everything that legend had said she was.

“But it’s possible?” Belle’s voice was very quiet, and her eyes searched his face desperately, asking Rumplestiltskin if this insanely unexpected news could possibly be true.

“Yes.”  He answered both questions with a squeeze of her hand.  “Though I would like to independently confirm the blood link before we get too far ahead of ourselves.”

Belle’s smile was grateful, but Arthur’s voice was suspicious.  “Who exactly are you?”

“Rumplestiltskin,” he answered simply, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t know the name.  He’d gone to Camelot far after their time.  Mordred had recognized him; his father would not.  Yet Guinevere—Widow Morton—might know of him.  She had been here under both curses, he realized.  _How in the world did_ she _come forward in time, if not with her daughter?_   There were holes in this story.  Important ones.  Something about Guinevere did not add up, and she did _not_ look surprised.

“And who are you to stand so intimately with—”

“My husband,” Belle cut in, and her (presumed) grandfather cut off, his mouth flopping open in shock for a moment before it snapped shut.

“Our apologies,” Guinevere interjected smoothly.  “This is all very unexpected.  We simply wish to know you…Belle.  Your mother was taken from us far too soon, and we understand that she is dead.”

Belle nodded.  “She died during the Fourth Ogre War.”

Arthur flinched; Guinevere smiled sadly.  “Then…please, let us know you.  We will, of course, be happy to submit to whatever confirmation spells the Sorcerer wishes.  We have nothing to hide.”

“Sorcerer?” Arthur twisted to look at his wife.

“It happened shortly before you arrived.  Merlin’s power found a new…home.” The way she inclined her head to him set Rumplestiltskin’s instincts on edge, but he had no idea why. 

“I see.”  Merlin had warned him against Arthur, told him that Arthur had not become the man he’d hoped.  Now Rumplestiltskin heard the edge in the other man’s voice, and did not wonder why.

Guinevere gave Arthur a reassuring smile.  “It seems our granddaughter has married well.  And this man is not Merlin.”

“All the better.” Arthur turned to Rumplestiltskin with a smile.  “My apologies.  This is a new and different world, and I fear I am not familiar with its customs.”

“It’s strange for everyone at first,” Belle, ever the peacemaker, spoke up.  And then, being Belle, she started trying to get to know her new grandparents—even as Rumplestiltskin took hairs from both of them to do the required spells.  He could have used blood, but doing so seemed a rather crass way to introduce himself from his presumptive grandparents-in-law.  He had a touchy enough relationship with Moe French as things stood, and Rumplestiltskin could do without incurring the hatred of Belle’s grandparents.

Still, there was something in Guinevere’s very stance that made him uneasy.  She moved like the dancer Widow Morton had been, self-confident and poised, yet there was something _else_ there.  Something dangerous.  Rumplestiltskin had never looked into Widow Morton; she’d never been important.  Until now.

* * *

 

“I wonder what _they_ want with Gold.”  Emma’s voice was low and unhappy, and made Killian look up from the television. 

“Come again?”

Emma put the two bags from Granny’s down on the coffee table.  “Arthur and his _wife_ ,” she sneered.  “I saw them going into Gold’s shop.  I don’t trust it.”

“Much though it pains me to say it, he’s not like he was, love.”  Killian would never like Rumplestiltskin, but he understood what becoming the Dark One did to someone.  _I look at the effects every day,_ he thought sadly, watching Emma sit down by his side.  She was poised and self-contained, this Emma, with none of the casual grace _his_ Emma had.

“I know.  I’ve been talking to him.”

That made him gape.  “You’ve been _what_?  What form of special Dark One insanity would possess you do to something like that?”

“He doesn’t judge me.”  She shrugged, giving him a sideways look as Killian tried to swallow his guilt.  “Even you do.  Even when you don’t mean to.”

“Emma…” Killian didn’t know what to say.  Yes, he judged her.  Yes, he wanted _his_ Emma back, the real Emma.  Not this Dark One walking around in Emma’s skin, with some of her mannerisms and all of her memories.  He wanted to change her, so yes, he supposed that was judging her in the worst of ways.

“I don’t blame you.  You can’t understand.”  Her face closed off.  “He does.”

Telling her not to trust the crocodile was on the tip of his tongue, but Killian stopped himself.  He hadn’t had much contact with Rumplestiltskin, yet he did know Belle well enough to believe her when she said her husband had changed.  And the old bastard _had_ helped them more than once, including turning back the four people Emma had made into stone statues for birds to leave their droppings on.  _If he can change that much after being freed from the darkness, so can Emma._   That thought was strangely comforting, so Killian bit his tongue. 

“Does he have anything interesting to say?” he asked curiously.  “Or is he just giving you advice on how to best torment the denizens of Storybrooke?”

“I don’t need advice on how to torment people.  The voices in my head have that covered.”  Another detached shrug.  “Rumplestiltskin thinks there might be a way to pull the darkness from me and then trap it before it can possess someone else.”

“Do you think he can?”  Killian’s heart almost stopped.  Hadn’t Mordred said he could do the same?  Was the Crocodile up to his old tricks, stealing other peoples’ ideas and claiming credit?  Or did he have a darker purpose in mind?  Trusting Rumplestiltskin was still perhaps a bridge too far, and the idea of _Emma_ going to him for help was disquieting.

“He knows it better than anyone.”  Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper, suddenly vulnerable and a little scared.  “Better than me, even.  He says that if I’m willing, he’ll find a way.”

“Are you?”  He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“I don’t know.” 

Wordlessly, Emma leaned into him, and Killian wrapped his left arm around her.  She was conflicted, he knew.  Some days, she’d say she was better like this.  Others, she knew what had happened to her.  But when push came to shove, Killian had learned how tenacious that darkness would be.  If Emma _could_ have given it up willingly, she would have already.  Which meant that the former Dark One’s plan was worthless.  Mordred, on the other hand, said he could stop the darkness whether or not Emma wanted to let it go.  _Sorry, Crocodile.  You might have changed, but I’ll trust my family over you any day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve written another outtake from this story, titled “Ruins of Memories”. It's posted here and takes place after chapter 27 and covers the aftermath of Belle and Rumple dealing with the aftermath of Zelena’s spell and their destroyed home.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty—“Loyal in Friendship”, in which Henry’s plan to reconcile Emma with Regina comes into play, Rumplestiltskin is tipped off about the trap that Mordred is working on, Zelena plans to get the dagger, and Belle pays her father a visit.


	30. Loyal in Friendship

“I don’t _remember_ anything,” Robin told David and Regina in the sheriff’s station.  After Emma teleported him away, he’d gone straight there, mostly out of a need to find out how much time he had lost.  According to David, he’d been gone less than thirty minutes, but Robin didn’t remember _any_ of that.

“You just remember seeing Emma and then her teleporting you back into the street.”  Regina repeated his words testily, but Robin knew she wasn’t angry with him.

“Pretty much, yeah.  I mean, I get this sinking feeling that something happened, but it’s all a blank.”  Robin tried to sound casual, but the grimace that wormed its way onto his face ruined that.  He _hated_ feeling helpless.

Regina must have seen his expression, because she put a gentle hand on his arm before turning to glare at David.  “I know we agreed to work together to free Emma, but she’s becoming a menace.  If she keeps endangering people—”

“It’s not her fault, Regina.”  David still looked heartbroken, though.  “You know that.  This isn’t her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.  It’s not who she _was_ , but this is who she is now.  And sooner or later, she’s going to kill someone else.”  Regina crossed her arms.  “At the very least, we need to get the dagger and make sure we _can_ stop her.”

“If we do that, she’ll never trust any of us again.”

“Well, excuse me if Emma Swan’s trust isn’t the highest item on my priority list right now!” Regina shouted, and now it was Robin’s turn to put a hand on her arm.

“Regina.”  But she glared stubbornly at David until he said her name a second time.  “ _Regina_.  I’m fine.  Whatever memories I’m missing, I’m sure you can find a way to restore.  I don’t think we want to do anything dramatic like looking for the dagger just because of this.”

“It’s not just you, though,” she said, sighing unhappily.  “Four stone statues.  Granny.  Who’s next?  She’s already tried to kill Arthur.  What happens with the mass of people from Camelot when she succeeds?”

“Getting the dagger _isn’t_ the answer,” a new voice said, making all three adults whirl to look at Henry.  Regina’s son stood in the doorway, wearing a somewhat apologetic smile.  “You guys were kind of loud, but I know I’m right.  I’ve talked to Grandpa Gold a lot, and he’s kind of the expert on that.  If someone tries to take the dagger, Mom will stop at _nothing_ to get it back.”

Regina let out another sigh.  “We know that, Henry.”

“Then the best answer is to bring Mom back into the family.  She needs support, but she won’t get that while she’s staying away from us.”  As always, Robin was impressed by how succinctly Henry could get to the heart of a problem; the lad really was quite brilliant. 

“Except she’s not going to do that while she’s still obsessing over the idea of punishing me,” Regina grumbled.  “Maybe _I_ should go on a vacation somewhere.”

“If only,” Robin muttered before he could stop himself, and he and Regina exchanged wry smiles.

“You can’t.”  Henry was every bit as stubborn and focused as Regina.  “We’ve got a plan, remember?”

“No.  That’s off.”  Regina drew herself up to her full height to look down at her son, which made Robin struggle not to laugh.   Regina was barely taller than Henry, now, and the effect clearly wasn’t what she was hoping for.  “Not after what she just did to Robin.”

“What plan are you talking about?” David asked, clearly confused.  Robin, who knew a little of what Henry had planned—only because he’d walked in on the tail end of Henry talking Regina into it the day before—felt a little sorry for David, but it wasn’t his place to share.  Both Millses, however, ignored the prince-turned-sheriff.

“Mom, we _have_ to.  You agreed!”

“That was _before_ your other mother decided to erase a half hour of Robin’s memories!”

Hurt flashed across Henry’s face.  “It’s the best way to help her.  Please.”

“She needs to show that she _wants_ help before—”

“Regina.”  Robin cut her off in a soft voice again, earning himself a fierce glare.  “You need to do this.  If it’ll bring Emma back around—or even gives us a chance of that—it’ll be worth the work.  Don’t you think?”

“She’s _crazy_ ,” Regina growled.

“She’s the Dark One.”  Henry shrugged philosophically.  “I think it comes with the territory.”

Regina snorted; David spoke up plaintively.  “Will someone _please_ clue me in?”

* * *

 

It was not the kind of phone call Rumplestiltskin was accustomed to receiving, yet Ruby called him all the same.  Belle had just walked out of the shop to talk to her father after their surprising royal guests had departed, so he couldn’t hand the phone to her—even if he desperately _wanted_ to foist Ruby off on his wife.  She was Belle’s friend, after all.  Ruby Lucas being nice to him still made Rumplestiltskin wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Gold,” he answered.  A habit of twenty-eight years was impossible to break, even though he hadn’t thought of himself by that name since Emma had arrived in Storybrooke.

“Hey, it’s Ruby.  Sorry to bother you, but I saw something that I thought you might want to take a look at.”

“Are you sure you didn’t mean to call Belle?” Rumplestiltskin asked before he could stop himself.

“Well, she said you’re going to teach her magic, but you’re still the expert on that, right?”

“That’s the rumor.”  The quip escaped before he could stop himself, and much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, Ruby laughed.

“Mulan and I went for a run in the woods earlier, and we saw that Mordred guy building something.  And it just _smelled_ foul, with an awful lot of blood around it.  I think the blood was his, but it stank like dark magic.  And something else I couldn’t identify.  It’s about a mile west of your cabin, by the stream.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “I’ll…take a look at it,” he said slowly.  Being called for help was strange, but who else was going to investigate something like this?  “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Mr. G.”

He opened his mouth to object to the nickname, but Ruby hung up before he could get a word out.

* * *

 

His trap was almost finished.  Mordred had studied for years—centuries, really—to determine how to best trap the Dark One.  He had done so on three separate occasions, only to find that the Dark One’s magic was annoyingly resilient and able to escape nearly any trap.  Most of them were canny enough, in an animalistic and feral way, to avoid the traps entirely.  This time, however, he was quite certain that he could get her _in_ the trap.  He just had to make sure that he could get Killian out of it once his nephew led the Dark One in. 

Part of Mordred regretted using his nephew like this, even if he knew it was for the best.  He had told Killian that he knew how to get the darkness out of his lady love whether she wanted it removed or not, but what he _hadn’t_ said was that the process would kill the current Dark One.  _Her soul is lost already,_ Mordred told himself.  _Just like Nimue’s was gone._   If Emma Swan really was the type of woman Killian Jones claimed she had been, she would agree with Mordred.  Better to sacrifice one person to rid the realms of that darkness than to let it keep infecting others.  Even if he could have replicated the Apprentice’s act and pulled the darkness free, it merely would have sought a new host, and then the town would have two former Dark Ones running around.  _One is quite bad enough, particularly when he has the Sorcerer’s power._

Sighing, Mordred turned back to study his work.  The time-warping spell in the center of the clearing would take a little more work, but it would be done within a day or so.  Time adjustment was a Fae specialty, but his mother had learned it from _her_ mother’s relatives.  Mordred knew that he’d created quite a mess in Camelot when he’d tried to stop (and later restart) time, but using the spell in a localized manner should not have so many ill-effects. _Besides which, it’s not like I can turn the Dark One into_ more _of a monster_ , he thought behind a grimace.

But there was nothing else he could do for the day, so Mordred turned away, walking briskly through the forest towards his castle.  He wanted to stretch his legs, and the castle wasn’t too far, so there was no need to teleport.  He’d put the finishing touches on the trap the next day, and then bring his mother out to take a look at it—assuming Morgan would agree.  She was finicky about these things, but since her primary goal was taking the Black Fairy down, Mordred couldn’t see why she wouldn’t work with him.  Besides, he’d guarded the trap with blood magic, which would keep anyone else from walking into it.  Morgan would scold him for taking the easy way out, but…

A twig cracked behind him, and Mordred spun around.  This deep into the trees, he had a hard time seeing his trap—but he shifted left.  And then stared.

The Sorcerer had just teleported into the flower-covered clearing Mordred had chosen for his trap, and walked right through Mordred’s wards.  _Even the Sorcerer can’t defeat blood magic that easily,_ he thought, watching in frozen shock.  Blood magic could be circumvented, but not without an impressive outlay of power—which Mordred would have felt—or quite a lot of work.  Work that it was plain Rumplestiltskin had not put in.

_This is impossible._

* * *

 

Whatever Emma had done to the outlaw, it hadn’t punished Regina enough.  While Zelena watched, Regina kissed her precious little boy-toy, pulling away from him reluctantly as the two exchanged words.  Robin seemed to have enough memories to want to kiss Regina—though why _anyone_ would want to do that was beyond her—and the idiot even smiled at her as she and her little brat teleported away.

Huffing, Zelena turned away and did the same herself.  Emma really _was_ a disappointment as the Dark One.  She’d been too good for too long, Zelena supposed.  She thought she was so threatening with her ‘I’m changing our deal’ business, as if Zelena hadn’t uttered the same sort of threats herself on a thousand occasions.  Emma Swan wasn’t nearly as frightening as she thought she was, and Zelena was sick of being her puppet.  _Our deal was that I got to make Regina suffer, and she’s lost interest,_ the Wicked Witch thought.  _So, I’ll_ make _her be interested again._

After all, she’d gotten ahold of the dagger once.  Who was to say she couldn’t do so a second time?  Zelena already knew exactly what she needed to do.  Emma had a son that she loved, and Dark Ones were _so_ very predictable.

* * *

 

“This had better work,” Regina told him sternly, and Henry gave her his best smile. 

“It’ll work.  I know it will.”  He held up the Snow Queen’s scroll.  “And I’ll be right here with the scroll _and_ my cell phone.”

“You’d better be, Mister.”  His mom dropped a quick kiss on his head, and then stepped across the town line.  Watching her turn around, clearly unable to see Henry when he could still see her was really unsettling, but Henry took a step back and steeled himself.

“Emma Swan.  Emma Swan.  Emma Swan.”

* * *

 

“Belle!” Maurice always looked so delighted to see her that Belle sometimes felt guilty over how infrequently she visited her father.  Their relationship was on a lot better terms these days, even though she had resumed her marriage after Rumplestiltskin had woken up and they’d cleared the air between them.  She knew her father wasn’t always keen on her husband, but he accepted Rumple for her sake, which Belle appreciated.

Now, however, she wasn’t sure _what_ she felt towards her father as she let Game of Thorns’ door swing shut behind her.  Had he lied to her all these years?  Did he know _anything_?  Squaring her shoulders, Belle stopped short of going behind the counter to deliver the hug she knew Maurice expected.

“Hello, Papa.”

“Is something wrong, my girl?  You look…you look like something has happened.  Please tell me that husband of yours didn’t—”

“ _Rumple_ would never hurt me.  Not now that he’s himself,” she cut her father off.  “I met my grandparents.”

Rumple’s spells had confirmed that relation, too.  Arthur and Guinevere—the rightful king and queen of _Camelot_ —were Belle’s maternal grandparents.  They seemed nice enough, if rather desperate to get to know her.  Belle was delighted to have new family, though she was determined to embrace’ Rumplestiltskin’s caution.  He was wary, and rightfully so, but a part of Belle was so very excited. 

“Your _what_?” Maurice gaped, but Belle didn’t give him a chance to go on.

“Did you know?” she demanded.  “Did you know who my mother’s parents were, that she’d been taken from them?”

“Belle, I—”

“ _Did you know_?”

“I didn’t know who they were,” Maurice said hurriedly.  “Your mother’s guardian, Sir Lancelot, came by a few times, but she was an orphan.  She told me her parents had to be long dead.”

Swallowing, Belle wrapped her arms around herself tightly and studied her father.  She couldn’t detect a lie, but it wouldn’t be the first time Maurice had kept something from her because he thought she didn’t need to know.  Or because he had some foolish notion of ‘protecting’ her.  But he didn’t usually _lie_ to her.  Maurice was more likely to tell her that it wasn’t important, that she wouldn’t understand, or that she was too young.  Not lie.

“You never asked Lancelot how he came to be her guardian?”

“I was courting your mother, sweeting, not interrogating him.  I wanted him to _like_ me.”  A strangely soft expression crossed her father’s face.  “Though I did always wonder how he stayed so young.  He never aged, not from the first time I met her when we were fifteen.”

_That’s something I need to ask about._ Belle filed the information away, and then gave her father a tentative smile.  “Then, um, you might want to sit down.  It turns out there’s a really big story here.”

* * *

 

He had not needed to disturb the trap, much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise. 

For at least a century, Rumplestiltskin had been known to be the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest.  The most skilled _sorcerer_ , not simply the Dark One with a huge host of power at his disposal; Rumplestiltskin had learned magic, had studied it and understood it in ways that few ever had.  He’d filled the long and empty years while he’d prepared for the curse with books and spells, first out of loneliness and later because magic had become the only passion he allowed himself—or felt he would ever deserve to have.  His knowledge had dwarfed his predecessors because he refused to rely upon the power inherent in being the Dark One, and that had helped him stave off the steady darkening of his heart for at least a century longer than any other had ever managed.

Yet he was still flabbergasted by the depth of his new power quite regularly.  Coupled with knowledge, this power was _extraordinary_ , and so long as he remained on the right path, acting in the right way, the price to be paid was negligible.  Not that being what the power wanted him to be was insignificant in any way.  That was, in nearly every way, the hardest part of this for the former Dark One.  He’d never been a hero and he’d rarely considered himself a good man, but this power demanded he try.  _And that terrifies me._

Those worries, however, would have to wait for another day.  First, he needed to detect exactly what type of trap Mordred had set up.  There was a flavor of magic present that Rumplestiltskin was actually unfamiliar with, and to identify that, he had to dig deep beneath his consciousness to rouse the steadily-weakening enchanter whose consciousness Rumplestiltskin still carried with him.  _Do you know it?_ Rumplestiltskin asked Merlin silently.

_Time magic,_ came the response after a moment.  _An old fae specialty._

_Fae as opposed to fairy?_   Rumplestiltskin had read a few of the books on the origins of magic, but he was still a little murky when it came to exactly when faery had become fae and fairy.

_The split came shortly after the First Foundation War, one thousand and thirty years before your first curse._   Merlin seemed to pause, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin could  _feel_ the heavy grief the old sorcerer felt.   _Medea died at the end of that war, as did the White Fairy._

“There was a _White_ Fairy?” Surprise made him murmur the words aloud, and a soft sigh filled his mind.

_Yes. Danns’ absorbed most of her sister’s power, and Reul never forgave her for it.  I think that Fionna Rèitear_ _hoped it would bring Danns’ closer to the light.  It even worked, for some time._

Fascinating as that was, Rumplestiltskin returned his attention to the magic surrounding him.  It was clearly a trap for the Dark One; Mordred had made his intentions towards Emma plain, and Rumplestiltskin had noticed him talking to the pirate.  He’d stayed out of that business; apparently Mordred was the pirate’s uncle, and Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing to do with _that_ little family tie.  Besides which, he did not need to like Hook to know that the pirate wouldn’t betray Emma.  Hook had fought hard enough for her on enough occasions that _no_ one doubted that.

Turning slowly on his heel, Rumplestiltskin studied the nearly-complete webs of magic around him.  Time magic would isolate Emma in a bubble, holding her motionless in relation to the outside world, but even such a powerful spell as this could not last longer than a few hours.  What was Mordred planning?  Even the most powerful of sorcerers would not be able to reach inside the bubble unless— _Damn.  How could I forget the gauntlet?  It shields the hand from magic as much as it performs its other functions._ Rumplestiltskin had allowed himself to completely disregard the gauntlet he’d once taken from Mordred and Mordred had undoubtedly stolen back from him.  Now, however, he had a bad feeling it would prove useful to Emma’s enemy.

Rumplestiltskin had never imagined he would again be in the position of trying to ensure the Dark One did not lose control of the dagger…but he knew what Mordred wanted.  What the other sorcerer planned to do with it, he did not know, but he did not care to find out.  _If there’s any part of this horror I can spare Emma, let it be that._ Cold hands of memory touched his body, and Rumplestiltskin shivered, shaking his head hard to banish the imagery.

He stepped out of the trap without a backward glance, and teleported himself back to the shop.  There was work to be done.

* * *

 

Emma felt the familiar call and smiled.  She knew that she’d messed up a lot of things with her family, but the fact that Henry was calling her was rather nice.  He wasn’t in danger, either; she knew she would have been able to sense that.  So, she teleported herself to him easily, appearing in a swirl of gray smoke.  She was, however, surprised to find herself standing inches from the town line.

“What are you doing here, Henry?”

Her son faced her squarely.  “Trying to help you.”

“You already do,” Emma said with her most reassuring smile, but Henry’s frown only deepened.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Henry shoved her over the town line.

Caught unprepared, Emma stumbled, almost catching her balance on the Storybrooke side of the line but staggering over the spray painted line on the road.  Terror seized her heart immediately, followed by devastating heartbreak.  How could _Henry_ , of all people, have done that to her?  He knew there was no way back!  She might not have been at her best, but she was still his mother, and she loved him.  Storybrooke had become her home, and everyone she loved was there, and—

“Henry has the scroll.  He’s waiting for me to call him before he’ll send it out to us.” 

Whirling, Emma turned to face Regina.  The other woman stood with her arms crossed stubbornly, her angry eyes focused on Emma.

“You’re a part of this?” she snarled.  _Strangle her.  Kill her with your bare hands,_ the voice inside her whispered, and Emma couldn’t stop herself from gasping.  “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Regina rolled her eyes.  “And of course I’m a part of this.  Henry couldn’t fool us both.”

“I’m still the Dark One out here!”  The words were a snarl, terrified and furious.  Her chest was so tight, both with disappointment and utter devastation.  The voice was quieter, but she could still _hear_ it—even when there was no magic to be had.  Part of Emma had actually hoped that coming out into this world would stop it, that she could be herself out here—but she couldn’t.  That horrible, toxic presence was still in her mind.  Her soul _still_ wasn’t her own. 

_Threaten her until the boy hands over the scroll!_ For all of the slightly-muted manner in which the darkness spoke with outside of Storybrooke, the voice was still an overwhelming presence in her mind.  Emma could hear her own thoughts a little more clearly, but she still could feel the darkness coiling up around her soul, sinking its teeth in just as deeply as they did back home.  _I didn’t know,_ she thought desperately, her shock giving her strength to push the horrible demand aside.

She was angry with Regina, yes, but she would never put Henry in that position.  _Never_.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Regina snapped.  “There’s no magic out here.  That’s the idea.  As long as we’re out here, the worst we can do is hit one another.”

“Not like we haven’t done _that_ before.”  The dry remark escaped before Emma could think about it, but the darkness wasn’t going to let the real Emma out for that long.  _You’re stronger than she is.  Take your revenge now._

Emma started to step forward, her legs moving when the darkness told them to instead of waiting for Emma’s permission.  But she stopped herself with an effort.  She couldn’t see Henry on the other side of the line, but Henry could see her.  Emma would _not_ do this to him.

“So, what do you mean you’re ‘still the Dark One out here’?” Regina asked again.  “There’s no magic.”

_There is,_ the darkness whispered helpfully, and Emma found herself cocking her head in concentration.  “There is,” she said more honestly than was her wont these days.  “I think this land had magic once, before it faded.  Otherwise, Rumplestiltskin never could have returned what was lost to Storybrooke.”

“Okay, that’s a fascinating little history lesson, but will you answer my damn question, or am I going to have to shake it out of you?” Regina looked ready to do just that, but Emma snorted.

Even without magic, she knew she could squash the older woman like a bug.   “Don’t be ridiculous.”  The sneer felt so natural.  “I told you all.  The Dark One is what I am.  No matter _where_ I am.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.  There shouldn’t be enough magic here for that.”

“I _am_ magic, you idiot.”  Emma gave her a droll look, and watched Regina’s temper flare.  The other woman’s eyes narrowed, and her face flushed deeply, which made Emma smirk.  _Oh, she’s so easy to taunt.  It’s even fun!_

“You know, this really isn’t a good look on you.”  Somehow, Regina had managed to control herself, which was actually a little impressive.  “You’ve become a bitch.”

“Well, I’ve learned from the best.”

Regina laughed.  “Didn’t anyone tell you that I’m not the right person to emulate?  I screwed up my entire life because I couldn’t let go of my hatred.  I turned to dark magic to make others suffer because _I_ was suffering.  How in the hell does that sound like a good idea, even if you are the Dark One?  Take it from me, it doesn’t make you feel better in the end.  And by the time you realize how messed up you are, you’ve screwed yourself out of the things that really matter.”

Part of Emma knew exactly what Regina meant—because it wasn’t like she was some unwitting passenger on her own descent into darkness.  She _knew_ what was happening, and as much as she reveled in the darkness, she also hated it.  Emma loathed what she had become, yet the freedom was utterly intoxicating.  She had cared too much for too long, had helped people who now wanted to hate her and spit on what she’d become.  They’d never understand, even Regina, who thought she understood what darkness was.  Regina had supped at the buffet, true, but Emma had drowned.  Why couldn’t these people understand that?

“I’m not like _you_ ,” she hissed.

“Sure you aren’t,” Regina scoffed.  “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You don’t _get_ it, do you?  You chose darkness!” Emma couldn’t stop herself from stepping close to Regina as she snarled.  “I wanted to save everyone—to save _you_!—and I got this _thing_ living inside me.”

“What thing?  Darkness is a choice, Emma—”

“No it isn’t!  That’s what you people don’t understand.  I can try to be better, I can fight it, and sometimes I can even win, but I can’t wish it away.”  Emma started to pace, the words spilling out of her wildly.  The darkness would have stopped her from saying this before, she realized.  But out here, it had a little less strength.  Just enough, perhaps, to let her be honest.  “I can’t _not_ use the darkness.  It’s a part of me.  It whispers, it _shouts_ , and sometimes it just takes control.  I’m trying to learn to fight it, but it’s hard.”

Regina looked at her like she was crazy.  “Magic can’t just take control of you like that.”

“This isn’t just magic!  Why don’t you get that?  I’m not just someone who decided to suddenly jump off the deep end and embrace darkness because I was angry!”

“No, I guess you aren’t.”  Regina blinked.  “I can’t really apply my own experiences here, I guess.”

“ _Finally_.”

“Don’t start being a bitch.  That’s my job.”

Emma just snorted, but she finally stopped pacing.  _You need to get back to where there is magic,_ the voice said urgently.  _Your power is there.  Your family is there._  

“Henry wants us to make up, but I’m not going to kiss you,” Regina said when Emma remained silent.  “You’d prefer the pirate do that, anyway.”

Much to her own surprise, Emma barked out a laugh.  “It might get awkward, anyway.”

“So, do you want to stay pissed off at me?  Yeah, I stopped you from avenging Snow, and it _burned_.  I loved her, you know.  It was messy and it was ugly, but she was my stepdaughter, and it _cost_ me to let her killer go.  But do you know why I did that?

“Why?”

“Because you taught me that.  You taught me that killing creates as many problems as it solves.  We can’t afford to start a war with the people from Camelot.  Things are dicey enough already.”

_You wanted back in,_ Emma told herself, pushing aside the darkness’ howl of frustration.  It was snapping at her ankles like a rabid dog, but for the moment, she was in control.  _I can’t put the darkness down, not yet, but maybe, just maybe, they won’t make me do this alone._ Waiting for Regina to apologize was about as smart as waiting for coal to turn into a diamond, but Regina _had_ expressed regret.  And Emma really did know why Regina had stopped her, at least when she was thinking straight.  _Don’t trust her,_ the darkness whispered.  _She’ll only betray you.  They_ all _will!_   The darkness was coiling up furiously again, lashing at Emma in the slightly subdued way had without magic, but listening to those objections made everything strangely clear.

“I know.”  Squaring her shoulders, Emma made her choice.  Killian would be proud of her, at the very least, and that mattered to her.  And Henry would be happy if she visibly put this vendetta against Regina aside—which she had already more or less decided to do, anyway.  “There’s more going on than you think.  In fact—”

The Snow Queen’s scroll came flying across the town line.

* * *

 

“Mother, I need your help.”

Morgan looked up from her book—a novel that Accolon had picked up for her from the library—and stared at her son in surprise.  She could count on one hand the number of times Mordred had admitted to needing her help since he’d reached adulthood.  Her eldest was prone to egotism, and although he was generally right about his level of competence, it did tend to put people off.  Even his mother.

“Do you?” she asked mildly, sliding a bookmark into the novel.  It really was quite good; apparently, the librarian had recommended it.  _Accolon certainly would not have found this on his own,_ she thought with amusement, watching Mordred fume.

“My trap for the Dark One is nearly complete.”

He said nothing else for a long moment, and just continued to glower, so Morgan raised an eyebrow.  “And…?”

“And the new Sorcerer just _waltzed_ right into it like there were no wards!” Those words exploded out of Mordred with more force than Morgan had expected, and she blinked hard.

“You left it unprotected?”

“Of course not!  I used blood magic to shield it from all angles, even if he’d teleported straight into it—which he _didn’t_ —it should have stopped him.  It _would_ have stopped him.  I didn’t make mistakes.”  His brown eyes found her, wide and furiously worried.  “You need to figure out who he is, Mother.  He’s more than just a former Dark One.  I must know _before_ I finish my work.”

“Then you must wait,” she replied serenely, already mulling over possibilities in her mind.  The first possibility that occurred to her, of course, was not conceivable.  Perhaps, however, Merlin had discovered some spell or another…

“I can’t!  The Dark One seems likely to make allies, and if she isn’t isolated with only Killian by her side, he’ll never be able to lead her in.”  Mordred turned to glare out the window.  “Can you distract him?”

“Killian?”

Mordred rolled his eyes.  “No, the Sorcerer.  Rumplestiltskin.”

“I will see what I can do.”

It was time to turn to blood magic once more, even though Morgan knew what the answer had to be.  What was left of her heart objected, but Morgan had learned to treasure reason over emotion.  Leaning on emotion had wrecked her more than once, so she would focus on cold, hard, facts.  She would do the spells, and this time, she would direct them at one target only: the Sorcerer.

* * *

 

Belle went from her father’s shop to lunch with Arthur and Guinevere. With her _grandparents._   Conversations with them were still awkward, but it was getting a little better.  So far, they’d stuck to safe subjects.  Her grandparents told her stories about her mother’s childhood, and Belle shared the memories she had of Colette.  She talked about her love for reading and her work at the library, where she had finally hired Anton as an assistant—the giant had a surprisingly big love of books, much to Belle’s surprise.  She told them a watered-down version of how she had fallen in love with Rumplestiltskin, leaving out any bits where he’d locked her into a dungeon or threatened her.  Arthur did seem rather prone to protectiveness, and something about her grandfather’s demeanor told Belle that he’d come up with far more dangerous ways to interfere than her father ever had.

In turn, Arthur and Guinevere told her about Camelot’s golden years, about building a legendary city and pulling desperate people together.  The only topic that seemed to cause any tension was when Belle asked about Merlin, and from Arthur’s response, she sensed that there was some deep-seated resentment between those two.  Belle made a mental note to ask Rumplestiltskin about that and changed the subject, instead asking about Mordred—who was, after all, her half-uncle.

“Mordred and I have our differences,” Arthur said, probably trying to be diplomatic.

Guinevere was more discreet, but her expression was far darker.  “Mordred tried to kill his father on more than one occasion.  You might say that we strongly disagree with his methods.”

“He’s tried to get Rumplestiltskin to ally with him,” Belle said next, just to see what they would say.  “Rumple told him no.”

“Good.”  Arthur snorted.  “Mordred is more likely to stab him in the back than work with him.”

“Beware his mother as well,” her grandmother advised.  “Although Morgan is less…impatient than Mordred, she is not entirely trustworthy.”

Arthur grimaced.  “Morgan means well.  If it weren’t for Mordred, she would be far different.”

“She _did_ raise him, darling.”  There seemed to be quite a long story behind Guinevere’s deceptively mild tone, and Belle had to fight to keep from raising her eyebrows.  The look her grandmother gave her grandfather was _very_ pointed, and Arthur was the first too look away as Guinevere continued: “I know you want to love your stepsister, but Morgan has changed a great deal since you were children.”

“I suppose she has.”

Both turned to her with smiles after that, changing the subject to how Arthur found Storybrooke and modern technology befuddling, but Belle didn’t fail to notice how Guinevere seemed to be the senior member of their partnership.  Arthur obviously felt a deep love and devotion towards his wife, but Belle got a different vibe from Guinevere.  She wouldn’t say that her grandmother didn’t care for her grandfather, but there was something odd going on there.

Even more odd was Guinevere’s shrug and smile when she asked how the Queen of Camelot had escaped Mordred’s purges _and_ managed to be brought over to Storybrooke with the first curse.  Until that moment, Belle had been certain that her grandmother hadn’t lied to her—but when Guinevere said that she had no idea how such a thing could have happened, Belle could tell it wasn’t true.  _She knows,_ Belle realized.  _And she wants to know if I can tell._   Normally, Belle would have voiced her opinion right away, and a part of her still wanted to.  Yet she really didn’t know these people, despite the very real family ties they shared, and perhaps a little caution was in order.  So, Belle said nothing, instead listening and learning…and waiting.

* * *

 

Henry had expected a lot of things to happen beyond the town line.  He’d even been prepared to watch his mothers get in a physical fight—not, he knew, for the first time.  He could see them but not hear them from this side of the line, but they’d definitely spent quite a bit of time yelling at one another, judging from the angry hand gestures and the way Emma was pacing.  But no blows had fallen, and Emma did look pretty upset, but maybe not at Regina?  Henry hoped not.  He’d gotten used to his moms being on the same side as one another, and he wanted to make things right.  Hopefully, keeping them where neither could use magic—especially Emma, with the Dark One’s temper inside her—would at least give them a chance to yell or punch things out.

Henry really just wanted his family back.  They were _all_ still hurting after Grandma Snow’s death.  Why couldn’t Emma see that Regina had just been trying to protect her?  Henry knew that the Dark One was a powerful presence, but he had to believe Emma was under there, too.  That meant—

A giggle cut his thoughts off.  “Oh, look.  It’s my _favorite_ nephew.”

Spinning around, Henry stared wide-eyed at Zelena, who had teleported in about a dozen feet behind him.  For a moment, he contemplated diving over the town line, but there was no way she was stupid enough to follow him.  Sure, it would keep him safe from her magic, but Zelena might still be there when he came back. 

“What do you want?” he asked, taking a tentative step backwards.  Going across the town line without meaning to would be stupid, even if he did have the scroll in his right hand.  Carefully, Henry turned the screen of his iPhone on with his left hand, unlocking the screen and getting ready to hit the “Regina” button he’d programmed in when he’d gotten the new phone. 

Zelena flicked her fingers and summoned the phone to herself before he could dial.  “Oh, I’m not here to kill you,” she said bluntly.  “You don’t need to worry about that.  Still, your dear _mommy_ the Dark One is a _bit_ annoying, so I thought I’d get some leverage on her.”  Blue eyes flashed. “What do you want to bet that she emulates your grandfather and is willing to hand the dagger over to save her beloved little boy?”

“I’m not going to let you do that.”  Henry took another step back, lowering the scroll to his side. Either Zelena hadn’t seen it or didn’t realize how important it was—which was really dumb of her, given how she’d gotten back into Storybrooke this last time.  But Henry wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, particularly not one that gave his mothers a real reason to fight on the same side.

So he flung the scroll behind him, confident that he was close enough to the line that it would hit the ground on the other side.  There was _no_ way that at least Regina wouldn’t realize what that meant, since he wasn’t supposed to fork the scroll over until she called him.

“You don’t have a choice, little boy,” Zelena snarled.  “Whatever trick you think you just pulled won’t—”

“Told you there was a problem,” Regina’s voice interrupted, and Henry turned his head to watch both of his mothers crossing the line together.

“She’s not a problem,” Emma growled.  “She’s a speed bump.”

“No killing.  She’s still pregnant.”  Regina and Emma stepped forward together, even if Emma did take a moment to glare at Regina, who shrugged.  “We’ll talk again if you’re still feeling homicidal _after_ she gives birth.”

Emma’s sneer was vicious, and her hands came up, magic shooting from her palms and riveting Zelena to the road.  “Oh, I’ll be happy enough with her locked up and miserable until then.  Particularly since it turns out that she’s as incompetent as she is untrustworthy.”

“Yeah, about that.” Surprisingly, Regina’s ire turned entirely towards Zelena.  “Let me guess.  You were stupid enough to think you could trade Henry for the dagger.”

“It would have worked!”  Zelena’s eyes were wide and furious, and Henry almost laughed.  His moms had this.

“Someone should give you the Handbook to Being Evil, sis.  The same tricks never work twice.”

“I hate you!” Zelena screeched, and magic suddenly filled the air. 

Henry could only follow about half of it.  Emma had rooted Zelena into place, but Zelena attacked Regina, apparently thinking that Emma wouldn’t come to Regina’s aid.  Henry couldn’t figure out if his birth mom did or not, but either way, Regina deflected Zelena’s magic, which promptly ripped a crater in the road and then bounced into the trees.  Leaves started crackling and burning as Emma hammered some nasty spell into Zelena, which tore _her_ out of where she’d been stuck and sent her flying.  Zelena caught herself in some sort of tornado of green magic, but Emma shrugged aside her next attack with ridiculous ease.

Henry had to duck that one, though, until Regina reached out and pulled him behind her.  “Be careful!”

“Tell that to your green bitch of a sister!” Emma snapped back.  Her next attack knocked Zelena off of her feet, but Emma had to dodge the counterattack.

That counterattack, of course, smashed right into the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign and burning a watermelon-sized hole right in the middle of it.  Henry cringed and Emma snarled, but it was Regina who shouted:

“I’m going to make you pay for that!”

“Me or her?” Emma demanded as Zelena dodged another attack.  Then one hit Emma head-on, making Henry and Regina both grimace. Emma, however, merely shook the magic off and flicked a fireball at Zelena.

“Her.  Unless you’ve taken up spinning straw into—Where the _hell_ did she go?”

Emma wheeled on Regina, fury crackling around her.  “You were supposed to keep her here!”

“Me?  I thought that was your job, Ms. Bottomless Dark One magic!”

“How dare you—”

“Stop it!” Henry had to shout to get in before they could get in an actual fight, particularly since they’d both been using magic.  “Can we _not_ do this, please?  It’s getting really stupid.”

Both of his mothers turned to stare at him, but Henry only shrugged.

“I’m just calling it like it is.”

“Calling your mother—either of us—stupid isn’t exactly the way to get what you want, Henry.”  Regina gave him a hard look, but she didn’t look terribly upset.  And at least they’d stopped shouting at one another.

“I don’t know. I’m all right with him calling _you_ that,” Emma drawled.

“Oh, give me a break.  Did becoming the Dark One ruin all of your hard-learned parenting skills?”

Emma glared.  Regina shrugged.

“Can we just go home?” Henry asked plaintively.  “And then maybe you two can work together on putting Zelena back in the asylum?”

“Fat chance of that,” Emma sighed, and for a moment, she looked like her old self again.  “She’ll find a good hole to hide in.”

Regina sighed.  “Probably.  But we’ll find her.”  Henry’s adopted mother hesitated for a moment, and then looked at Emma.  “Come on.  Henry and I will give you a ride back into town.”

At first, Henry really thought Emma was going to refuse.  But she took a deep breath, and then nodded very slowly.  They all knew that was Regina offering an olive branch, and Emma finally seemed ready to take it.  She cast one last glance at the still-smoldering roadside, sign, and trees, and then raised her hands.  Magic filled the air, and suddenly the damage was _gone._

“Cool.”  Henry couldn’t stop himself from saying it, even though he knew he shouldn’t encourage Emma to use the Dark One’s magic like that.

Emma just gave him a crooked half-smile.  “All right.  You win, Henry.  Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Thirty-One—“Tell it Strong and Clear,” in which Henry’s birthday is celebrated, Will makes friends with Morgan, Emma tries to reunite with her family, and news of who killed Granny finally gets out.
> 
> Let me also add a special thank you to all the anonymous reviewers whose reviews I can’t respond to! I appreciate each and every review—getting them just makes my day.


	31. Tell it Strong and Clear

“My birthday _is_ tomorrow.”  The brown eyes that turned on Emma the day after she and Regina made peace were wide and innocent, but Emma was _not_ fooled.  Neither, judging from the look on Killian’s face, was he.

“What are you trying to ask for, lad?” Killian asked before Emma could, but she didn’t mind.  It was very obvious, after all, that her budding manipulator was focusing on both of them. 

 _He’s spending too much time with his grandfather,_ she thought grouchily, but at least the thought was her own.  She still hadn’t figured out exactly how the darkness felt about Rumplestiltskin now that he wasn’t a meal to be eaten.  It disliked his magic, to be sure, but the Dark One seemed almost possessive where her predecessor was concerned.  _He’s the first one to get away,_ Emma thought with a mental snort.  _Maybe I’ll be the second, if he’s right._

That thought brought the darkness straight to its boiling point, and Emma quickly reached out to touch Henry’s arm.  As much as lust and love with Killian could keep the darkness sated, she’d realized that Henry could actually _silence_ it.  The effect never lingered too long, but Emma had come to treasure those moments while they lasted.  Henry gave her an odd look, and she managed a normal smile.  Almost.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.  What _do_ you want?”

“A family dinner?” Henry looked hopeful. “At Granny’s?  Nothing big.  I just want everyone together.  Like things used to be.”

Emma’s heart twisted up immediately, and saying that things _couldn’t_ be like they used to be was on the tip of her tongue.  But Henry knew that.  Emma knew that he missed her mother, too, but Henry was trying to do what he’d always done—be the glue that held the family together. 

“Everyone else said they’ll come,” Henry added when Emma hesitated.  “Even Grandpa Gold said he’d be there, and Belle didn’t even have to talk him into it.  Much.”

Killian snorted, and Emma bit back her own smile.  Could she really imagine Killian sitting down at the same table with Rumplestiltskin without Killian trying something?  Emma knew that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t quite as indestructible as she was, but something inside her told her that the old Dark One would still be devilishly hard to kill.  Not that her pirate had shown any inclination to renew that old rivalry, much to Emma’s relief.  Killian had been more than a bit put out by her going to his ‘crocodile’ for advice, but she’d expected _that_.  That was why she hadn’t bothered telling him in the first place.  But at least he seemed less likely to fly off the handle than _she_ did, which was a relief.

“Henry, you know I want to be there for your birthday,” she said softly, wondering if she could deny her son anything when he looked at her like that.  _The last time you were in that diner for any length of time, you killed Granny._ She wasn’t sure if those thoughts were her own or the darkness’, but she could hear the darkness cackling.  Henry, however, just waited, his eyes full of love and trust.  “So, of course we’ll be there.  Won’t we, Killian?”

“Gladly.  I wouldn’t miss it for anything.  Though you might want to make sure that I sit far away from the Crocodile, lest I accidentally bury my hook in his chest.”  He grinned, but Emma was fairly sure that Henry wasn’t fooled for a moment.  _Henry_ knew that she’d almost said no.

“Thanks, Mom!  It’ll be so great.”  He launched himself at her, hugging Emma so tightly that the embrace almost swept her off her feet.

“Easy there.  You’re getting to be almost as tall as me.”

“I know.”  He beamed.  “But you’re the Dark One.  You can take it.”

 _How can you love me when I’m like this?_ Emma almost asked.  _Your father couldn’t manage it for his own father.  Why am I different?_

_He won’t.  He’ll betray you, in the end.  Or leave.  They always do._

“Emma?” Killian’s gentle hand landed on her shoulder, and Emma forced herself to focus again.

“Sorry.  I was…distracted.”  He just squeezed her shoulder, and she gave him a tight smile before turning back to her son.  “I bet you have a lot of planning to do, and _we_ have been strangely delinquent on buying presents.  So, get your butt out of here, mister, and let’s all get to work.”

“Okay.”  Henry hugged her again, even tighter this time.  “I love you, Mom.”

The words almost stuck in her throat.  “I love you, too, Henry.”

* * *

 

One thing they had _finally_ learned to do was talk to one another.  In retrospect, Belle supposed they’d both been guilty of that; they’d been so relieved—and shocked—to finally be allowed to be together that they’d wanted everything to be perfect.  So, what should have been small problems and minor pitfalls became major, and issues they could have dealt with together became great, bleeding, wounds.  Most of their problems might have been solved if only they had both been honest.  Oh, Rumplestiltskin had certainly left more out than she, but Belle had never called him on it, either, and she’d kept secrets of her own, too.

“Did I ever tell you how I lost my mother?” she asked quietly.  They’d curled up in the living room of the Sorcerer’s House together, leaning against one another on the giant couch.  Belle had met with her grandparents again that day, just for lunch, and although the meal had been very awkward, it had also been nice.  Within a week or so, she was planning on bringing them to meet her father, but Belle wondered if she should figure a few things out before doing that.

“You told me she died when the ogres attacked.”  Rumplestiltskin kissed the top of her head, and Belle snuggled up against him.

“That’s all I know,” she admitted.  “I don’t…remember anything else.  I blacked out.  My father told me that my mother threw herself between me and the ogres, and the guards managed to get me away but they couldn’t save her, but I don’t _know_ anything about what happened.”

“Oh, Belle.”  His arms squeezed her gently.  “Why didn’t you tell me before?  There are ways to use magic to restore memories.”

She grimaced.  “Because I already tried.  That’s…that’s when I met Anna.  She took me to the rock trolls, but I dropped the memory stone they gave me before I saw what happened.  And when the Snow Queen came to threaten her, I hesitated, trying to get the stone _and_ Anna.  It didn’t work.  I failed both.”

“Anna’s safe, sweetheart.”

“I know.  And I know I’ve beat myself up about that enough.  But I can’t even tell my grandparents what happened to their daughter, and my father wasn’t there to see.”  Guilt made speaking hard.  “I _should_ remember.  There’s no reason for me to have forgotten.  I’ve never blacked out like that before!”

“You feel guilty because you can’t answer their questions,” he whispered, and Belle nodded miserably.

“They haven’t asked yet.  But they will.  They’ve been so kind, even though it’s awkward.”  Belle felt an ironic smile twist up her face. “I keep telling myself to be wary of them, but they really seem very desperate to get to know me.”

“I know.”  But she heard the slight hesitation.

“ _You_ don’t trust them.”  Belle straightened to look at her husband quizzically.  If he’d still been the Dark One, she would have been worried that he was jealous.  _Again._   As the Dark One, she knew Rumplestiltskin had had a very hard time sharing her; the darkness’ possessiveness mixed very poorly with his innately low self-esteem.  Yet now he seemed a lot more secure in her love, and Belle did trust Rumplestiltskin’s instincts.

“Perhaps it’s old habit,” he temporized, and she gave him a look.  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “But I think there is more going on here than meets the eye.  Arthur and Guinevere certainly _are_ your grandparents—magic doesn’t lie—but they seem to be making quiet moves to acquire power here in Storybrooke.”

“Maybe they’re just used to being monarchs?”

“Perhaps.  Though I’m _quite_ certain that there’s more to your grandmother than meets the eye.  She is…familiar, somehow.  Every time I try to ask Merlin about her, he disappears, and there’s a grief to his silence that I can’t decipher.  There’s something going on there.”

Belle nodded, swallowing hard.  She should have known that gaining family in Storybrooke would not be simple.  “Keep me involved?”

“Of course.  My days of leaving you out are over, Belle.”  Brown eyes met hers, and Belle couldn’t detect anything save honesty and an ever-present apology.  “I promise.”

“I trust you, Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered, and leaned in to hug him before guilt made her swallow again.  Belle sighed.   “I just don’t know what to say when they ask.”

Rumplestiltskin was silent for a long moment, and Belle just let her head lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.  “I might be able to help with that,” he finally said.  “Memory stones don’t remove the entire memory; a trace always remains.  If we can find and nurture that trace, we can figure out what happened.”

“Truly?”

“I can’t make promises, and memory magic isn’t my specialty…but I think we can find something.  Worst case, I’ll simply draw us a portal to Arendelle and we’ll go find your memory stone.  Or the rock trolls.”

That made Belle sit up straight.  “You figured out how to create portals?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Now, when I have little to no reason to leave a world, I can go wherever I please.”

The old pain was back in his eyes, and she reached out for his hands.  Belle was no fool; she knew that Baelfire’s loss would always haunt her husband.  As would his inability to get to his son before it was too late for everything. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, and she could see him coming out of the grief that had once crippled him.

“I’ll do anything for you,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and Belle leaned in to kiss him.  They’d had enough worries for today.  Now it was time to concentrate on something happier.

* * *

 

“I shouldn’t have agreed.”

“Emma.”  Killian watched her pace with worry; she was trying _so_ hard to be herself, he knew, but he could see when she started losing the battle.  Right now, he imagined the voice of that damn darkness was hounding her, telling her that she shouldn’t trust people and that she shouldn’t want to spend time with her family.  “Is it telling you that you’ll endanger everyone, or that we’ll betray you?”

She grimaced, stopping for a moment before stalking across the room with even more nervous energy.  “Both.  Neither.  I don’t know.”

“You know neither is true, love.  Hell, even the darkness should know that by now.”

“That _doesn’t_ help.”

“Then what do you want me to say?  How can I help?” Killian asked, genuinely curious.  He had to help her however he could, but watching her like this was killing him.  Mordred had said that his trap was nearly ready, although it wouldn’t be ready before Henry’s birthday, despite Killian’s hopes.  He had really wanted to give the boy the gift of his mother free of darkness for turning thirteen, but that was not to be.  Still, he suspected Henry would not mind the lateness of the present when it finally did come around. 

“I don’t know!” 

As quickly as she’d started pacing, Emma flung herself into his arms.  Sometimes, he felt like Emma as the Dark One had two distinct personalities, but he never could tell which one of her it was clinging to him so tightly. 

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered desperately.  “And I don’t want to disappoint him again.”

“You won’t.”  Killian stroked her hair with his good hand.  “I’ll be right there, and so will your father.  We’ll both help you through any rough moments, and you _know_ Henry understands.”

“I don’t deserve any of you.”  Emma’s voice was ragged.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Swan,” he said as lightly as he could manage.  “I think you’ve earned a mistake or two.  And I am _definitely_ a good mistake to make.”

“I killed Granny.”  It was the first time he’d heard her admit that, and it brought Killian up short.  He’d know, of course; David had told him shortly after the thief had shared that news.  And as much as Killian hated the fact that the darkness could force someone like _Emma_ to do that, he didn’t mourn overmuch for the old bat.  Storybrooke would miss her, for sure, but evil always had victims.  It was the way of the world.  _She’s trying so hard._ Because of that, he kept his voice steady and made sure not to sound like he was blaming her.  He wasn’t, truthfully.  Killian had done far worse in his time, and with much less cause than Emma had.

“I know.  We all do.  Except Henry, of course.”

Her whisper was that of a frightened child: “How?”

“That thief.  Scarlet.  He saw and came to Robin.”  Killian took a deep breath, and decided to tell the truth.  “We all know it’s not your fault, love.  It was the darkness inside you.  That wasn’t _you_.  So we’ve kept it quiet, because most people won’t understand.”

“No.”  Her voice was suddenly cold.  “They wouldn’t.”

“But _we_ do.”  Killian’s heart was suddenly racing with worry, and he knew she was going to tear away from him seconds before she did.  “Emma, please don’t blame yourself.  If you do, you’ll only lose yourself in grief and let the darkness get a better grip on you than it already has.  You can fight this, and you’re doing so well—”

“No, I’m not,” she cut him off, suddenly dark and hard.  “You know that as well as I do.”

He met her gaze evenly.  “I don’t, actually.  From where I’m standing, you’re fighting to win.”

“You have _no_ idea about the things I’m not telling you.”  Emma’s lips curled up in a snarl, and Killian shivered despite himself.

“Like what?” he demanded, but Emma had already teleported out of the living room. 

By the time he caught up with her, she was sitting on the floor, making dreamcatcher after dreamcatcher, and refusing to talk to him.  Again.

* * *

 

“What is your story, Master Scarlet?” Mordred’s older female guest asked him idly, making Will turn.  He’d been pacing through the castle, well aware that he couldn’t actually leave—not without the bloody Dark One turning him into a corpse rather than a cat, anyway—but he hadn’t expected to run into, well, whoever she was.  He didn’t even know her name.

Will had never really been a reader, even under the curse.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, he’d heard a few stories about Camelot, mostly as dire warnings of what happened if you arsed around with too much magic and didn’t pay attention to the consequences.  The Land Without Magic had some movies and stuff on Camelot, though, which meant he knew enough to know who Mordred was: the bastard son of King Arthur and his sister figured prominently in a _lot_ of comics.  However, Will was certainly bright enough to figure out that Mordred might not be exactly what the tales said he was.  He could have been better.

 _Or he could be a_ whole _lot worse._

“Beg pardon?”  It was all he could do not to jump.  The one castle Will’d ever spent any quality time in had been the one he and Ana had tried to rob in Wonderland, and that hadn’t exactly turned out spectacularly well.  Now he was in a giant stone monstrosity in _Storybrooke’s_ woods, and if that wasn’t weird, he didn’t know what was.  Wonderland had been a bit more topsy-turvy, true, but at least that world was small enough that you didn’t get random powerful sorcerers wandering in through portals on a regular basis.  And they’d put paid to Jafar when he did.

“What is your story?” she repeated, standing with her hands folded in the stance of someone who had been royalty in the old world.  Will knew the type.

Mordred was certainly that type; he’d been nice enough to Will after turning him back from that awful cat he’d been—from which his neck was _still_ sore, thank you very much—but he never even so much as hinted that Will should forget that Mordred thought of himself as a king.  But who was this woman?  His wife?

“Not much.”  Will shrugged.  “Was a bit of a thief in the Enchanted Forest, ‘till me and m’girl ran away to Wonderland for a fresh start.  That got kinda rocky for a bit, she married someone else, became queen, and then we wound up fighting a bit of a war to save Wonderland from an evil sorcerer.  Sometimes we were on opposite sides, but we wound up together, and we got married eventually.  Then I arsed it up and came back here.”

“Fascinating.”  Brown eyes studied him.  “I really meant to ask, however, how you wound up as the Dark One’s pet cat.”

“Oh.”  He flushed.  “That.”

A slightly quirky smile crossed her face.  “Is it an embarrassing story, then?”

“Not terribly.  More like an object lesson in how tryin’ to do the right thing rarely works out well if you’re not in the Storybrooke Heroes Club.”

“I take it that’s a euphemism?”

Will surprised himself by laughing.  “Not as much as you might think.  They’re a prickly lot.  If you’re one of them, you’re one of them.  Otherwise, you can sod off and have to pay for your mistakes.  But _they_ can cover up whatever evils the Dark One does and it’s a-okay.”  With an effort, he stopped the bitter diatribe.  “Sorry.  I’m still a bit put out from being a cat, I think.”

“I understand.”  Her smile turned thin.  “Personally, I’ve found that people who claim to be heroes are usually quite overrated.  They’re almost always covering something up.  Take my brother, for example.  He wants people to view him as a heroic ruler, the ‘once and future king’, but in the end, he’s married to someone who wants to rule everyone and everything.  And he’s perfectly happy to be her pawn.”

“Wait a minute.  Your _brother_?  You’re Morgan Le Fae?”

“I thought you knew that.”  She shrugged.  “Though I do prefer Morgan of Cornwall.  I’m not actually fae.”

“You’re Mordred’s mother, though.”

“Of course.”

That certainly changed the complexion of this conversation, though Will couldn’t imagine that it made anything worse.  Truth be told, Morgan seemed a little more engaging than her son; he had a feeling that Mordred could be charming enough when he wanted to, but Will apparently hadn’t been worth wasting his charm on.  Not that they didn’t have plenty in common.  Whatever Mordred’s plan was to bring the Dark One down, Will was definitely on his side.  He hadn’t really held any grudges against Emma Swan before this (though he’d always think her taste in pirates was kind of dodgy), but being her pet cat had been horrible.  Particularly since she’d used him as her magical punching bag every damn day, laughing when she zapped him with stuff that _hurt_.

Yeah, she was the Dark One, and a good chunk of the town would say that she wasn’t in control of herself, but Will didn’t really give a damn.  He’d never done a damn thing to her save watch her kill Granny, and she’d still turned him into a cat.  Emma hadn’t had any intention of turning him back, either—she’d said that often enough—so, yeah, Will held a bit of a grudge.  She deserved it.

“So, you’re in on this destroy the Dark One plan of his, yeah?” he asked after a moment.

Morgan snorted, the sound surprisingly un-ladylike.  “Mordred has his obsessions.  I look at the bigger picture.”

“What could be bigger than the Dark One?”

“The Black Fairy.”  Her eyes met his, dark and pained.  “Believe me, Will Scarlet.  She is far, _far_ , worse than your Savior turned Dark One could ever be.  And if we don’t stop her, all of humanity will suffer.”

* * *

 

Emma realized that the cat was gone a few minutes before leaving for Henry’s birthday dinner the next day.  She only really paid attention to ‘Bandit’ when she was at her angriest and loneliest, and given how Killian had been working hard to help assuage those feelings, Emma hadn’t really noticed him much over the past few days.  But now he was _gone_ , and that created a whole other host of problems.  _Someone could turn him back, and then what would he say?_ Fear jolted through Emma, but anger quickly overrode that.  She had turned the thief into a cat to punish him, but perhaps she should have killed him, instead.

“Emma?  You ready to go, love?”

Turning to face Killian has he stuck his head into the bedroom, Emma forced herself to smile.  _I can find the damn cat later.  He probably just slipped out when Killian or Henry were coming in,_ she told herself firmly, ignoring the darkness’ incessant whispering.  It felt that Emma should hunt the cat down now, get the thief back before anyone could even start to unravel the spells she’d put on him.  But Emma couldn’t do that.  She’d hurt Henry enough, and she wasn’t going to miss his birthday dinner.  Not for the world.

 _Shut up and go away,_ she thought towards the darkness.  _I want to be Emma for a while._   Surprisingly, it went silent, and Emma smiled tentatively.

“Yeah,” she told Killian.  “I’m ready.”

“Well, then.  Let’s go grace this party with our presence.”  He held a hand out to her, and Emma took it gratefully. 

“I don’t know why you stand by me,” she admitted in a whisper.

“I love you.  And I know you’re better than this.  We can beat this, together, if we keep fighting.” 

“You do help me.”  Emma forced herself to smile.  “Everything is easier to manage when you’re here.  It’s easier to remember who I am.”

He squeezed her hand.  “I’ll remind you that you said that the next time you try to tell me to go away.”

“All right.”  For a moment, Emma almost felt like her shy old self, like the lost girl who still wasn’t always used to having a family or someone to love.  She _knew_ that the darkness only amplified those old feelings, that it made her think she was stronger alone, but Emma also knew that was part of who she was.  The hard part was figuring out how to be open and be the Dark One, but she knew she could find a happy medium.  Somewhere.

Without warning, Killian pulled her close, and Emma let herself melt into him, breathing in his familiar scent.  “I like your hair down,” he said softly, and hearing him sound so happy made her feel strangely warm inside.  “It makes me think of the wild and fierce woman I first met.”

“Wild and fierce.”  Emma smiled.  “I can do that.”

“And I know it.”  His grin was infectious, and Emma felt lighter than she had in weeks.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer driving there, even if it is in your tiny and cramped automobile.  All the teleportation you’ve been doing lately really mucks with my appetite.”

* * *

 

“I’m worried she won’t come,” David admitted quietly to Rumplestiltskin.  Perhaps the former Dark One was an odd choice of confidant, but the two of them really did seem to have come to an understanding—and if anyone knew what was going on in Emma’s head, it was her predecessor.  “Henry will be devastated if she doesn’t.”

He glanced quickly at their mutual grandson, who was talking to Robin and Belle while Roland dangled a toy for Baby Neal.  Fortunately, Henry didn’t seem worried yet—and Emma wasn’t late, either.  It was just that everyone else had already arrived, and David couldn’t stop worrying for his daughter.

“She’ll come.” Rumplestiltskin had always been good at wearing an inscrutable expression, but now his confidence seemed to have fewer sharp edges. 

“How can you be sure?”

“Well, I could tell you that being the Dark One doesn’t make you not want to feel love—rather the opposite is true, in fact, which is why she’s clinging so tightly to the pirate—or I could point out that her bug just parked outside.”

Turning David caught sight of Emma and Hook climbing out of the bug in front of Granny’s, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding exploded out of him in a sigh.  “Thank goodness.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly.  “Still, you’d best seat her and me away from one another.”

“You’re not going to start something, are you?” He couldn’t help asking that question. Not after how long he’d known Rumplestiltskin.

“Me?” The laugh surprised David, or at least how open it sounded did.  “Certainly not.  But the darkness inside her doesn’t always like me very much.  There are moments where we understand one another, and moments when we do not.”

“Wow, you’re still vague and secretive, aren’t you?” David chuckled, watching Henry rush up to hug Emma in greeting.  Emma smiled at Henry, so close to looking like the _old_ Emma, and she greeted everyone else, too.  She seemed a little reserved, particularly with Regina, but despite her dark leather clothing, she was almost normal.  Seeing her like that—and having Emma come up to hug him—warmed David’s heart exponentially.

“I’m glad you came,” he whispered to his daughter as she hugged him, and he felt Emma relax just a little.

“Me, too.”  Her whisper was quiet and a little uncertain, but reminded David so very much of the young woman who had stormed into Granny’s and told her parents she was going to stay in Storybrooke despite her misgivings.  David kissed her hair before releasing her. 

His conversation with Hook from a few days ago came to mind, but looking at Emma right now made David think that Killian had to be wrong.  If Mordred really could pull the darkness out of Emma, she would be willing to work with them.  _I should ask Rumplestiltskin about that,_ he thought to himself, sitting down at the pushed-together tables like everyone else.  Killian had already steered Emma away from Rumplestiltskin—which was probably a good choice for so many reasons—and Regina and Emma had clearly come to a mutual decision to stay clear of one another, too.  So, Henry wound up with Emma on one side and Robin on the other, with David sitting across from his grandson.

Dinner went pretty well; Rumplestiltskin and Killian ignored one another while Belle charmed everyone, Emma and Regina mostly did the same despite sharing a very dark joke about keeping ‘Aunt Zelena’ away from the festivities, while Robin managed to distract Henry every time things started to get a little dicey.

“So, Belle and I found this really cool mirror in the Sorcerer’s House,” Henry said right after he made a mess of cutting the cake.  “It’s _huge_ and all silver—it doesn’t even have any edges!  And when you look into it, it looks like you can see anything and everything in the universe.”

“No mirror is that powerful, Henry.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “It’s probably just a trick.  In fact, I remember a certain grandfather of yours enchanting a few objects in the Dark Castle to seem like that, too, except when you actually tried to look at something in them, all they did was play back the most embarrassing moments of your life.”  

“Oh, really?” Robin piped up, looking at Rumplestiltskin, who had shrugged in the face of Regina’s glare.  “I could definitely use something like that at home.”

“Robin!” Regina tried to look offended, but when everyone laughed, she eventually joined in.  _Man, things really have changed,_ David thought behind his own smile.  _We went from fearing her to calling her family—and then to really_ believing _she is._ A pang came from the vicinity of his heart as David thought of all the times Snow had fought for—and with—Regina, but the feeling of a ghostly hand slipping into his helped ease the pain.

_She’s still here with me.  And she always will be._

“Actually, it’s called the Smoking Mirror,” Belle explained when everyone stopped laughing.  “It was made by an ancient sorcerer named Tezcatlipoca—who claimed to be a god, of course—and apparently, he somehow harnessed the ability to see the entire cosmos inside it.  Whatever is happening at the moment you look in the mirror you _can_ see, and you can later replay any event that was seen inside the mirror.”

Emma perked up.  “Where did you get that from?”

It was the first time she’d spoken directly to Rumplestiltskin all evening, and David held his breath.  But the Sorcerer only shrugged.  “Like most of the strange objects we’ve found, the mirror was in the house.  Some of the objects may have come over with the second curse when the house arrived, but I expect that the rest appeared when Camelot collapsed in on itself.”

“What about the Forbidden Fountain?” Henry asked.  “Isn’t that from Oz?”

Belle and Rumplestiltskin exchanged glances.  “It is,” Belle answered, sounding a little cautious.  “But either it came over during the second curse and no one noticed, or the walls between the worlds are growing even thinner than we thought.”

“Wait a minute.  This doesn’t make any sense.”  Regina leaned forward in her chair and looked at David.  “None of us meant for any of this extra _stuff_ to come over.  I did the groundwork for this curse, just like I did the first time.  Snow”—her voice cracked—“might have taken the final step, but the spellwork was mine, and _I_ didn’t tell any of this to show up.  We just wanted to recreate Storybrooke!”

David had been wondering about that.  “Snow didn’t add anything extra. I was there.  Neither of us would have known how.”

“Ah, but you did it by memory, didn’t you?” Rumplestiltskin answered, and every eye turned to look at him. 

“Well, it’s not like I still had the scroll, so of course I did.”

“There’s a reason curses like that are written down, dear, and it’s not just so that someone other than the caster can use it.  Putting pen to paper closes the loopholes.”  His eyes focused into the distance for a moment, and then he seemed to come back to himself.  “How long did you wait before the final step?”

David found himself exchanging a glance with Regina.  There had been a bit of time there, hadn’t there?  He hadn’t really been conscious—or alive, maybe—for it, but he knew Snow and Regina had argued about splitting her heart in two.  And Snow had hesitated before that, too, unable to bring herself to crush David’s heart. 

“A few minutes?” Regina sounded guilty, but David tried to give her a reassuring nod.

Rumplestiltskin gestured vaguely with his right hand.  “That’s a long time to have such potent magic in the air.”

“You think someone might have hijacked it.”  Regina’s scowl was fierce.

“Someone can _do_ that?” David asked before he could stop himself.

“Supposedly not, but our dear Sorcerer here thinks otherwise.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I’m merely illuminating possibilities.  And saying that none of us should be surprised if other…oddities show up.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Killian said as everyone exchanged glances.  Regina shot him a dirty look, but the pirate just shrugged.  “What?  Am I supposed to be glad that we have _more_ potential problems already?”

“Speaking of problems,” Emma started to say to Rumplestiltskin.  “There’s someone I wanted to—”

The door swung open, and Emma—who had been facing that way—cut off in mid-sentence.  Her already pale face went stark white, making the lines of Emma’s features look dark and pronounced.  Twisting in his chair to see who had walked in, David was surprised to see his daughter react that way to Mordred…until Will Scarlet stepped out of Mordred’s shadow.

No one spoke for a long moment, but _everyone_ who knew what Will had seen sat around that table.  David, Snow, and Regina had decided to keep it quiet; Robin had objected, but in the end he’d agreed.  David knew that Rumplestiltskin had guessed that Emma had killed Granny, but no one had told him that the sole witness to that death had disappeared.  They’d hoped that Will had left town, but here he was, with the man who had told Killian he could help cure Emma.  David felt cold.  Sick.  _We knew that was going to come back and bite us, but at Henry’s birthday?_

“Will?” Robin’s voice finally broke the silence.  “You’re still in Storybrooke?”

“Yep.  Surprised to see me?”

“Of course I am.  What happened?”

The thief gave him a shrug and a dark look.  “Ask your friend the Dark One, why dontcha?”

“Mom?” Henry asked, turning to look at Emma with wide eyes.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Emma snapped.   

David rose slowly, turning to look at Mordred.  “Perhaps we should discuss whatever has come up at the sheriff’s station.”

“Oh, I hardly think that’s necessary.”  Mordred looked around.  “I understand that, in this new world, people treasure being open and aboveground about things.  And that in, such a small and _intimate_ town, people are justly concerned about dangers they face.”

“Let’s take this somewhere else.”  Regina shot to her feet, too, and David could sense that her thoughts were running in line with his.  They _had_ to get this out of the crowded diner.  It was dinner time on a Saturday, and Granny’s was bursting at the seams.  Even the bar was full, and a few people were standing around waiting for space.

“Ah, how about let’s not.”  Will Scarlet stepped forward, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.  “I’d rather not go disappearing again, yeah?”

“What do you mean, ‘disappearing again’?” Robin echoed.  “You say that like someone was responsible for that.”

“Aye, someone was.”  Will wheeled on Robin.  “Did you even _look_ for me, or did you just listen to Madam Mayor here and be happy I’d gone missing?”

“Of course I wasn’t happy!  You’re my friend, Will!”

“Enough!” Regina cut in, her voice hard.  “All of you.  Now, we’re going to take this conversation somewhere _other_ than a crowded diner, and then you”—she turned her glare on Will—“can tell us what’s happened and where you’ve been.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”  Mordred’s interjection was as smooth as silk.  “In fact, as one of this town’s newest residents, I’d certainly like to voice my concern about strange disappearances and unsolved murders.”

“Murders?” Henry spoke up immediately.  “What murders?”

David had been afraid that this would come up from the moment he’d seen Will.  _I knew we were wrong to try to keep it a secret, but I went along with it, anyway,_ he thought, wanting to kick himself.  _And Emma’s face is far too blank for her to not know what this is about._ Yet his daughter looked a little panicked if you looked deeply enough into her eyes; was that because she’d been caught, or because Henry was standing beside her?

“Let’s take this to the sheriff’s station,” he said quickly, stepping around the table to grab Mordred by the arm.  Scarlet was the witness, but it was obvious that Mordred was the prime mover in this nasty little game.

A dizzying vortex _pulled_ on him the moment he touched the dark-haired sorcerer, and David suddenly found himself staggering for balance right behind the chair he’d started in.  Mordred gave him an apologetic smile.

“My friend”—Mordred gestured at Scarlet—“has some legitimate grievances, and he has a very reasonable fear of being unlawfully detained once more.  Or turned into a cat.”  Cold eyes went directly to Emma, who only glared.

“Mom?” Henry’s small voice filled the silence.  “Your cat?  Bandit?”

“Sorry to break it to you like this, Henry,” Scarlet said with a shrug.  “You were nice t’me, which, believe me, I appreciated. A lot.  Even if I couldn’t do much other than purr at the time.”

“I—I didn’t know,” Henry stuttered.

“I know.  An’ I’m sorry that I have to do this.  Really, I am.”

“You don’t have to.”  Regina stepped forward, her eyes on Scarlet even as she was obviously careful never to turn her back on Mordred.  “Not here.  Not like this.”

“Yeah, your argument about waiting to say anythin’ ran out almost three weeks ago,” Scarlet retorted, and David’s heart plummeted. 

“You’re right,” he said heavily.  “We should have listened to you the first time, but that’s no reason to do this here.”

“Do _what_?” Henry demanded, and Emma reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“It’s nothing, Henry,” she said softly. 

“Nothing?” Mordred echoed incredulously.  “Are you so lost to the darkness that you call killing an old woman nothing?”

A pin could have dropped in the diner and it would have sounded like a bomb going off.  Glancing Regina’s way again, David only received a helpless glance in return.   Twenty days earlier, they’d decided that keeping Emma’s role in Granny’s death a secret was the right thing to do, because they all had _seen_ the toxic darkness that Emma had taken inside herself to save the entire town.  She couldn’t have meant to hurt anyone—even Will’s account of what happened said that much—but not everyone had seen the swirling mess of darkness that had escaped from Rumplestiltskin.  Most people wouldn’t understand.  _And the fact that we hid it will only make things worse_.

“Granny?” Ruby’s voice whispered from behind the counter.  Too late, David turned to look at her, and he saw Snow’s old friend turn white with shock.  “ _You_ killed Granny?”

Emma merely tensed; it was Will who turned to face Ruby, speaking gently: “I’m sorry.  I saw the door unlocked and came in jus’ in time to see it happen.  Was me own dumb fault that I went to them.  I should’ve made sure you knew first, jus’ to give you some closure, at least.”  His smile was sad.  “I know what it’s like to lose those ya love.  She deserved better.”

Ruby just looked stricken, and silence reigned again.

“Mom.”  Henry’s voice shook.  “Mom, tell me it isn’t true.”

Emma was silent, staring stonily at Will.  David found himself moving forward again, his legs feeling like sticks of wood as everyone in the diner gaped at his daughter.  His _daughter_ , who he was supposed to guide and protect, who he had failed _yet again_.  David knew that he never should have let Emma take on that darkness; she had asked them to save her, _trusted_ them to do so, and yet here she was.  Still the Dark One, still helpless in the face of the dark entity inside her.

“ _Please,_ Mom.”

The sound of wood scraping against the counter made heads turn, and David felt his eyes go wide.  Ruby held her grandmother’s crossbow in shaking hands, pointing it right at Emma. 

“How could you?” Ruby whispered.  “ _How could you kill her?_ ”

“Put the crossbow down, Ruby.” Emma sounded almost bored.

“No!”

“Ruby, you don’t want to do this, love,” Killian spoke up from next to Emma, taking a cautious step forward, but Ruby’s blazing eyes landed on him and made the pirate stop cold.

“Don’t you tell me what I do or don’t want to do,” she snarled.  “You knew!  I can tell by the look on your face that you’re not surprised.  How many of you knew?”  When no one answered, she turned to look at Will.  “Tell me.  _Please._ ”

“I don’t rightly know.  I told Robin and the mayor, and they took me to see her parents.  Then she turned me into a cat, an’ I’ve been kinda out of touch.”

“So you all knew, and no one cared enough about _Granny_ , who fought your wars and babysat your son!”  The last was directed at David, who couldn’t help flinching.  Ruby was Snow’s oldest friend and her pain was a raw and bleeding wound for everyone to see.  “She helped _all_ of you, and you did nothing!”

“Put the crossbow down.”  Killian took another step forward, but Ruby shook her head, tears spilling down her face.

“No.”

“Ruby, you can’t kill her.”  Now it was Belle’s gentle voice that spoke up, and David saw Ruby turn to look at her friend.  Belle approached Ruby fearlessly, having already slipped behind the counter before she started talking.  “You know that.  A crossbow won’t kill the Dark One.”

“I’m not sure I care,” Ruby whispered.  The crossbow shook in her hands, and David could tell that she was about to lower it.

“This is getting ridiculous.”  Now Emma _did_ sound bored, and her hand came up, her fingers flipping casually.

The simple motion tore the crossbow straight out of Ruby’s hands, twisting it around in the air.  Immediately, the crossbow floated up to point right at Ruby’s face, floating about a foot away from her in a sick pantomime of what they knew had to have killed Granny.

“Emma!” David shouted her name before he had time to think, surging forward and shoving Mordred out of the way as he did so.

But the expressionless eyes that turned to face him were not those of his daughter: they were those of a monster.

“I have no desire to kill anyone else.” Emma shrugged, and they could all see something other than Emma at work, an alien darkness shining out of her eyes.  “But I can’t go letting people threaten the Dark One, now, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Two—“The Silence At Last Was Broken,” in which Ruby's fate is decided, a riot breaks out, and Rumplestiltskin finally has to step up and be the Sorcerer in all ways.
> 
> For those of you who don't come by my [tumblr](http://www.toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com) often, I have posted a [ROC Family Tree](http://www.toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com/tagged/roc%20family%20tree) to help sort out all the various relationships.


	32. The Silence At Last Was Broken

“I have no desire to kill anyone else.” Emma shrugged.  _I didn’t want to kill Granny, either, but she forced me to._ Darkness coiled up within her, and it was all she could do to keep from shooting that crossbow right away. “But I can’t go letting people threaten the Dark One, now, can I?”

“Go ahead.”  Ruby’s eyes flashed; Emma couldn’t believe she was taunting her.  “Kill me.  Go on, _do it_.”

Emma turned to look at her incredulously.  “Do you _want_ to end up like your grandmother?”

How could these people not understand what she was?  She was _the Dark One_.  She couldn’t let people get away with threatening her like that!  If Emma let Ruby threaten her in front of a diner full of people, there would be no end to this!  Soon enough, people would want the dagger.  They would think that if someone could get away with threatening her, they could control her.  The old Emma had known how fear worked, but she’d preferred trust.  But now Emma understood that fear was a far more powerful motivator than trust.  Fear was predictable.  Fear was dependable.  Fear was power.

 _Kill her now and prove your power,_ the darkness whispered.

“Emma, don’t do this, love,” Killian said from her side.  He reached out to put his good hand on her arm, but she pulled away, focusing on the angry waitress-turned-proprietor.  Ruby didn’t matter much, did she?  No one would really care if she was gone.

“I’m merely going to finish what she started,” Emma said flatly.  

“No.  You aren’t.”  Unsurprisingly, her father spoke up.  “This isn’t you, Emma.  And you’re not going to kill in front of Henry.  Stop listening to that voice in your head.  You’re not just the Dark One.  You’re _Emma Swan_.  Prove that to us.  Prove that to your son.”

The mention of Henry was enough to make her hesitate; the crossbow dipped and then righted itself.  _Weakness won’t protect your boy,_ the darkness insisted.  _If you let them threaten you, how long will it be until someone_ else _threatens your son?  You saved him from Zelena, but who will be next?  Will the wolf seek revenge for her grandmother by killing your son?_

“No!” The word tore out of her before Emma could stop herself, and Henry backed up a step.

Henry backed away from _her_.

“Henry, I didn’t mean that, I didn’t…”  _Kill the wolf.  The boy will understand._   Emma’s hands were shaking.  So was the crossbow, quivering and jittering in midair, with the tip of its bolt mere inches away from Ruby’s pale face.  She wasn’t sure she could stop herself.  “I don’t want to.  I can’t—”

 _I can’t stop myself._   But the words wouldn’t come, and she felt her fingers start to close, even when she didn’t really want to—

Just before her magic could pull the trigger, the crossbow disassembled itself, the pieces peeling apart in midair and then hovering there for a moment before dropping to the floor.  She felt her magic unraveling at the same time, and although the darkness screeched in protest, Emma was relieved.  Everything in her railed against the intrusion, _hated_ the Sorcerer’s magic, but Emma slumped in exhaustion. Holding the darkness back was so hard.

Turning, she looked at Rumplestiltskin, the only person in the room who wasn’t staring at her in horror.  Belle had bolted forward to wrap her arms around a sobbing Ruby, and every other eye in the diner was focused on her like she was the devil herself.  The Sorcerer, however, gave her a slight nod; he’d saved her from herself, and he had the kindness not to say it.  But Emma knew that most of the others could have figured out who had done that.  If she’d been able to stop herself, that crossbow would never have been dissected to its component parts. 

“Nicely done,” Mordred said, clearly following the exchange. 

 _And the bastard doesn’t want to keep his mouth shut, either,_ Emma realized.  _This was all his plan.  He_ wanted _something like this to happen.  Was he setting me up to kill Ruby?  Does he even give a damn about_ anyone _in this town?  He’s supposed to be Killian’s uncle, but he looks too satisfied for that._

“You set this up,” she hissed, wheeling on him.  The darkness wanted a target?  Fine, she’d give him one.

“Me?  No, I merely freed Will from your enchantment—although I have to admit that I’m impressed by the cruelty.  Most Dark Ones don’t allow their victims to retain a shred of their human memories when they transform them, whereas _you_ made sure he knew exactly what he was all along.”

The darkness roared through her so powerfully that it made Emma stop shaking.  “You wanted this to happen.”

“The darkness has warped you beyond recognition, hasn’t it?” Mordred countered evenly.  “First you murder an old woman, and then you turn the only witness into an animal that you continuously abuse.  Then you try to kill her granddaughter.  If you expect anyone to believe that you aren’t the villain of this piece, I’m afraid that you’re very out of touch.”

He was twisting everything.  The darkness screamed for Emma to kill him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that.  Not in front of Henry. Not like this.  And he wanted her to try, didn’t he?  She could feel Mordred’s defenses hovering in the air, could feel Regina and Rumplestiltskin both reaching for their magic.  There was no way to win this; even if Emma _did_ kill Mordred, he was right.  No one would view her as anything but a villain.

She was too angry to even teleport.  Instead, Emma spun on her heel and stormed out of the diner.

 

* * *

 

Killian hadn’t expected her to walk out; Emma was more likely to teleport away when she was angry these days, so he was caught flat-footed.  But he chased her, calling her name, only to have the door slam shut in his face.  Trying to catch it with his hook only cracked the glass, but he barely even noticed as he struggled to force the door open and race after Emma.  He had seen what she hadn’t during the confrontation with Ruby: several people slipping out of the diner amidst the confusion.  While under normal circumstances, Killian couldn’t give a damn about what most of the people in town thought, right now, he knew those thoughts were a danger to Emma.  Those people had heard what had happened to Granny, and—

And there was already a lynch mob outside, practically right on Granny’s front steps.  Or something like one, anyway.  There was certainly a big crowd, and instead of skittering away from Emma in fear when she strode forward, they closed in on her, packing the diner’s courtyard tightly, and all but salivating for her blood.

“You idiots!” Killian shouted as several people blocked his path to Emma.  “Don’t do this!”

“Stop her now while we still can!” a voice shouted, and Killian looked right, to see one of Camelot’s knights—was that Percival, the one who had supposedly tried to start a revolution in the diner?—egging the crowd on.  If so, he was doubly a fool.  “Take her quickly!”

“No!”  Killian had seen Emma fighting the darkness in the diner, even if the others hadn’t.  But if someone pushed her now, when she was already on edge…  “Let me through, damnit!”

Emma’s hands came up, magic shooting out and stunning the people in the front ranks of the crowd.  They stumbled back, but that only shoved Killian even further away from her.  Someone hit his legs and made him stumble; he almost fell before he could catch himself.  By the time he did, a quartet of knights had surged forward into the opening, and even though Killian thought he heard David shouting from behind him, it was too little, too late.  Frantically, he started throwing people out of his path, but the crowd only pressed closer together.

“She can’t stop herself!” he cried helplessly.  “Don’t get yourselves killed!”  No one even bothered to look at him, though, and Killian’s frustration gave his sense of sarcasm free rein.  “Actually, you know what?  Go ahead.  Take a dance with the Dark One, threaten her and try see what happens.  I can tell you from experience that it always turns out _marvelously_!”

He brandished his hook to prove his point, and a few people in the crowd actually seemed to notice Killian at that point.  But he didn’t get a chance to say more.  Suddenly, two knights appeared almost out of nowhere and grabbed Killian by the arms.  Shocked, it took him a moment to start fighting, until Killian suddenly realized what they were trying to do.  He fought their hold, until someone hit him hard in the back of the head, and Killian staggered woozily.  But he could still make out their words through the ringing in his ears.

“Surrender the dagger, Dark One, or we will kill your beloved,” Percival told Emma, and then things happened too quickly for Killian to follow in his dizzy state.

One moment, Emma had stood ten feet away from Percival, who was smiling cockily as if he knew exactly what he was doing.  The next, she was right in front of the knight, her hand buried deeply in his chest.

“Emma, _no_!”  Killian didn’t give a damn about the knight, but he didn’t want Emma to darken her soul further.  Not for him.  Not like this.

But she ignored him, ripping Percival’s heart out, anyway.  The knight gasped, shock making his features go slack, and Emma leaned in close to him.  “You were saying?”

“If you don’t hand over the dagger of the Dark One—” Percival’s rasp cut off in a cry of pain as Emma squeezed his heart.

“No,” she whispered, hazel eyes flashing.  “I don’t think so.”

Emma crushed Percival’s heart, and Killian did the only thing he could think of doing.  He wasn’t going to be used against Emma.  Not like this.  Not _ever_.  So, he yanked away from the two knights holding him, catching one of them across the face with his hook.  Unfortunately, he’d taken to not wearing a sword in Storybrooke, so Killian only had his hook and his guts for weapons.  Fortunately, the knight who he’d slashed cried out in pain, twisting away from Killian and clutching at his face.  That left the one to Killian’s right, who immediately tried to stab him, but Killian twisted towards the man and smashed his fist into his face.

Killian shifted his weight to face off with the knight, but suddenly his attacker suddenly disintegrated into a pile of dust.  He spun back to face the woman he loved.  “Emma, stop, damn you!  Please!”

But several knights lunged for her, and Emma’s hands came up.  Something _cracked_ in the air and power slammed outwards, knocking people down like so many dominos.  Most of the crowd went flying, or at least enough to create an open area around Emma, who didn’t even seem to hear Killian’s pleas.  He couldn’t stop her.  He could barely _recognize_ her in this dark and dangerous woman, whose arms were outstretched and crackling with power.  Emma wasn’t listening and she was reaching for another man’s heart—

That knight—Killian thought it might be Sir Lamorak, who he vaguely remembered seeing a statue of as a child—suddenly disappeared, leaving Emma’s hand to close tightly around thin air.  She spun furiously, but Sir Lamorak landed a dozen yards away from her, his eyes as wide in surprise as Emma’s were narrowed in fury.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Swan.”

 _You have_ got _to be kidding me_.  Killian turned to watch the damn crocodile—Rumplestiltskin, as Belle would have reminded him to call the man—walking through the steadily backing up crowd without fear.  There wasn’t a lot of room for people to flee in the tiny courtyard; some were trying to hop over the fence to get away, but most of them were tripping over tables and chairs in their haste to get away from Emma.  _What kind of fools try to mob the Dark One and then get surprised when she fights back?_ Killian wanted to shout at them, but even he knew that now wasn’t the time.  The crowd _had_ somehow managed to part enough to clear the area between Emma and Rumplestiltskin, and every eye was on the pair, expecting a fight.

Killian was a betting man, and if anyone had given him odds, he would have put money down on Emma.  She was stronger and tougher than Rumplestiltskin, and he knew she knew her way around a fight, but even those thoughts made a nervous ball start bouncing around in his stomach.  Sure, Emma could win, but what then?  At what price?   How many might she kill, if no one could stop her?

Desperately worried, he twisted to look over his shoulder at where Regina, Robin, David, and Henry stood on the stairs.  Belle was nowhere in sight, and nor was Roland, which was probably a good thing.  Killian would have spared Henry this sight if he could have, but the lad had already heard Mordred and Scarlet say that his mother had killed Granny.  _Speak of the devil, those two bastards certainly seem delighted to watch the fireworks,_ he thought bitterly.  So much for trusting his own damned uncle!  Trying to catch Regina’s eye, however, didn’t work.  Her attention was on Henry, instead of on helping Gold like it should have been.  _They have to stop Emma.  Why is she leaving the bloody crocodile to it on his own?_   Killian wondered if he should try to talk Emma down again, but there was no time.

“This isn’t your concern, Rumplestiltskin,” his love said coldly, her pale face expressionless.

“I’m afraid it is.”  Killian’s old enemy walked forward, looking around calmly.  “Little though you or I like the situation, we _do_ seem to find ourselves at odds.  Although I think I’m the only one of us who truly appreciates the irony of this situation.”

Emma snorted.  “They attacked first.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin stopped a few feet away from Emma.  “And that demon inside you, that raging darkness, makes it almost impossible to stop yourself.  But you must.”

“And if I don’t?”

Someone gasped; the front edges of the crowd pushed back desperately.  Killian thought he heard a whimper or two, and one of the mechanics from the automobile shop was definitely swearing.  Neither magic user seemed to notice.

“If you don’t, I’ll have to stop you.”

For a moment, Killian thought Emma might back down.  For one moment, he dared to hope. 

Then Emma smiled, stepping forward until her lips were almost touching the side of Rumplestiltskin’s face.  Still, her stage whisper was loud enough that _everyone_ could hear it.  “How about I kill you and take your power instead, old man?”

“Now _that’s_ the darkness talking, dearie.”  The smile that crossed her predecessor’s face was a twisted thing, more fitted to the Dark One than Emma’s current glare.  But if he’d meant it to get through to Emma, the Crocodile had severely miscalculated. 

Magic blasted out of her hands, roaring in the air like thunder, catching Rumplestiltskin square in the chest and throwing him like a ragdoll.  He crashed straight into Emma’s own family, taking David off his feet and narrowly missing Henry.  Regina managed to pull herself and the boy aside, but Robin went down, too, and his flailing took Scarlet down with him.  Mordred looked ready to jump in, and Killian knew he didn’t have much time.

“Emma!” Leaping forward, he grabbed her by the arm as Regina hauled Rumplestiltskin to his feet, saying something sarcastic that Killian didn’t give a damn about.  “Emma, stop.  _Please._   You’ve got to stop hurting people.”

The eyes that turned on him held only cold hatred, but he thought he saw _something_ flicker in their depths.  “Stay out of the way, Killian.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, glad she hadn’t pulled away.  “I love you too much to let you do this.  This isn’t _you_ , Emma.  You have to fight it.”

“Oh, this is me.”  Anger, mixed with fear, flashed across her face.  “And I am _not_ going to let _anyone_ think they can control me.  I will not be used against those I love!”

Killian shook his head desperately.  “No one wants to do that.  No one who matters.  This worthless scum isn’t worth worrying about.”

“I have to!” She gestured furiously at the crowd.  “They all do!  They even _said_ it.”

“Emma, love—”

“No.  I’m going to take enough power so that _no one_ can control me, and then I’ll never have to hurt anyone again.”  She met his gaze, finally, and Killian saw her raw desperation. 

 _She’s terrified, and who can blame her?_   Looking at her like this broke his heart. 

“We’ll make sure no one does that,” he tried to promise, but Emma waved a dismissive hand. 

Magic surrounded him, and then there was a vicious _pull_.  Suddenly, Killian found himself on the steps, too, deposited gently in the space Rumplestiltskin had just vacated.  But where had the damn coward gone?

* * *

 

 _You have to stop her._ Merlin’s voice had been a constant companion ever since Mordred had opened his damned mouth inside the diner, and Rumplestiltskin truly wished that the old enchanter would just shut up.  _This is my doing, my folly.  You are my successor, and you_ must _stop her from hurting anyone else!_

 _Tell me something I don’t know,_ Rumplestiltskin almost growled aloud, although he managed to stop himself.  Regina grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet as the pirate tried to reason with Emma, and Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to speak, only to be drowned out by Merlin’s insistent whispering.  Again.  _I never should have let Nimue swallow that darkness.  I never should have thought a human soul could be enough to contain it._ Angrily, Rumplestiltskin swatted Merlin’s consciousness aside.  Until now, he had thought his predecessor was weakening, but today Merlin was back in full force.  Normally, he was more than happy to listen to whatever wisdom Merlin had to share—the old sorcerer was an enormous font of knowledge, and Rumplestiltskin craved that knowledge—but he was in the middle of a fight.

“Gee, and here I thought you were supposed to be some powerful badass these days,” Regina drawled as he caught his balance, effectively drowning out Merlin’s next attempt to speak.  “You were more threatening as the Dark One, Rumple.  Do you want me to take this round, or can you handle yourself?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, _Your Majesty_ ,” he snapped, turning a glare on her and watching Mordred inch forward.  “Unless you want a repeat of what happened the last time you and Emma went toe-to-toe?”

Regina scowled; Mordred seemed to have made a decision, until Rumplestiltskin turned his glare on him.

“Stay out of this, dearie.”  His voice was sharper than he’d intended, and it made Mordred’s expression burn with fury.  “You’ve caused enough problems today.”

“Then you better best get to work, _Sorcerer_ ,” the other retorted sarcastically, gesturing at where Emma was busy telling the pirate about how she was going to get enough power so no one could ever control her.

 _That sounds familiar_ , Rumplestiltskin thought.  Imagining what the darkness was whispering inside her was easy; he had heard the refrain himself a thousand times or more.  He understood her fears; he had _lived_ them.  Being controlled had been like living in a constant set of chains, never knowing if you were safe or not, never having the ability to say _no_.  His months when Zelena had the dagger had easily been the worst in a generally unpleasant life, and not only because of what she had done to him.  Emma knew enough—and had plenty of recollections from the collective Dark Ones whose memories lived inside her mind—to be justly terrified of anyone getting the dagger, and some idiot from Camelot had just had to say that they wanted the dagger, hadn’t they?

That pleasant thought was enough to fuel him; he could see Emma reaching the edge of her tether, so as she teleported Jones to the relative safety of Granny’s steps, Rumplestiltskin used his own magic to bring himself back to the center of the crowd, landing behind Emma without so much as wisp of smoke to mark his passage.

“Let’s take this away from the innocent bystanders, shall we?”  Grabbing the back of her high leather collar, Rumplestiltskin dragged her along in his next teleportation.  He had meant to take them someplace safe, like the empty field that the dwarves had once grown magic beans in, but Emma managed to get her power in the way, and they landed on Main Street instead, right in front of the clock tower, stumbling away from one another as both landed off-balance.

Emma spun to face him, and Rumplestiltskin gathered magic to himself, waiting for her to make the first move.  He was a terrible choice for a hero, hardly suited for the task of _saving_ people, but he was what they had, wasn’t he?  And these people—so many more of them than he deserved—had been _kind_ to him.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t used to that, hadn’t ever been in a place in the world where people might help him out of kindness.  Much of that was because of Belle, of course, but even Rumplestiltskin knew that his own actions had actually helped him on that front.  He was trying to be better, trying to be the good man he’d once dreamt of being, but now was the time to prove that.  _Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow,_ Belle had once said, and Rumplestiltskin was slowly coming to understand that philosophy really did work.  And yet—that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight on his own terms.

Rumplestiltskin knew Emma’s darkness better than she knew herself; he knew what drove her and how the darkness manipulated her.  And he was the only one with the power to stand up to her, even if a corner of his soul would always want to find the nearest corner to hide in.

“Not running away?” Emma taunted him, and he knew _exactly_ where that had come from.  Strangely enough, knowing that the darkness was feeding her his old fears and insecurities made bearing them easier, instead of harder.

“Not a chance.”  Rumplestiltskin had been so careful about managing his new magic thus far, had been cautious in its employment every time he had needed it.  He had wanted to understand this vast and terrifying power before digging too deeply, but now he knew he had no choice.  The darkness was _stronger_ inside Emma than it had been inside him, able to draw on her own magic to enhance its own. 

So he let out a breath and _reached_ , still waiting for her to make the next move but dropping himself into the vast ocean of his power.  A slight rumble shook the ground, a certain kind of static filled the air, and he knew Emma felt that, too.

“You know you can’t kill me, Sorcerer.  Not without _becoming_ me.  Again.”  Emma’s grin was feral, and not like her at all.  But he’d felt that smile so many times that it was almost an old friend.

“I have no desire to.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I want to end this with _you_ in control.  Not someone—or some _thing_ —else.”

“The only way you’re going to end this is in a coffin.”  She drew the dagger out of the inside of her jacket, still grinning.  “It might even be a public service, what with how many times you’ve cheated death.  People might be glad to see it stick.”

It was time to try a different tack.  He’d fight her if he had to, but Rumplestiltskin had always preferred to use words as weapons.  “Your pirate was right, you know.  This isn’t you.  And you know that.”

“You’re trying to delay, aren’t you?” Emma cocked her head coldly.  “I know all of your tricks, now, Rumplestiltskin.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but magic slammed out of Emma first, black and deadly.  Interestingly enough, the darkness wasn’t trying to draw on any of Emma’s own magic; it was only using its own.  Rumplestiltskin’s hand came up immediately, brushing that darkness aside, fingers twitching to dissipate the magic so that it couldn’t target someone else.  Suddenly, he realized what was happening _._ The darkness was trying too hard to control Emma.  It _couldn’t_ use her magic—Emma wasn’t letting it.

The smile he gave Emma was as much for the Dark One as it was for her.  “Not all of them.”  Rumplestiltskin twirled his fingers as Emma tried another attack, deconstructing her spell even as it soared towards him, prying the black and gray threads apart until they broke down to harmless magical components.  The magic flickered in the air, sizzling loudly and then falling to the ground like electric confetti midway between them.  The multi-colored sparks hit the street, bouncing a few times before sputtering out.  “Not like I know your tricks, anyway.”

“I’m not like you,” she spat.

“No, you’re not.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile turned rather more honest, if much more broken.  “You never have been.  But you’re not like this, either, are you?”

“This is what I _am._   Why won’t any of you understand that?”

He laughed humorlessly.  “I do.  Better than anyone, don’t you think?” Emma scowled, but Rumplestiltskin continued: “And yet I’m proof that there’s another side, that the darkness might stain you forever, but it doesn’t _own_ you.  Does it?”

“Of course not.  I’m _exactly_ what I want to be.”  But the look on Emma’s face gave that lie away; Rumplestiltskin recognized it all too quickly.  How many times had he told himself that same thing?  With the voices of the darkness whispering in your mind, believing that was what you wanted to be was so much easier.

The problem, however, was how to shock Emma enough that she regained control?  The fools who had tried to take the dagger had awoken all the worst parts of the Dark One, and Emma had little enough practice getting that raging fury under control.  Could she do it on her own, or was her fury simply going to have to burn out?  Rumplestiltskin remembered the first time someone had made a serious attempt to take the dagger from him, and it had not been pretty.  That group of knights had died quite messily, and he’d slain dozens before he managed to sate the darkness—and calm his own fears.  _And now I have all of her attention on_ me.  _That wasn’t so smart, was it?_

Or perhaps it was.  Could he scare her straight? 

Not with power, Rumplestiltskin knew.  Emma was no stranger to power, and she was too powerful to be cowed, even if he hammered her into the ground with his greater knowledge and experience.  No, he would have to be clever—and he would have to do the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, then,” he replied to her statement with a shrug.  “Come kill me, then.  If you can.”

“You might be immortal, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed.”  Emma’s eyes were flat and lifeless; she was listening to the voices.  He could tell.  Then artificial fury flared, and her eyes gleamed.  “The dagger can kill you.”

 _It can, you know,_ Merlin pointed out, his voice whisper soft.  But at least he didn’t try to offer advice.

“Of course it can.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, keeping his magic at the ready but refusing to attack her unless he really had to.  “But it won’t give you my power.”

Emma laughed.  “You’ve always lied.  Why don’t I kill you and find out for myself?”

“Go ahead.  Try.”  He met her eyes, rolled the metaphorical dice.  They were barely an arm’s length apart, now, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t make it too easy.  Neither, apparently, could Emma, because her free hand shot forward, aiming right for his heart.

 Rumplestiltskin caught her wrist, twisting his body away from her as he slammed magic right into Emma.  Because he held her by the wrist, using magic to augment his strength, she couldn’t go flying, but the blow still snapped her head back and made her gasp.  He’d carefully tempered the power he used, measuring out enough to hammer her without using a tidal wave—yet the amount he had to hold back to do that was terrifying.  _I can’t do this.  I can’t_ be _this,_ Rumplestiltskin panicked.  He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t anything like Emma used to be.  He was just a coward who had turned to darkness for power, and now a nobody who hadn’t even succeeded in sacrificing himself to Merlin’s power.  He wasn’t worthy of this!

Emma’s return attack made him lose his grip on her arm, ice-like power slamming into him and making Rumplestiltskin grunt.  He saw stars, staggering, and in the back of his mind Merlin tried to call out some sort of encouragement, or maybe a warning—but he blocked the second blow by instinct.  _Not too much,_ he told himself, the old self-preservation instincts kicking back in.  He wasn’t here to trade blows like some sort of hero.  He was here to be _Rumplestiltskin_ , a manipulator who wove magic and words like he once had thread.  _Stop trying to be some Savior,_ he told himself derisively.  _That’s not you._

_Focus._

“Had enough already, coward?” Emma taunted him, but the words were surprisingly cathartic. 

“Do you know what surprising thing I’ve learned, Miss Swan?” Rumplestiltskin asked her, catching his balance and beginning to pull together a spell he knew he would not complete.  “I have learned that I would rather be a coward than the Dark One.  Surprising, I know, but it is a beautiful thing to own your own soul.”

“I haven’t lost myself,” she answered quickly.  Too quickly.  “I won’t be like you!”

“Then prove it.”

He could imagine exactly what the darkness was saying to her.  Rumplestiltskin could practically hear the words, could almost read them right off of Emma’s face.  _You’re stronger than him.  Don’t let him tell you what you are—he doesn’t know.  He was always the coward, always hiding, never_ fighting, _never like you._   The darkness was sly; he always suspected that was Nimue’s influence, her voice; she had probably been the smartest of their predecessors, and certainly the most cunning.  And then, of course, would come the fear, the ultimate lever that always made a Dark One reach for the darkness.  _If you don’t stop them now, they will never stop trying to get the dagger.  What will happen to your family then?_

He knew Emma would attack before Emma even made the decision; the way her eyes flicked to look at someone over Rumplestiltskin’s right shoulder told him she was watching her family shove through the crowd outside Granny’s.  She was thinking of them, probably thinking of the way it would feel for someone to control her the way Zelena had him.  Magic was emotion, even for the Dark One, and fear was a very powerful motivator.  So Emma attacked with everything she had, clearly hoping to make this a short and dirty fight.  She needed to close the distance between them to kill him, so her first blow—a wave of practically electric darkness, which shocked him and brought up memories he _did not need_ right now—was designed to knock him off balance.

It worked, even though it shouldn’t have.  But for a moment, Rumplestiltskin’s mind folded under, nightmares roaring to life within his memories, and he staggered.  He’d meant to let some of the attack through, just enough to _give_ her the upper hand—but Rumplestiltskin had underestimated how it would affect him.  For a moment, he was back in that damned cage, unable to resist _anything_ Zelena wanted to do, and paying the price for having tried to take the dagger back.  For his failure.  For—

 _Pay attention!_ Merlin’s silent shout jerked him back to reality just in time, and Rumplestiltskin teleported away from an attack that would have knocked him senseless.  Forcing himself to focus, he raised his hands and dismantled the next two waves of darkness, letting them dissipate harmlessly into the air as Emma’s fury built.  But she was better at containing it than he was, or at least the training Regina had given her was starting to show, because Emma’s next attempt was more calculated.  Instead of attacking him directly, Emma tried to bring a lamppost down on him, twisting the metal up so that it would wrap around Rumplestiltskin and hold him still.

 _Is the darkness feeding her things that would remind me of Zelena, or is she just that good of a guesser?_  Knowing that his old companion was probably guiding Emma actually made it easier to fight, and Rumplestiltskin waved a hand towards the lamppost.  It ignited and then zoomed towards Emma—

She, of course, blasted it into smithereens.  

“You’re always looking for a way out of fighting, aren’t you?” she growled, prowling closer to him again.  “You don’t have the guts to take me in a stand up fight, do you?”

Emma was thinking, and that was bad.  If she thought too much, she might think her way out of this, and then he’d have to do this _again_.  So, Rumplestiltskin just smiled.

“Not exactly.”

A twitch of his fingers brought the street rearing up to trap her, turning asphalt into sticky liquid that would gum Emma down.  It didn’t work, of course; Emma teleported away from it before Main Street could swallow her.   She landed a few feet away, scoffing. 

“Good try.”

Then Emma disappeared again, and Rumplestiltskin had a split second to decide.  He knew what she was doing—knew what he would have done in her place—and he shifted a foot to his left, backing up just enough to throw the blow off balance.

When she appeared, the dagger was already moving, stabbing straight towards where his heart _had_ been.  Instead, the dagger stabbed into him on its downward arc, burying itself in the right side of his abdomen.  Pain rocketed through him, but Rumplestiltskin had already been prepared with magic to soften the blow, and his right hand snaked forward to grab Emma’s right wrist.  His palm landed flat against her skin, held there tightly by her black leather overshirt, just as he’d intended it to.

“What the hell?” she snapped as he panted in pain.

And oh, it _hurt_.  Now that his adrenaline had stopped pumping so hard, Rumplestiltskin could fully appreciate the pain he _wasn’t_ blocking—or couldn’t.  Poison seemed to race through his veins, but he had one chance at this, and he wasn’t about to screw it up.  Not with the Dark One’s dagger buried up to the hilt in his side.  That, too, brought up too many memories, but this time Rumplestiltskin was ready to push them aside.  He even managed a strained, sarcastic smile for the former Savior.

“It seems we find ourselves in a bit of a quandary here, dearie,” he rasped.

“Not for long, we don’t,” Emma retorted, and he felt her fingers tighten on the dagger’s hilt.  She started to twist the dagger, knowing that the pain would make him let go, but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t about to play that game.  So, he summoned a fireball to his right palm, and the scent of flesh burning immediately filled the air.

Dark One or not, Emma was human, and her hand opened as she stumbled back, yelping in pain.  She seemed to realize what she’d done immediately, leaping forward to reclaim the dagger, but Rumplestiltskin already had his hand on the hilt.

“Stop.”

Emma froze.

Grimacing, Rumplestiltskin drew the blade from his side, quickly filling his left hand with magic to stop the blood flow.  The wound seemed slow to respond to healing, but he was able to plug it easily enough, even when more advanced spells failed.  _I’ll have to figure that one out later,_ he decided, straightening with an effort.  Even his attempts to mitigate the pain were only working so well, despite the fact that he felt his vast store of magic swirling around him, ready and eager to answer his commands.

Now he felt _her_ magic, too, felt the darkness turning towards him obediently, not really caring who was its master so long as it could wreak havoc.  Once, that darkness had been an old friend, a part of Rumplestiltskin that he had never wanted to lose.  Now it just made him feel sick.  Looking at Emma’s panicked eyes only made the feeling of guilt grow deeper, so he glanced down at the dagger, its weight familiar and almost comforting in his hand.

_Emma Swan._

Seeing someone else’s name on the blade was almost surreal, and Rumplestiltskin had to stare at the dagger for a few seconds, just to convince himself that this wasn’t some dream.  Yet he _was_ free; he was the Sorcerer and Emma was the Dark One.  He was the man who was supposedly fated to face down the darkness.  The Sorcerer and the Dark One were opposites, eternally opposed for all that the former had created the later.  That was how things _were_.  Anyone who knew anything about magic knew that.  Until the paradigm had been broken and Merlin had been manipulated into killing Nimue, the fact that the two would battle had been assured. 

 _Not if I can help it,_ Rumplestiltskin thought firmly, tearing his eyes away from the dagger and looking up at Emma once more.  She was watching him warily, fearfully, and he recognized the way she felt.  _It’s like being in chains._

“Now,” he said slowly, stepping towards her as Emma flinched, “before I give you this back, we’re going to make a deal.”

“You’ll—you’re going to give it back?” Emma swallowed hard.  “The dagger?”

“Yes.  _If_ you make a deal with me.”  Rumplestiltskin knew the nature of magic, and the nature of _Emma’s_ magic, far better than the current Dark One did, and perhaps he could give her a bit of help.  _Losing her mother pushed her over the edge.  Losing Bae helped me find a way to control the darkness, but control won’t bring Emma’s mother back.  She’s drowning in grief and trying so hard, but her grief gave the darkness a chance to sink its teeth in too deeply._

Emma’s eyes narrowed.  “What do you want?”

“Control.”

“You can’t—”

“Yours,” he cut her off quickly.  “What’s done is done.  You cannot change that.  You cannot bring back the dead, but you _can_ stop yourself from harming any more innocents.  You have to learn to stop yourself.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Emma whispered so softly that he knew no one else could hear her.

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin remembered feeling like she was now, right up until the moment he’d dug his heels in and told the darkness _no more_.  Then, he’d decided that he’d twist the darkness to his own ends to find his son.  Emma had to find a similar purpose, or she’d drown. 

“I thought I knew how.  I thought I was doing better,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes.  “Then this…”

“We all pay the price for our actions,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  The sad thing was that Emma _had_ been doing better until Mordred had stuck his nose into the mess, dragging Will Scarlet into the diner and trumpeting Emma’s guilt for all to hear.  _There’s no way that was an accident._

Emma cut his thoughts short with a cold demand: “Tell me what you want.”

“Here’s the deal: you don’t kill another innocent.  If someone attacks you or your family, well, they’re asking for what they’ll get.  But you hold that darkness back, otherwise.  No cutesy little pets, and _no killing_.  You agree to that, and I’ll give you the dagger back.”  Asking for her not to hurt anyone would only guarantee a broken deal; Rumplestiltskin knew the darkness too well, and besides, he figured that he could undo the little evils she wound up committing.  Death was permanent.  Stone statues were not.

“What’s the catch?”

“It’s a deal, dear.  The very nature of magic will hold you to it.”  Rumplestiltskin met her eyes.  “If you break it, I’ll get the dagger back.  I don’t want it, but if you don’t learn to stop yourself, neither of us is going to have a choice.”

Emma flinched.

“Do we have a deal?”  Once, he would have giggled the words.  Now he spoke them as gently as he could, knowing how trapped she felt. 

“Yes,” Emma whispered, and Rumplestiltskin flipped the dagger around in his hand to extend it to her, hilt first.

Would she stab him?  Rumplestiltskin sincerely hoped not; his side was aching enough has it was.  Still, there was only one way to find out.

Emma’s hand snaked out immediately, snatching the dagger and all but tearing it out of his grasp.  Had Rumplestiltskin not been prepared for her haste, she might have relieved him of a finger or two, but he’d been expecting that.  Still, the way Emma cradled the dagger close nearly broke his heart.  _She deserves better,_ Rumplestiltskin thought sadly.  _She took that darkness on to save everyone else from_ my _mistakes, and she is paying the price I should have to pay._

“Thank you.” She met his eyes squarely, and then vanished.

* * *

 

Well, wasn’t that interesting?

“She’s not like Nimue,” Arthur said softly, standing at Danns’ side as they watched the current Dark One teleport away.

“None of them are.”  Her eyes were still on the Sorcerer, their granddaughter’s fascinating husband.  “Nimue, for all her inner goodness, hid a thirst for vengeance and _justice_ that the darkness was able to corrupt.  She embraced it willingly, not heeding Merlin’s warnings, and it corrupted her quickly.”

“Because she chose to listen to you instead of Merlin.”  Danns’ could hear her husband’s smile, and she glanced his way to return it.  Arthur hardly fit the ideal mate she had been searching for when she’d married him—he was human, with little magic of his own, for all that his mother had been a fairy—but he had proven to be quite satisfactory over the years.  So her smile was as genuine as any of the Black Fairy’s smiles ever were.

“Merlin loved her.  That was his mistake.”  She shrugged.  “He _trusted_ her, too, which meant he believed in her.”

“Which is not a mistake you tend to make.”

Tearing her eyes away from Rumplestiltskin, Danns’ cocked her head at Arthur.  “You sound wounded, darling.  Don’t.  We both know what we are.”

“Oh, I’m not.”  Arthur met her eyes, and she was pleased by how cold his gaze was.  “Will you use this Dark One as well?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she answered honestly.  “For now, her struggle to control herself—and the ill-advised murder _your_ son has now made sure the town knows of—will distract everyone well enough.  If need be, if she gains too much control, I will take the dagger before he can reclaim it.”

Now Arthur smiled again; they both knew how she had secretly controlled Nimue for four years, orchestrating the very reign of terror that had forced Merlin’s hand into killing his onetime love.  They also both knew how she had held Merlin’s dagger for over a decade, commanding him to hide his very nature and using him to cement Arthur’s power.  Arthur, of course, had not originally known who he was marrying, but Danns’ had made sure to tell him long before Mordred and his meddling friend Lancelot had ever tried to expose her.  By then, Danns’ had long since convinced Arthur to stop trying to reunite Excalibur and to aim for something far bigger, a dream Merlin would _never_ have willingly supported.

Arthur snorted, nodding his head towards Belle’s husband.  “I don’t think you’ll manage to trick him the way you did Merlin.” 

“Probably not.  Pity.”

“I don’t want our granddaughter married to the Dark One.”  They both knew that he couldn’t stop her, of course, but Danns’ usually tried to respect Arthur’s wishes.  Besides, he had a good point. 

“Nor do I,” she admitted, turning her mind regretfully away from the irony of turning Rumplestiltskin _back_ into the Dark One, of forcing his hand the way she’d once forced Merlin’s.

“Bad enough that he was the Dark One before,” Arthur grumbled.  “But she loves him.”

“And it is True Love.”  Danns’ remembered watching their kiss banish Merlin sixteen days earlier.  At the time, she had merely marveled at the fact that a former Dark One would have found any love at all, let alone the most powerful.  Now, however, she was even more impressed by her granddaughter.

“Having the Sorcerer _willingly_ on our side would be useful.  There is nothing in the world that could stand up to the two of you if you were united, even your sister and mine.”

Danns’ had always loved the ambitious way Arthur’s mind worked; as attached to Merlin as she had once been, his goodness had sometimes been a terrible nuisance.  Arthur, however, was not so handicapped.  “Your stepsister is a wasted wreck of has-been power, and mine thinks herself above such battles,” she reminded him.  “But still…it would be useful.  Particularly against Mordred.”

Their eyes met, and Danns’ smiled again.  Yes, she’d chosen quite well for her human consort.  They understood one another, and Arthur was not so impatient that he could not play the long game.  She would have to guide him, but if they worked carefully, soon they would be able to rule far more than just Storybrooke—they would be able to break down the already-flimsy barriers between all of the magical realms and destroy all opposition.  _Whatever it takes._

* * *

 

“You sure giving Emma the dagger back was a good idea?” Regina demanded as Rumplestiltskin returned to the group.

“If she doesn’t learn to stop herself now, she never will.  And if she doesn’t, her sacrifice will have been meaningless, and there will be nothing _anyone_ can do for her.”  The Sorcerer’s eyes flicked over their family, ignoring the still-uneasy crowd.  “Where’s Belle?”

“She stayed inside with Ruby,” David stepped forward to answer.  “Ruby took the news very hard.  Are you, uh, okay?”

Rumplestiltskin’s gray suit jacket was open, now, and seeing the bloodstain on his light blue shirt was easy enough.  David felt bad enough for having stood by while his daughter stabbed Rumplestiltskin, but he was canny enough to have guessed that Rumplestiltskin had planned on that.  He certainly hadn’t looked surprised, anyway.  _And it’s probably a good thing that Belle didn’t see that.  She might not have been able to stand on the sidelines while her husband was stabbed.  Henry almost ran to him, even with Regina and me both grabbing him.  Belle might have been far worse._

Then again, Belle might have reacted about as well to her husband being stabbed as Killian had to Rumplestiltskin grabbing the dagger afterwards, David reflected wryly.  And the pirate was still glaring at the Sorcerer, his eyes narrowed and distrustful.

“You didn’t have to take it from her,” Killian said accusingly.  “She _told_ me what it’s like when someone controls her.”

“I know how it feels far better than you do, _dearie_.” Rumplestiltskin turned to face Killian, his expression hard. 

“Then if you’re so willing to visit that kind of misery upon her, I think you haven’t changed much at all, _Crocodile_.”  David grabbed for Killian’s arm and missed as the pirate stalked forward, looming over Rumplestiltskin threateningly.

“Killian,” he said softly, trying to dissuade Emma’s boyfriend.  The last thing they needed was to have to have Regina turn Killian back from whatever Rumplestiltskin turned him into.  He didn’t _think_ the former Dark One would kill Hook, but there was no use taking that chance.

“No,” Killian growled.  “He gets to answer for what he’s done.  No excuses this time, mate.  No fancy words, and no clever tricks.  Just answers.”

“And what exactly would you like me to answer for, _mate_?” Rumplestiltskin retorted.  “For stopping her?  You’ve seen the darkness when it gets out of control.   You—more than anyone else here—has seen what it can do.  Do you really want Emma to lose herself so thoroughly that she forgets who she’s hurting?  I assure you that crawling back up once you’ve fallen into that abyss is _hard._ ”

Killian sneered.  “She’s managing better than you ever did.”

“Yes, she is.”  The fact that Rumplestiltskin didn’t deny that made David blink.  “But she lost her mother.  That kind of loss—that kind of _heartbreak_ —is something the darkness takes advantage of.  That voice inside her is never going to leave, never going to stop pressing.  She needed a reason to stop herself, one that even the darkness understands.  I gave her one.”

“At what price?”

“One she can pay.”  Rumplestiltskin turned away.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on my wife.”

“Of course.”  David tried to speak for everyone, but Killian grabbed Rumplestiltskin by the arm instead, forcibly turning him when he tried to walk back towards the diner.  To Killian’s credit, he looked more anguished than angry, but David could feel something dangerous hovering in the air.

“If she’s hurt—”

“Don’t,” the Sorcerer snapped.  “You and I are never going to like one another, but we are on the same side.  So, let me give you the same advice you once gave me: choose your love over your hatred.  She needs you now.  _Go to her._   Don’t ask her why she didn’t listen to you.  Don’t demand she change.  Just give her a reason to be better.”

Something strange crossed Killian’s face, and a moment of understanding that David never thought he would see passed between the two old enemies.  Killian’s voice turned to a ragged whisper: “I will never forgive you for killing Milah.”

Rumplestiltskin’s shrug was minuscule.  “What makes you think I forgive myself?”

Killian nodded abruptly and released the smaller man, turning without a word to stride away.  David watched him for a moment, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  Part of him burned to follow Killian, to try to help Emma put the pieces of her soul back together, but he knew he couldn’t.  Like it or not, he was Storybrooke’s sheriff, and he had responsibilities to the still very shaken town.

“Rumple,” Regina called, eying her old mentor suspiciously.  “Could you have beaten her?”

“Of course.  But pounding her into the ground would only have made her angry.  I need her _thinking_ , not reacting, and that meant outsmarting her.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Three—“Honesty is Fatal,” in which Emma faces the consequences of the truth coming out, Belle takes care of Ruby, Rumplestiltskin pays David a visit in search of information, Killian faces off with Uncle Mordred, Regina tries to comfort Henry, and Zelena pays an old ‘friend’ a visit.
> 
> A note for anyone who is wondering: Neal/Baelfire comes back in of ROC39.


	33. Honesty is Fatal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: references to past rape/non-con in this chapter.

“The bloody cat?” Killian couldn’t help saying as he strode into the house after the disaster at Granny’s, finding Emma standing in the living room and staring blankly out the window.  “The _cat_ was Will Scarlet all along?”

She shrugged.  “It seemed nicer than killing him.”

“Emma, love, you’re _better_ than this,” he said before he could stop himself, making her turn anguished eyes on him.

“No.  I’m not.”

She had told him about the darkness more than once, and even the Crocodile had said it, too.  The darkness _drove_ her.  Until they could get it out of Emma, she would do things like that, wouldn’t she?  She’d kill to protect him—which a part of Killian did find unbearably sexy, because he’d always liked powerful women and _damn_ if Emma wasn’t one of those—and she’d do it without blinking.  _This is what she is, now.  You can either accept it, and her, or turn away._   Emma had said that much to him more than once, and he knew that she expected him to leave, now.  But he wasn’t sure if being her conscience, if lecturing her about right versus wrong, was the right way to go.  Perhaps he should try a different tack.

“Better than zapping him with miniature lightning bolts, anyway,” he shrugged.  “Though I may have been the only one to appreciate the humor in the fact that you made him _sterile_.”

Emma snorted out a genuine laugh, and it warmed Killian’s heart.  Dark humor it would be, then.  “I didn’t think you knew that much about cats.”

“I don’t.  But Henry apparently does.  Or he read it in a book somewhere.  You never know with your boy.”

“He’s angry with me, isn’t he?” she asked suddenly, her voice very small.

“Aye.  I’m sure he is.”  Killian took a deep breath, and then took the plunge.  “I understand the darkness driving you, love, but you have to accept the consequences of your actions.  If this is what you are, now—as you keep saying—you have to understand that people will be angry when you hurt someone.”

Hazel eyes flashed.  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I think _Emma_ cares,” he shot back.  “But the Dark One doesn’t, and that’s a bit of a problem, isn’t it?”

She scowled.  “I _am_ the Dark One.”

“Are you?  Or is this a split personality thing?  I’m never sure which one of you I’m with, to be honest.  And it’s getting rather old.  Not that I mind the fantastic sex—which is due, in part, I’m sure to my incomparable talents on that front—but I want _Emma_.  And I’m never sure which one of you is giving me that lustful look.”

“Do you think I’d let the Dark One rule when you’re around?” She cocked her head at him, but for once, the look wasn’t predatory or playful.  Emma genuinely seemed concerned.

Killian swallowed hard.  But he’d started honestly, and he might as well stay that way.  “I thought I knew the answer, but I’m not sure.  Not anymore.”

“It’s me,” Emma whispered.  She reached out, and for once—instead of throwing herself at him and waiting for Killian to reciprocate (which he sometimes wished he could stop himself from doing, but how could he leave her when she had already lost her mother?)—Emma just took his hand.  “Just me.” 

“I want to believe that.  More than anything.”

“I know you don’t trust me.”  Emma looked away.  “I can’t really blame you.  I can’t trust myself.”

“Don’t say that.”  He squeezed her hand until she looked back at him, _wishing_ that he had two good hands and could touch her face with the other.  “You’re fighting this, right?  And I’ll help, if I can.  So long as you promise not to turn me into some infertile feline.”

“You’d be a fox.”  Her smile was tentative.  “And _not_ sterile.”

“Then put the Dark One down and just be Emma,” Killian whispered.  “Prove to me that you don’t want to share your foxy pirate with some collection of immortal nasties.”

Her eyes met his, and for once, she was all Emma.  “I can do that.”

* * *

 

Ruby felt so numb.  She knew Belle was sitting beside her, knew that several of the dwarfs were nearby, too, but she barely felt the arm around her shoulders.  She barely felt _anything_ except the roaring pain of Granny’s death, back again just when she’d decided that she was going to stop grieving and get on with her life.  And then she’d learned that Emma had killed her grandmother…and that some of her best friends had covered it up.

_No wonder they barely came by afterwards, and why they were all so quiet at the funeral,_ she thought emptily, staring at the floor.  They’d known.  They’d known and they hadn’t told her. 

When had she sat down?  The last Ruby remembered, she’d been staring Emma down, _hoping_ the Dark One would kill her, and then the crossbow had disassembled itself in midair.  Only an idiot would think Emma had done that; Ruby had seen the dismissive desire to murder her in the former sheriff’s eyes.  And she’d wanted it.  _You don’t always get what you want, girl,_ her mind supplied in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Granny’s.  _You get life, and it’s not always fair.  Get over it._

“I’m all right.”  The words sounded dull and dead to her, too, but Ruby didn’t care.  She just wanted everyone to go away.  She wanted Granny back, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Don’t be silly,” Belle said gently.  “Of course you aren’t.”

“I don’t care.”

The arm around her squeezed.  “That’s okay, too.  You don’t have to be okay, Ruby.”

“The diner—”

“We’ll deal with that.”  Leroy’s firm voice finally made her look up.  “Don’t be an idiot.  We’ll take care of everything.  Ella and I’ll manage whatever needs managing.  You get the hell out of here.”

But why would she go?  What reason did she have to do anything other than sit here and feel dead inside?  Ruby finally realized her eyes were too dry, and she blinked.  “Where?”

“Come home with me.”  Belle squeezed her shoulder again, and when Ruby remembered to look at her friend, the compassion in Belle’s blue eyes almost made her cry.  “We’ll take care of you.”

“But I…”

“Go on,” Mulan piped up from next to Ella; Ruby hadn’t even seen her come in, and looked her way in surprise.  It was probably a good thing that Mulan hadn’t been there during the confrontation with Emma, because knowing Mulan, she might have tried to kill Emma on the spot.  “We’ll take care of the diner and the inn.  You need time.”

Ruby swallowed hard.  She’d been floored by her friends’ support after Granny had died, and her friendship with Mulan had grown so unexpectedly since then.  Before Granny’s death, they’d just been jogging buddies and casual acquaintances, but Mulan had stopped by the diner more and more often, and Ruby had found herself growing closer and closer to her.  She couldn’t quite put a finger on _what_ she felt for the exotically beautiful warrior woman; it wasn’t like her friendship with Belle, or even the old one with Snow.  But there was a connection between them, and Ruby wished they were close enough for her to cry on Mulan’s shoulder.

_Maybe someday,_ she thought, a strange feeling of hope twisting around in her broken heart.  She wasn’t sure what to do with these feelings when they came so closely coupled with her grief, and she finally turned back to Belle.  “Are you sure you want me to come?  I’m not very good company right now.”

“I’m sure.  And you don’t have to be good company.  As long as you don’t light my new house on fire, anything else is okay.”

A strangled laugh wormed out of her, and Ruby leaned over to hug Belle tightly.  “Okay,” she whispered, relishing the feeling of a friend who was willing to stand by her—and one who would do it without lies.  “Thank you.”

“Of course.”  Belle helped her to her feet, and Ruby took a deep breath, trying to convey her thanks to everyone with a look.  Ella reached out to squeeze her shoulder, and Leroy gave her a hug, and even Mulan looked like she wanted to hug her but didn’t know how to reach out like that.  But that was okay.  Ruby was just glad to be surrounded by friends—when Will had started talking, she had felt so very alone and empty, like she’d never feel anything again.  But not with these people around.

There was one thing she wanted to know, though, so she turned to Belle as they headed for the door.  “Was that…was that Rumplestiltskin who disassembled the crossbow?  I know it wasn’t Emma.  I thought she was going to kill me.”  _I almost wanted her to._

“She wouldn’t have killed you, too,” Happy objected, but his expression was uncertain.  “Would she?”

“It was.” Belle sighed quietly.  “I know that it’s hard to remember that he’s changed, but he—”

“I know,” Ruby cut her off, finding a wan smile somewhere deep inside herself.  “I just wanted to make sure I was right before I thanked him.”

* * *

 

He didn’t expect Belle to come back before bed—Rumple had left her with Ruby, because as much as his mind was spinning after that duel with Emma, he knew Ruby needed Belle far more than he did right now.  _I should have said something when I guessed that Emma must have killed Granny,_ he thought angrily.  _I was too caught up in my own fears and my own insecurities, and because of that, Ruby had no warning._

True, he’d expected that the Charmings would have told Ruby.  In fact, it never would have entered Rumplestiltskin’s mind that they _wouldn’t_ —Ruby had always been part of their little ‘heroes’ club’, as Will Scarlet had called it, and the Charmings were always good at taking care of their friends.  Rumplestiltskin and Belle had been on the outside of that dynamic often enough to know that, after all.  Yet now Ruby was suffering, Belle’s _friend_ was suffering, because he hadn’t stopped to consider the fact that the Charmings really had put their daughter’s welfare that far above that of the town.  He’d always looked towards them to fill the ‘good’ role, to be the heroes that Storybrooke wanted them to be.  Rumplestiltskin had envied David’s casual assurance that he was good and _right_ from time to time, and he’d despised them when they’d ignored the good Belle tried to do just because she tried to stand by him, but he’d never expected the Charmings to fall off that pedestal.

Where did that leave him?  His usual sarcastic self would quip that he was left cleaning up their mess, but Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, now, for better or for worse.  He’d finally embraced that, had stepped forward and chosen to fight for what was right.  And Rumplestiltskin had no idea at all what that meant for him as a man.  Once, he’d been steeped in darkness.  Now, for all his light magic and power, he was far from a saint.  Yet he was supposed to be the one to face down the darkness—and he had.

In the immediate future, however, it left him with a gaping wound in his side that utterly burned in pain.

_It feels just like being cut with the dagger did when I was the Dark One, but why?_   Gingerly, Rumplestiltskin pulled the wet cloth he was holding away from the wound.  The wound wasn’t really bleeding, not anymore—he’d been able to stop _that_ with magic—but it still hurt.  He was lucky that Emma hadn’t gotten any vital organs when she’d stabbed him, although Rumplestiltskin’s instincts told him that had he _not_ become an Original Power, he might have had a far larger problem on his hands.  Inheriting Merlin’s power had changed who and what he was, and although Rumplestiltskin wasn’t necessarily comfortable with that, he had a feeling it had changed his life.

“Rumple, you didn’t mention you were still hurt!”

Belle’s voice coming from the bathroom doorway made him jump, and Rumplestiltskin turned guiltily to face her.  “You were worried about Ruby.  I thought I could heal it.”

“What happened?”  She came immediately to his side, pulling the cloth away and studying the wound.  Trying to move his arm out of the way made Rumplestiltskin hiss in pain, and Belle’s worried eyes snapped up to his face.

“Emma may have, uh, stabbed me in the midst of our duel,” he explained, remembering that she’d stayed inside with Ruby.  He’d asked her to, because he wanted to keep the temptation of a hostage away from the Dark One’s viciousness.  Emma Swan probably wouldn’t try to hurt Belle again, but she’d been all the Dark One when she’d stormed out of the diner, and Rumplestiltskin had recognized that easily enough.

“With what?  This looks terrible!”  Belle reached out as if to touch the wound, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop himself from flinching.  His eyes watered when he pressed the cloth against it, no matter how gently.  Any touch would be agony.

Fortunately, Belle stopped herself, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t hold back his sigh of relief.  “The dagger.  _Her_ dagger.  I was foolish enough to let her do it so that I could take it from her.”

“That’s when you made the deal everyone is talking about.”  Casting one last worried look at his wound—which really was awful looking, with black tendrils snaking outwards from the torn skin as if he’d been poisoned, and purple bruising surrounding that—Belle straightened and took his other hand.  “And you let her stab you because you couldn’t think of another way to get the dagger away from her.”

“In my defense, there really wasn’t one.”  He grimaced.  “As stupid as that move feels right now.”

Belle bit her lip.  “Was it worth it?”

“That remains to be seen.”  A one-shouldered shrug still made him wince in pain, and Rumplestiltskin let out a shaky breath.  “I can’t seem to heal this right now, but that might only be because I used an awful lot of magic earlier.  It should work in the morning.”

“I hope so.”

“Is Ruby asleep?” he asked, both to change the subject and because he was surprised to see Belle away from her friend.

She nodded.  “I gave her the sleeping potion you gave me.  She’s…she’s in a rough place.  Do you mind if she stays for a few days?”

“Of course not.  She’s your friend.”

“Thank you.”  Her brilliant smile warmed his soul, and Belle leaned in to kiss his cheek as she squeezed his hand.  “Oh, that reminds me.  Ruby wanted to thank you for saving her.  She realized that Emma didn’t disassemble the crossbow.”

“Pity.  I was hoping people would think she’s overcoming the darkness.”  _So much for that idea._

Belle stared at him in surprise for a moment, and her affectionate scrutiny made Rumplestiltskin shift a little uncomfortably.  “You’re so different, now,” she whispered. “Without that darkness, you really are one of the most selfless men I’ve ever met.”

“Hardly,” he snorted.

“You could have let Mordred face off with her.  Everyone could tell that he wanted to.”

“And to give the darkness an excuse to try to take her over?  I’m not that foolish.”  Rumpelstiltskin swallowed again.  “And…I’m the Sorcerer, Belle.  I may not be really comfortable in the role, but I think this fight is my responsibility.  Besides, I know how Emma feels.  I’ve been there.”

“Thank you for proving my point,” she said softly, and then kissed him when he tried to argue with her.  “Now, stop arguing.  I’m going to wrap up your side, and we’re going to crawl in bed, where you’re going to tell me _everything_.  All right?”

“Bossy, bossy.”  But he accompanied the teasing with a smile.  Belle was right, and he knew better than to argue with her.  “All right.”

* * *

 

Regina had spent the previous night consoling her son, trying to answer Henry’s questions as honestly as she could.  She hadn’t really _wanted_ to admit that she—along with the others—had known who had killed Granny, but in the end, she steeled herself and told Henry the truth.  He’d refused to talk to her until that morning, but at least when he came down for breakfast, Henry stopped giving her the silent treatment.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” he said quietly, making Regina look up from the stove.

“Do you?” she asked, half holding her breath.  Regina wasn’t sure _she_ understood all of her own reasoning, except for the fact that she felt she had to protect Emma.  Regina would never forget that the darkness went for _her_ first, and she would never stop owing Emma for saving her from that.  _If Emma is bad as the Dark One, I would have been far worse._ But Regina hated owing anyone, which made her feelings all the more complicated.

“You didn’t want a riot like that to happen, because people don’t understand.”  Henry’s brown eyes were still a listless and his expression was broken, so Regina came around the table and put her hands on his shoulders.  Much to her relief, Henry leaned against her.

Regina swallowed hard.  “We hoped we could stop her before it came to this.” 

“She still killed Granny.”  Henry was tense, so tense, and there wasn’t anything Regina could do to ease his pain.  “How could she _do_ that?”

“She’s the Dark One.”  Regina let out a breath.  “I’m not sure how much of it is her fault.  Your grandfather certainly doesn’t seem surprised.”

“It’s not the same,” he said stubbornly, and Regina supposed that, from a twelve year old—no, a _thirteen_ year old—point of view, it wasn’t.  Rumple had always been controlled, right up until the end.  Even then, no one ever saw him fly off the handle and murder people.  There were stories, sure, but the worst crime anyone had seen him commit in Storybrooke had been sucking the fairies and the Apprentice into the hat.  _And we were able to get them out._ He’d beaten Moe French to a bloody pulp, too, but that had been a long time ago.

“Fighting darkness is hard, Henry.”  She couldn’t believe she was defending Emma.  The old Regina, the one who had fought that woman tooth and nail to keep her son, wanted to vilify Emma and keep Henry to herself.  She _could_ turn him away from Emma, perhaps forever, if she played her cards right—but Regina really had changed.  And realizing that felt damn good.  “You get so lost in it that other people stop mattering, even when they should.  It’s a horrible kind of freedom, really, not _caring_.  I imagine it’s made worse by the fact that Emma really wasn’t prepared for this.  At least my fall was slow enough that I knew where I was going.”

“But it was _Granny_ ,” Henry protested, and Regina just squeezed his shoulders again.  For all of his intelligence, he really was still a boy, and the death of someone he had known all of his life, who had actually babysat him, hit him hard.  Doubly so when it was his beloved birth mother who had done the deed. 

“I know, sweetie.”

There really wasn’t anything else to say, and Henry buried his face against her as Regina held him.  He was mostly out of tears, now, as angry as he was broken, and Regina knew it would take him a while to come around. 

Maybe tomorrow she’d be brave enough to talk to him about forgiveness, to tell him that Emma really wasn’t in control, and that he should continue to fight for her.  But today, Regina was going to let her son grieve, because he deserved so much better than to be in this situation again.  It was bad enough that he’d had to grow up knowing she was the Evil Queen, that her issues had made her hurt him when he was younger.  Somehow, Henry’s capacity for love had been great enough that Regina could earn his forgiveness, even though she often thought she would never deserve it.  _Maybe I can earn it by helping him learn to forgive Emma.  Dark One or not, she’s got a long way to go before she even approaches the number of people I killed at my worst.  If Henry can believe in me, he can believe in her, too.  In fact—_

A knock at the door cut her thoughts off, and Regina pulled away from her son after squeezing his shoulders one last time.  “I’ll go get that.  You put the eggs on, all right?”

“Sure.”

Focusing on breakfast would probably help him process his grief, Regina knew.  Henry had insisted on learning to cook starting a few weeks ago, and Regina trusted him not to burn the kitchen down, even if he did make a mess of the eggs.  The store was nearby, and she could always buy more.  _Particularly if he makes half the mess he did on Saturday._ She smiled, reaching for the door, only to find a sight on the other side that killed all of her good humor.

“What do you want?” Regina demanded.

Emma flinched.  “I want—I _need_ —to see Henry.”

“No, you don’t.”  She might have been willing to talk to Henry about forgiveness, but not today.  “Not right now.”

“He’s _my_ son.”  Surprisingly, the statement was not a shout, and it wasn’t cold, either.  Emma swallowed, and seemed to force the next word out. “Please.”

“It’s too soon.”  Regina took a deep breath.  “Look, he’s grieving.  Leave him alone for now, all right?”

Part of her wanted to snap at Emma, and Regina _was_ tempted to reach out and shake the younger woman.  But she stopped herself.  They’d finally made up—more or less—after their joint fight with Zelena, and Regina wasn’t going to ruin that.  Not when Emma was so clearly worried about Henry.

“But I need to apologize. I need to make him understand.”  Emma looked miserable, but Regina’s main worry wasn’t for her.

“It’s not about what you need, Emma,” she said as gently as she could make herself.  “It’s about Henry, and right now, he’s not ready to talk to you.  Bad enough that he found out about you killing Granny, but it ruined his birthday.  At thirteen, that matters.”

“Particularly when he was so excited about getting me together with the rest of the family,” Emma finished for her, sounding bitter.

Regina nodded.  She hadn’t quite wanted to rub that much salt in Emma’s wounds, but apparently Emma was doing a bang-up job of that herself.  “He’ll probably be ready to talk to you in a day or so, but let me get him through this first, okay?”

Playing the sane and _good_ parent was a role Regina wasn’t used to, but with Emma as the Dark One, the world really had turned upside down.  Emma glared dejectedly for a moment, and then nodded.

“Tell him that it won’t happen again,” Emma whispered.  “I lost control, but I won’t do it again.”  Hazel eyes filled with tears.  “He’s my reason for fighting it.  I just…I just want him to know that.”

“I’ll tell him,” Regina promised.  Then, on impulse, she reached out to touch Emma’s elbow, making the other woman jump.  “And we’ll all help, all right?  Just don’t shut us out.”

Emma nodded.  “I’ll try.”

“Good.  Now, you’d probably better go before I say something nasty and piss you off again.”  She tried a smile on for size, and was surprised when Emma let out a watery laugh.

“Yeah, let’s not tempt the beast right now, okay?  I think I have it fed, but…”

“Fed?”

“Don’t ask.”  Emma’s eyes focused in the distance, and her voice dropped to a whisper.  “Feed the darkness and it feeds on you.”

Regina didn’t get a chance to ask what she meant before Emma disappeared, but she made a mental note to ask Rumple if Emma was going off of her rocker or if that was a typical Dark One thing.

* * *

 

Belle had insisted on bringing Ruby back to the Sorcerer’s House—their house, now—the night before, and now she was glad that she had.  The last thing Ruby needed was to spend yet another night in the home she’d once shared with Granny, particularly the night after she learned that Granny’s killer had been one of her friends.  Ruby hadn’t wanted to say much the night before.  She’d ranted and raved a bit, heartbroken and worn down, and Belle had sat with her until the sleeping potion Rumplestiltskin provided took effect.  Now, however, Ruby was up and quieter, so they had gone to the courtyard together to watch the Forbidden Fountain.

They sat side by side on one of the benches, and Belle was content to wait until Ruby was ready to talk.  She hadn’t managed to convince her friend to eat breakfast, but she understood.  After fifteen minutes of stony silence, however, Ruby finally spoke:

“They knew.  _Snow_ knew,” she whispered.

Belle was glad that she hadn’t connected the dots, herself.  She’d been too distracted by events to put too much thought into who killed Granny.  While she was quite certain Rumplestiltskin had guessed—in retrospect, a few of his comments made a lot more sense—she was not going to mention that.  It was bad enough that Ruby’s oldest friend had kept this a secret.  Ruby didn’t need to know that someone she had recently helped had done the same.  Particularly since Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been sure.

Reaching out, Belle gently squeezed Ruby’s shoulder.  “I think they were trying to keep everyone safe.”  Those words tasted bitter in her mouth, but it was all Belle had to offer.

“So?” Ruby turned to look at Belle, her face still streaked with tears.  “I wouldn’t have shouted it on the streets.  I just…I just wanted to _know_.  I trusted them!”

“I know,” Belle whispered, wrapping an arm around her friend.  Ruby leaned into her, crying quietly. 

“Knowing doesn’t make it any easier.”  Ruby’s voice caught, but she forged on: “But how could _Emma_ do that?  She—she—Granny _liked_ her.  She wanted to help her.”

“And Granny deserved better,” Belle agreed.  She could tell Ruby that it wasn’t all Emma’s fault, that the darkness drove her as brutally as it had ever driven Rumplestiltskin, but Ruby didn’t need to hear that right now.  Ruby knew that, but at the moment, what she needed was a friend to stand by her.  Will’s statement had torn open every wound left by Granny’s death just when they’d started to heal, and Ruby just needed to grieve.

“I miss her so much.”

Belle just hugged her tightly.  “I know.”

* * *

 

Normally, Rumplestiltskin would have brought Belle along to the loft, but she was with Ruby, who definitely needed her more than Rumplestiltskin did at the moment.  The wound in his side still stubbornly refused to heal, leaving him achy and cranky, but he didn’t think he needed his wife to smooth things over for this conversation.  Or at least he hoped not.  His relationship with David had evened out since the mess with the Sorcerer’s Hat and Rumplestiltskin’s own subsequent foolishness; they’d even spent a decent amount of time together in an amicable way.  Rumplestiltskin knew he had a long way to go before he could call the other man a friend—he had a long way to go before he could call _anyone_ in Storybrooke a friend—but they seemed to have reached an understanding.

So, he knocked on the door to the loft, listening to baby Neal cry as David shouted from inside: “Come in!”

Cautiously, Rumplestiltskin let himself in, watching David work on feeding a cranky baby who apparently wanted nothing to do with his bottle.  Looking at the child made a strange mix of emotions rise within him: firstly, the boy was named after his own son (in a way), and secondly, in the world Isaac had created, Rumplestiltskin had actually thought this child was his own.  The emotions he’d felt towards baby Neal there still lingered, and he and Belle had spoken more than once about how _empty_ they felt without him, even when they both knew the child never should have been theirs.

_I asked Isaac to make me a man my son could be proud of,_ Rumplestiltskin thought bitterly, _not to steal someone else’s child and give it to me._   For all the deals he’d made for children over the years, Rumplestiltskin had _never_ taken a child from parents who fought to keep it.  Even David’s twin had been given up willingly enough, even if the shepherd’s parents had been reluctant.  And every one of those children had gone to a home where they had been loved.  _Even in my worst moments, I remembered what it was like to lose a child._   That was one of the many things Rumplestiltskin would never forgive Isaac for—nor himself.  Isaac might have written the story, but Rumplestiltskin had made it possible, and he knew that he had a lot to make up for.

“I apologize for interrupting your, uh, morning ritual,” he said wryly as Neal finally accepted the bottle.  The boy was an ornery one—rather like his older sister—but he did tend to calm down once he was comfortable.  Fortunately, David seemed to know that about his son, because Rumplestiltskin very much did not want to have that conversation.

David smiled.  “It’s no problem.  He should be happy for a bit now.”  Carefully, he stepped away from the baby carrier, clearly happy when Neal didn’t complain.  “What can I do for you?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about—something unrelated to Emma, or yesterday’s fireworks.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly, not sure exactly how David felt about the fight from the day before.  He’d headed into the diner to check on Belle and Ruby as David and Regina tried to disperse the mob, ignoring the furious people shouting about Emma and the need to lock her away.  Rumplestiltskin had heard all that before, and he really didn’t want to get involved.  This matter, on the other hand, was perhaps one that could not wait.

“What, you don’t feel like tackling that mess today?” The sheriff’s answering smile was equally crooked.  “I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it, anyway, until things calm down.  Though you’re pretty certain Emma is going to be able to control herself?”

He could see that a father’s worry was warring with a ruler’s responsibility, and Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “I’ll work with her,” he promised, refusing to contemplate how _ironic_ that statement was.  “Although, in fairness to Emma, she _was_ doing rather well before those idiots from Camelot decided to mob her and try to take the dagger.  That’ll inspire any Dark One to murder.”

“You think she’s carrying it around on her all the time?” Some men would have asked that hopefully, aiming to take the dagger, but David just sounded sad.

“I suspect she learned from my, uh, experiences.”  Rumplestiltskin forced a smile.  There was no need to advertise how nightmares from his time in Zelena’s hands still plagued him.

“I wish I could help her.”

That bald-faced honesty made Rumplestiltskin blink.  A part of him was envious— _so_ envious—that Emma had people lining up to help her fight the darkness.  No one had ever done that for him, but then…times were different now.  He could not begrudge her help.  It wasn’t her fault that he’d been alone for most of his time as the Dark One.  _And yet I still lasted longer than any other, so I suppose it has worked out in the end._   Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin decided not to prevaricate.  “The best thing you can do is to do exactly what Belle told you: love her, but don’t tolerate the darkness taking over.  Belle stopped me more than once that way, back when I could be stopped.”

“There’s no chance of…I mean, the darkness isn’t going to take her over soon, is it?”

“No.”  His laugh was only somewhat bitter, a fact Rumplestiltskin was proud of.  “It took centuries to start consuming me, and I had far less help than she does.  Help her fight it, and it’ll never be a problem.”  He paused, and then added the same thing he’d told Emma a few days earlier: “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I am working on a way to pull it out of her and trap it, so that no one need ever be the Dark One again.”

David gave him a very strange look.  “Killian told me that Mordred told him he has a way to pull the darkness out, even if Emma doesn’t want to let it go.”

“Did he, now?”  Rumplestiltskin’s mind whirled even as his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  He’d known that Mordred was trying to set a trap—what he had found in the woods made that clear—but he’d assumed that the other sorcerer wanted the dagger.  And yet…yet he knew that Mordred had always wanted to destroy the Dark One.  He knew that much from his own experiences.

“It turns out that he’s Killian’s uncle, actually.”

“I’ve heard.”  Yet the news never ceased to surprise him, and didn’t _that_ make the family ties strange?  He’d come here to ask about that very topic, in an oblique way, because Mordred was Belle’s mother’s half-brother.  _I think I might be a little sick, having that pirate as an in law._   But the thought wasn’t serious, and Rumplestiltskin pushed it aside.  They’d come to an understanding of sorts the day before; they would never like one another, but he thought their long feud was over.

David looked pathetically hopeful, but if Emma had been Rumplestiltskin’s child, he knew he would have asked the same desperate question: “Do you think he can do it?”

“No.”  The word came out automatically.  “But…but I may be wrong.  I’ve known of Mordred’s quest for a long time, and I always assumed his intention was to trap the _host_ as well as the darkness.  I could be incorrect, but I wouldn’t trust him.”

“Mordred or Killian?”  David snorted.

“Mordred, in this case.  I may not like the pirate, and he’ll never like me, but he does love your daughter.  She needs that.”

“I think it should be her choice,” was the quiet response, and it took Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize that David wasn’t talking about the pirate.

“It has to be,” he answered firmly.  “The Apprentice couldn’t have pulled the darkness out of me if I hadn’t been desperate to be rid of it.  So long as the host _wants_ to be the Dark One, there’s no way out.  Dark magic may fool you, use you, and trick you, but in the end, it requires that you make a choice.”

“What happens if he tries and she doesn’t want to let it go?”

“Nothing good.”  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin stared out the window, turning possibilities over in his mind.  The problem, of course, had never been removing the magic—he hadn’t been conscious for what the Apprentice had done to pull it from him, but Rumplestiltskin could figure that out easily enough.  The real issue was trapping the darkness and making sure that it didn’t find someone new. 

“Great.  I’ll talk to Killian,” David promised, and Rumplestiltskin nodded distractedly, turning ideas over in his mind.  He almost didn’t hear when David asked: “So, uh, what did you come here for, anyway?  I doubt it was just to put my mind at ease.”

With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pulled his attention back to the present.  “No, I actually wanted to ask you about Lancelot.”

“Lancelot?  Why?”

“It appears that he had a connection with Belle’s mother.”  Old habits of secrecy warred against the slender bonds of trust building between them, and Rumplestiltskin spent a long moment battling with his instincts.  _It doesn’t help that Arthur killed David’s wife,_ he thought without amusement.  “From what we’ve been told, he actually stole her from her parents.”

“What?  No, that doesn’t sound like Lancelot at all.”  David looked shocked, and his voice broke on the next words.  “Snow—Snow and I met him when we were still at war against King George.  He was a good man.  Why would he steal a child from her parents?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”  Rumplestiltskin had a pretty decent read on Belle’s grandfather: Arthur was an ambitious and sometimes cold-blooded man, a king through and through, and determined to rule wherever he found himself.  But her grandmother was the one who really sent alarm bells ringing in his mind; she was harder to figure out, elusive.  There was a power in or around her that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, something familiar and yet maddeningly alien at the same time.

“Who told you that?  I’m sure it’s occurred to you that whoever it is might be lying.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted out a laugh.  _So much for secrecy._   “Actually, Belle’s grandparents are the ones who told us.  That doesn’t absolve them from lying, of course, but I have confirmed that they _are_ her grandparents.”  He spread his hands at David’s quizzical look.  “Arthur and Guinevere, apparently.”

“Well, damn.”

* * *

 

Killian didn’t care about propriety.  He wanted _answers_.  He’d started to trust the bastard, and this is how his ‘uncle’ responded to that?  He was nearly as angry as Emma was, particularly now that she couldn’t see him.  He had to be strong for her, but when her back was turned, he had no such responsibilities.  So he strode into Mordred’s castle the next morning when Emma—still struggling with her temper, but also feeling horrible for what had happened—headed out to see Henry.  There were no guards, which was easy enough to expect at a magical castle, but there were certainly more than a few hangers-on around his ‘uncle’ when he stormed into the presence chamber.

“How could you do that?” he snarled, striding directly up to Mordred and grabbing him by the front of his expensive suit.  _He dresses just like Gold, and he’s every bit as cold blooded._ “You couldn’t possibly have managed to cause that much chaos by accident.  You knew it would make someone try to mob her.  Or did you set that part up, too?”

Mordred brushed his hands aside and rose from his throne-like chair slowly, gesturing in the direction of an older woman sitting on the windowsill nearby.  “Mother, I don’t believe you’ve met your grandson, Killian.”

“I believe now is not the time, dear,” Morgan le Fae answered coolly.  “Perhaps you should address his concerns.”

“I simply thought I should introduce you two, first, now that he’s come to visit.”

“Not.  _Now_.” Killian didn’t need some woman—even if she was his grandmother, a strange concept in itself for a man accustomed to having no family—to fight his battles.  He was more than happy to wipe the calmly superior look off of Mordred’s face the hard way.

“Very well.  Won’t you sit down?”

“I’ll stand, thank you.”  The words barely came out from between gritted teeth, but try though he did, Killian couldn’t hold back the flood of emotion.  “You knew what would happen when you brought Scarlet to the diner.”

“Of course I did.”  Mordred met his eyes calmly.  “I hardly expected to uncover a murder when I returned her ‘cat’ to human form, but once I did, I was hardly going to cover it up.  Would you expect me to?”

“You didn’t have to do it publicly, you rat.  Now the whole town has turned against her!”

“That was inevitable.  She’s the Dark One.”  Mordred said the words like it was an article of faith.  “I needed to remind you what she _is_ , Killian.  Time is of the essence.  She’ll murder again, and again, until someone stops her.  You were all very lucky that the Sorcerer did so, though he was a fool not to keep the dagger.”

“That dagger is _hers_ ,” Killian grated out.   “And she’s trying.  She’s fighting this.”

“But not hard enough.”  Mordred sighed, his shoulders slumping.  “I understand at least some of what you’re going through.  Nimue was my best friend, and she was a _good_ person.  All she wanted was to protect those she loved, to stop evil from raging across all the realms.  What she became was a monster who could not be stopped.”

_Emma said as much last night, said she fears what comes if she can’t stop herself,_ he thought brokenly.  _I told her that I believe in her, that she’s strong enough to fight this, but what if she isn’t?_   Killian had seen what happened when Emma lost those battles, but he had to keep believing in her.  He also had to remind himself that back in Camelot, Mordred had been known as a silver-tongued manipulator.  He was Killian’s uncle, but that didn’t mean he was right about everything.  “Emma isn’t—”

“But she will be.”

“And what would you have me do?” Killian demanded, his own doubts making his voice even rougher.  “Abandon her?  There’s not a chance in hell of that happening.  I won’t do it.  No matter who or what she is, I love her.”

A vague part of his mind knew that he sounded like Belle, who he used to deride for sticking to Rumplestiltskin’s side.  Now the shoe was on the other foot, and Killian understood his friend’s frustrations, knowing that the person you loved was trapped inside a demon and sometimes—though not always—fighting to get out.  _I suppose I never gave the Crocodile enough credit_. 

“Then help me,” Mordred said quietly.  “Yes, I purposefully exposed her worst side, but I did that to remind you _all_ that there is no time to waste.  She was able to stop herself yesterday, but next time, she won’t be.  Next time, she’ll kill someone other than a foolish knight—who I did not, for the record, send in for that purpose.  Next time, it might be someone else you all love.”

Swallowing hard, Killian tried to banish the idea of what might happen if Emma did lose control in a crowd again.  “She only did that because those _idiots_ threatened me.”

“There are many others they can threaten.”  Killian knew that was true, and yet the idea of leading Emma into some trap of Mordred’s was downright sickening, even if it would help her in the end.  _I’m the only one she really trusts right now, the only one who has stood by her._

“I can’t betray her,” he whispered.  “No matter how much I want to help her.  If I betray her, and you fail, nothing will be able to stop her.”

“As well you should not.”  Both men turned to stare as Morgan stood from her window seat, giving Mordred a hard glance.  “You have your plans, dear, but you cannot ask Killian to betray the woman he loves.  Unless you _want_ to emulate your stepmother?”

The grimace that crossed Mordred’s face was truly a thing to behold: ugly, furious, and hurt all at once.  “She’s not my stepmother.”

Morgan continued her level stare, and Killian thought he actually might like his grandmother.  She played dirty.  “You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” Mordred spoke through gritted teeth before turning back to face Killian.  “My mother is right, of course.  She usually is.”  He paused to glare at Morgan.  “And I do have another way.  But I must ask you to trust me.  I’ll have to take the Dark One to the edge of the Enchanted Forest—or entice her to follow me there—and I’ll need you to keep others from tracking us there.”

“You don’t want anyone interfering.”

Suspicion prickled, but then, Killian had not really trusted anyone—save Emma—in centuries.  Not snapping back was hard, but he had to make a choice, didn’t he?  Either Mordred pulled the darkness from Emma, or he had to accept that Emma would be the Dark One forever.  _Because, even if he is a changed man, and even if I actually_ believe _that he grieves for what he did to Milah, I cannot bring myself to trust Rumplestiltskin._   There was too much history between them, and who knew what the new Sorcerer would do with that darkness if he pulled it out of Emma?  At least Mordred’s reasons were understandable.

So, Killian nodded slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of foreboding settling deep in his gut.

* * *

 

Instinct told Rumplestiltskin that he should go to the shop for the day, even though he really would have preferred to go back home.  He had a thousand excuses to do so—at least half of which revolved around the pressing need to figure out all the ins and outs of the Sorcerer’s House—but he headed into town, instead. 

“Why do you want to hole yourself up away from people?” Merlin’s construct asked him.  It had taken more power than usual to bring Merlin out, which had surprised Rumplestiltskin.  He’d taken to doing so less frequently, hoping that the transition would be easier instead of harder, but that had not been the case.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rumplestiltskin found himself acutely uncomfortable, and picked up an old pocket watch to polish, just so he could have something to do with his hands.

Merlin looked at him like he was mad.  “Here is where people find you for help.  Why would you not want to be here?”

“I’m not like you.”  The old watch was filthy; Rumplestiltskin opened its front cover and started carefully cleaning the area around the hands.  “I’m no hero.  I prefer my privacy.”

“You’re the Sorcerer.”

“Yes, you keep telling me that.”  The testy retort got out before he could stop himself.  He was still uneasy, still a little lost. 

“Your wife thinks highly of your efforts,” Merlin pointed out.  “And for a man who continues to think of himself as something of a coward, you’ve shown a great deal of courage on multiple occasions.”

Rumplestiltskin looked up to glare at the mostly-dead Sorcerer.  “Don’t start with me.”

“Start what?  I’ve lived in your head for seventeen days, now, Rumplestiltskin.  I would say that I am uniquely qualified to judge who and what you are.”

The compliment made him flinch.  Rumplestiltskin might have been—slowly—adjusting to not being a figure of hatred or contempt, but he still wasn’t prepared to listen to this.  He opened his mouth to object, but Merlin spoke right over him.

“I’ll admit that I did not initially think that you were a worthy successor.  I am glad that you have proven me wrong.”

“I—I’ve _what_?”

“You have,” Merlin assured him.  “Creating the Dark One was the worst decision I ever made—even if there was no other option at the time.  I sought to rectify that when I _became_ the Dark One, but I was wrong.  If anyone can trap that darkness, can truly defeat it, I think it will be you and your love of loopholes.”

Rumplestiltskin could only stare as Merlin’s construct stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.  He could almost feel the contact, ghostly though it was, yet he could only gape.

“But you must understand this: your power is a heavy burden to bear.  Greatness always comes at a price, though I do believe you are able to pay it.”

Rumplestiltskin finally managed to snort derisively.  “I’m not great.  I’ve _never_ been destined for anything like that.”

“Says who?” Merlin countered with a smile.  “You’re a Seer.  Do you truly believe in destiny, or do you believe we are who we choose to be?”

“Honestly?”  His throat was suddenly so dry.  “I don’t know.”

“Then choose to be who you already are, Rumplestiltskin.”  Merlin’s smile grew crooked.  “I do not know if I would have approved of you while I was alive, but I do believe that you’ll do nicely in the times to come.”

He hadn’t laughed so nervously in centuries.  “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”  Merlin grinned.  “Instead, let’s talk about the wound in your side.  I know you’re wondering why it won’t heal, and I suspect something concrete will make you more comfortable.”

_You can say that again,_ he didn’t say aloud, but Merlin seemed to sense it.  Then again, the other Sorcerer really was inside his head, not outside, even if Rumplestiltskin liked to project him outwards so that conversations were less one-sided.  He finally smiled wryly.  “Yes.  Do tell.”

“Emma Swan was correct when she surmised that the dagger could kill you.  Any secondary power can. I told you that before, but I am not sure you were listening.”

“You’ve told me so many things that it’s hard to keep track,” he admitted.  Even Rumplestiltskin had a hard time processing all of this knowledge; he knew he was smart, but Merlin had a thousand-plus years of knowledge to share, and they both realized that his time was growing short.

“You’ll learn most of it on your own, eventually.” Merlin shrugged.  “This one, however, I can help with.  Secondary powers, as you hopefully know,  are objects or weapons—usually weapons—forged by original powers or of magical items that are inherently magical themselves.  Usually both.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, digging back into his own studies.  He’d looked at nearly every type of magical object in his early years as the Dark One, and collected more than a few secondary powers once he understood what they were.  “You mean things like Excalibur, the dagger, and Caladbolg.”

“You know the name of Excalibur’s younger sister, excellent.”  Merlin smiled.  “There are others—and at least one more sword, Galatine.  There’s also the Janus Stone, and others that are actually living beings, such as genies, the Greater Dragon—long since dead, I hope—and the Twice Minotaur.  Even the old King of the Ogres was one.  You can read more of that in my notes, if you want.  For now, the important fact is that the wound _will_ heal, just not with magic.  You’ll have to wait it out.”

“Or get stitches,” Rumplestiltskin muttered.

“Stitches?”

“Whale will never let me hear the end of it.”

Merlin gave him a very strange look.  “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Nevermind.” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, and tried to remember what it was he’d wanted to ask Merlin.  He’d almost hoped to experience a few more of Merlin’s memories, which added context to what— _That’s it!_   “I was meaning to ask you about something.  Guinevere.  I don’t remember seeing her in any of your memories, but she looks damned familiar.”

“That’s…complicated.”  Merlin’s face closed off, wearing a strangely twisted expression that Rumplestiltskin recognized.  “I’m not sure I _can_ answer that.”

Realization hit Rumplestiltskin hard, and he blinked.  “There’s a compulsion that’s held over from your time as the Dark One.”

Merlin managed to nod, but he still looked distinctly uncomfortable.  He spoke tightly.  “I didn’t quite die, you understand, for all that the power passed on.  Some of that control…remains.”

That was disquieting.  The darkness had been pulled from Rumplestiltskin, but would any of the old commands remain?  He didn’t think so, but if Merlin’s experiences were anything to go by, that could mean trouble.

“I doubt you’ll have the same problem.”  Merlin grimaced.  “I never reacquired the dagger before I used Mordred to orchestrate my death.  You had time with it to break the lingering commands.”

“Mordred?  The same Mordred that’s here?” Rumplestiltskin asked curiously, only to have a distressingly familiar voice pipe up from the doorway leading to the front of the shop.

“Oh, did I leave poor Rumple so damaged and so mad that he’s talking to himself, now?” Zelena cooed, making Rumplestiltskin whirl.  For a moment, he almost asked her if _she_ was insane—which she was—but then he remembered that she couldn’t see Merlin.

A wave of his hand banished the construct, but that use of magic did nothing to reassure him.  He wanted her to be a nightmare, wanted her not to be real, but this was Zelena, standing in his shop and looking downright _hungry_.  Rumplestiltskin’s heart stuttered in his chest painfully, and he almost gave into the desire to have another panic attack.  Just the _thought_ of her touching him was enough to make him want to run into a corner and hide, to scream for Belle or _anyone_ to make her go away.  Too many times, he had been helpless in her hands, unable to fight her.  He’d talked big to Regina about calling Zelena and threatening Robin because he’d been desperate, but the truth was that Zelena terrified him.

_Scrape away the magic, and I’m still a coward at heart,_ Rumplestiltskin thought brokenly.  Once, the darkness would have chimed in, damning for his fears and giving him rage to mitigate them, but now there was a strange silence in his head.  Merlin either did not, or could not, say a word, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone with his thoughts.  Yes, he was terrified of Zelena.  She’d had the dagger, and she’d made sure of that, hurting and _using_ him until he hated himself almost as much as he hated her.

But she couldn’t do that again, could she?  The only power she had over him was that which Rumplestiltskin gave her.

“It’s such a shame that someone broke through the little spell I left you as a present.  It would have delivered you to me like a package.”  Zelena giggled.  “Gift wrapped and everything!”

“I’m not terribly sorry to have disappointed you, dearie,” he managed to say at least somewhat levelly.  His heart was still pounding, but at least Rumplestiltskin didn’t think he was going to have another heart attack.  _Probably._ Even if he did, he could use magic to stop it, much though that wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“I’m not _too_ disappointed.  After all, we’re both here, aren’t we?  And I _did_ so miss my pet.”  Zelena sauntered forward, and it took everything Rumplestiltskin had not to take a step back.  Her smile gave him the chills.

He could leave.  He could run.  Rumplestiltskin could simply teleport away—he could feel the spells she’d cautiously put up to prevent that, but he knew that he could pull them apart with barely a moment’s concentration.  He could just get _away_ from the witch, away from the way she made him shake and shiver.  He’d always been a coward. Why change now?  _Just run, just get away, get away, get away—_

“No.”  He growled the word aloud, both to himself and to Zelena.  No, Rumplestiltskin had had _enough_.  He wasn’t trapped in a hospital bed this time, dependent on a tube to breathe.  He wasn’t locked in a cage, either, bound by the dagger to do _whatever_ she wanted.  Rumplestiltskin had never been too good at fighting, but he was learning.  He was _trying_.

Zelena stopped, frowning in confusion.  “No?  You don’t get to say that word to me, _doll_.”

“I’ll say whatever I want to say to you,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.  Now that he’d decided to stand up to her, he’d always been good at bluff and bluster—even when he was bluffing himself.  “Oh—I’m sorry.  Are you under the mistaken impression that I’m powerless, or that your silly spell sucked enough of my magic away to give you the advantage?”

“We both know it did.”  Zelena leaned in, and he could _see_ the hunger in her eyes.  It still made him shiver, but knowing that she had no power over him helped.  A lot.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly.  “Emma didn’t bother to tell you, did she?  Then again, she _is_ the Dark One.  Playing things close to the vest is something of a tradition.”

“Tell me _what_?”

“There was a grand mission to find Merlin while you were locked in asylum.  Her pirate and my grandson slipped through a doorway, searching for someone who could help her.  Now, when they arrived in Camelot, they found that Merlin was long dead, but his _power_ remained.  I believe you encountered it, actually.  A rather choosy cloud of golden light, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

“Where is it?” Zelena demanded, stepping forward more quickly than he’d expected.  She grabbed his tie and the front of his shirt roughly, and Rumplestiltskin felt like he was drowning in fear and memories.

_“It appears you chose screaming agony, doll,” she sneered, the dagger held over him now that she’d forced him to his knees.  “I gave you an opportunity to behave, and then you betrayed me!”_

_“I don’t owe you_ anything _,” he snarled, masking his terror with fury.  All the while, the darkness screeched and seethed within him, demanding blood, death,_ pain _.  It wanted Zelena laid low, wanted_ her _to suffer, and Rumplestiltskin burned for the same.  But he knew what was coming—_ again _—and the darkness would not have its way._

_And then it, too, would turn on him, raging at Rumplestiltskin’s weakness while the dagger forced him to obey Zelena’s every wish, no matter how much it hurt._

_“Oh, you_ do _,” Zelena laughed bitterly, and a twitch of the dagger dragged him to his feet.  “Take your clothes off.”_

“I want it!” the present Zelena shouted in his face, shaking Rumplestiltskin free of the horrible memories.  “Tell me where it is!”

She shook him hard, and Rumplestiltskin’s mind almost folded under again.   He’d slowly been getting better, slowly been letting the trauma go.  Belle had asked him more than once to talk to Archie, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t bear the thought of speaking of such things to anyone but her, and he’d barely scraped the surface with what he’d admitted to his wife.  He could pretend to be fine so long as he was safe, and the longer he pretended, the more real it felt.  Except Zelena’s very presence undermined that safety, and—

_No,_ he told himself again.  Zelena couldn’t do a damn thing to him that he didn’t allow her to do.  He was the Sorcerer, now, and fighting to be a better man.  If the price he had to pay for his many centuries of misdeeds was his own demons and nightmares, then so be it.  Rumplestiltskin would pay that price.  Looking his old tormentor in the eye, Rumplestiltskin chuckled again, glancing dismissively at the hand that still gripped his expensive purple shirt so tightly.  And his smile was even _real._

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.  You weren’t _listening_ —as usual.  The power’s not available, Zelena.”  Reaching up, Rumplestiltskin caught her wrist in his left hand, channeling power to his palm.  He didn’t bother with a fireball, not this time; instead, he summoned the magical equivalent of an electrical charge.  It wasn’t enough to harm the child she carried, but the shock hit Zelena with enough force to make her yelp in pain, releasing him and jumping back. 

The betrayed look she gave him was priceless, and the space between them helped him breathe more easily.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zelena didn’t wait for a response before she attacked him, of course, or tried to.  Rumplestiltskin simply twisted his wrist in the air, catching the threads of the spell she’d sought to assemble.  He drew them to his palm, shaping the green and black magic into a glowing ball that he promptly turned inside out, shifting the very properties of her magic into something more palatable.  The resulting ball glowed gold and white, sparkling cheerfully while Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a small wiggle that was reminiscent of his days as the imp.

“I mean that _I_ am the Sorcerer.”

“You can’t be.”  Her voice had gone flat and disbelieving, but it was the sheer _envy_ in her eyes that made Rumplestiltskin laugh.

_You’d break under the pressure, dearie,_ he didn’t tell her.  Let Zelena have her illusions, let her lust after power that she thought came without a price.  He knew himself to be unworthy of this every day, despite what Merlin had said.  But perhaps that was the key.  Perhaps that was part of the price, to always _try_.

“Now, while I would love to stand here and chat, I’d rather have this conversation with you inside a padded cell.  So—”

_Ding, ding!_

The door to the shop opened, and the cheerful ringing of the bell heralded disaster.  Rumplestiltskin and Zelena turned together, but she reacted faster—and she was closer.  Zelena was nothing if not an opportunist, and she was wise enough to know that the Sorcerer’s power left her severely outmatched.  Rumplestiltskin could attack her while she was distracted…but not at this price.

“Oh, sh—” Henry was wise enough not to finish that word as he dove behind the nearest display case.  Zelena’s hands came up, and Rumplestiltskin was not about to take chances.

Quickly, he teleported himself between his grandson and Zelena, blocking her blow with the smallest wave of raw power he could muster.  The sloppy defense was still powerful enough to throw Zelena back several feet, and it also swept items off of the counter to Rumplestiltskin’s right and ripped two guitars straight off of the wall, shattering both into splinters.  For all that he’d dug deeply into his power when facing off with Emma, Rumplestiltskin _still_ wasn’t good at tempering his magic under pressure, and his miscalculation left him off balance.

Zelena attacked again, snarling furiously, but she wasn’t aiming at him.  Her spell was designed to teleport Henry away and tuck him somewhere Rumplestiltskin couldn’t identify, and it was a tenacious piece of work.  Rumplestiltskin spent several precious moments deconstructing it, realizing all the while that once he’d done so, it would be too late.  Zelena teleported _herself_ out in a swirl of green smoke before he was even halfway done, and Rumplestiltskin hissed under his breath in annoyance. 

“Are you all right, Henry?” he asked once he was done, turning to watch his grandson’s head peek out from behind the counter.

“Yeah, I think so.”  Henry gave him a strained smile. “I guess, uh, I came at a bad time, huh?”

Rumplestiltskin found a smile.  “Well, you did get her to leave, so I can’t say it’s all bad.”

Back in his days as the Dark One, he would have let Zelena’s spell take Henry, calculating—probably correctly—that he could find Henry after he dealt with the witch.  It would have been a cold-blooded risk to take, even if the odds of success were relatively high.  Yet letting that spell through had never even occurred to Rumplestiltskin, and that realization sent a warm glow racing through him.

_Family comes first,_ he thought, not unhappily.  _I can always deal with Zelena later, or, better yet, let Regina at her._  For the first time in centuries, Rumplestiltskin was happy with the man he had become…and with the choices he made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me send out some big hugs to all the Rumbellers and Captain Swan fans who are hurting after “Broken Heart”. That was certainly a heartbreaker indeed. Speaking of which, I’m not sure how many CSers I actually have reading this, but I can say that my intention isn’t to have Neal/Baelfire returning change Emma’s choices concerning Killian. If a majority of readers are interested in a change, however, I’m willing to put up a poll and let you all vote it out.
> 
> Next up, Chapter Thirty-Four—“And Should be Taboo”, in which the people of Storybrooke start turning against Emma, Regina turns to Rumplestiltskin for answers, Zelena approaches to Mordred for an alliance, Belle and Rumplestiltskin plan a journey, and David has to deal with a very distrustful and unhappy populace.


	34. And Should be Taboo

Ruby stayed two nights at the Sorcerer’s House.  She was grateful to the Golds—even to Rumplestiltskin—for giving her a safe refuge in which to grieve all over again, but she was determined to face the world proudly.  _Granny wouldn’t have hidden, either,_ she thought, walking back into the diner two days after Will Scarlet had walked in to announce that Emma had killed her grandmother.  Leroy and Ella were already there, getting ready to open, and Ruby gave them her best smile.

“You don’t have to be here, sister,” Leroy said immediately, but she shook her head.

“It’s better than sitting around grieving, all right?  Granny loved this place, and I’ll keep it going for her.”

Ella just hugged her wordlessly.  “If things get too much, you let me know, all right?”

“I will.”  Ruby swallowed.  Ashley Boyd really had been a terrible maid, but _Ella_ had turned out to be a really good manager for the bed and breakfast.  It probably helped that Thomas could fix anything.  Two of the first things Ruby had done after inheriting both businesses had been to promote Ella and hire Thomas as an all-purpose maintenance man, and they’d both proven her right time and again.  She didn’t fail to notice that Ella was doing double duty, helping in the diner _and_ acting as Ruby’s deputy in the bed and breakfast, and Ruby made a mental note to give her friend an impressive holiday bonus.

Thirty years ago, back when she’d been nothing but a peasant in the Enchanted Forest, the idea of employing a princess and a prince would have utterly broken her brain.  But not now.  Now, Ruby just made the decision, and turned to the cook, making sure everything was ready for the day.  Leroy, however, was not about to let things be.

“A bunch of us are going to go talk to Charming today,” the dwarf said.  “It ain’t right, what’s happened.  And we want him to know that we’re not going to put up with it.”

Frowning, Ruby turned away from writing down the day’s specials on the board.  “What do you mean?”

“Granny was one of the best of all of us, and yet her killer’s walking free.  We’re with you, Ruby.  We’re not going to let this go unpunished.”

“Wait a minute.”   Biting her lip hard, Ruby forced herself to take a deep breath.  “I’m not getting into this, okay?  Emma isn’t herself, and while I can’t forgive her yet, I’m—”

“That’s not the point!” Surprisingly, it was Ella who cut her off.  “She _isn’t_ Emma.  I owe Emma as much as anyone else—more than most—but the woman who killed Granny was the Dark One.  She’s a menace.  She has to be stopped.”

Much to Ruby’s surprise, most of her other employees chimed in.  She was grateful, really, that they’d all cared about Granny so much, but she was also frightened.  Emma Swan had been a friend of hers—not one of her closest friends, but still a friend.  And Snow had been her _best_ friend.  Turning on Emma felt like she was betraying Snow, and even though Snow had failed to tell her the terrible truth, Ruby couldn’t bring herself to do that.  _Not like this_ , she thought, listening to people call for Emma’s head.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.   No one in the diner was dumb enough to think becoming the Dark One was some small burden.  Not now. 

Not after what it had done to the Savior.

* * *

 

For most of her life, when Regina needed answers, she’d gone to Rumplestiltskin.  Today was no exception.

Henry had done the same, she knew, the same day Emma had come to the house, trying to talk to him.  Henry had gone to his grandfather to ask about being the Dark One, to try to get some perspective on how much of this was _Emma_ and how much was the Dark One.  Regina had encouraged him to do so, though if she’d known Zelena was going to show up and attack her son, she would definitely have thought twice about that.  Fortunately, Rumple hadn’t let the wacko redhead touch Henry, or else Regina would have been sharing a _very_ different conversation with him.

“You have a minute to talk?” she asked, walking into the shop to find him fiddling with something behind the counter.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t even looked up when she walked in, and her question made his head jerk up.  For a moment, his eyes were wide and startled…and the look was identical to Robin’s when his mind went elsewhere, dwelling on the crap Zelena had put him through.  _I guess Robin was right,_ she thought, looking at her old mentor in a new light.  _My sister is plenty sick to have messed them both up.  Great._

“Are you actually asking?” Damn, he recovered quickly, with a slightly teasing smile in place and his expression calm before she could blink.  “Usually, you barge in, making demands before you even say hello.”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, all right?”

“Well, then, that makes two of us.  Ask what you will.”

“You should know better than to give me an opening like that, Rumple.”  But she smiled a little.  Their new relationship was still, well, _new_ , and neither of them really knew what to make of who and what they were now in relation to one another, but they’d always been in this together. 

He chuckled.  “I can always refuse to answer.”

“True.”  Regina took a deep breath and decided to plunge back in.  Subtlety wasn’t her style, after all.  “Emma said something to me the other day, about still being the Dark One in the Land Without Magic, and about how it isn’t really a _choice_.  I…I guess I wanted to ask you about that.”

“You want to know if she was lying.”  Regina hated that maddeningly calm expression; she _knew_ it hid so many things.

“You’re the one who always points out that the Dark One lies,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“It is an unfortunate side effect of that darkness, yes.  But Emma’s right, though it’s taken her some time to understand how very much the darkness twists you.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “It’s hard to tell from the inside, after all.  You always think your choices are your own, and many of them are.  But the ones that matter, the ones when you _should_ make the right choice…those are harder.”

Regina wanted to reject that out of hand, because she _knew_ darkness.  She knew what it was like to choose darkness over love.  And yet, Emma’s words rang in her mind.  _Maybe it isn’t a choice like I had._ “Why?”

“The darkness breaks your morality.  It’s like not knowing what is up and what is down.  _Remembering_ what is right when the darkness is pushing you towards something evil is almost impossible, because right doesn’t seem to matter.  In some ways, it’s like what would have happened if Ingrid’s Shattered Sight curse had ever fully settled on the town.  Being the Dark One turns you into the darkest and worst version of yourself—and then it drags you deeper.”

“But you were…in control.  She’s not.  Why is _Emma_ so different from how you were?” And that didn’t make sense.  A few days earlier, Emma had seemed to make a decision to be with her family, to be herself despite the darkness, and then she’d utterly lost it when Will Scarlet had revealed that she’d killed Granny.  For all she’d told Henry that it wasn’t Emma’s fault, Regina didn’t really understand.

“You met me after I’d been the Dark One for nearly three centuries.” Rumplestiltskin smiled humorlessly.  “In the beginning…I was as bad as she is.  Worse, really, because I had no experience with power and no idea what I’d gotten myself into.”  His laugh was bitter.  “I thought I was gaining magic and could help people.  My predecessor left the bits about soul-destroying darkness out.”

That made Regina blink.  Hard.  “You…you didn’t know?”

“Of course not.”  He snorted.  “I’m only so much of a fool, dear.  It took me a long time to learn to control it, and even then, it fell apart at the end.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.  Regina had always assumed that Rumplestiltskin had _wanted_ to be the Dark One, that he’d sought power and darkness, because that was what he _was_ , wasn’t it?  Or had been, anyway.  Yeah, he seemed like a better person nowadays, and Henry said that his Book showed Rumplestiltskin as a good man before becoming the Dark One, but Regina had never bothered to read that story.

Maybe she should have.

“It’s water under the bridge, now,” he replied softly.  “The past is…what it is.  Does that answer your questions, though?”

“Yeah.”  Regina shivered, thinking of what would have happened if that darkness had taken her, if Emma hadn’t saved _her_.  If it had turned her into the worst version of herself, even the small scruples she’d had as the Evil Queen would have vanished.  Would anyone have been able to stop her?  Regina knew that she would have killed a _lot_ more people than just Granny, that was for sure.

“One thing before you go.”  Rumplestiltskin met her eyes, and Regina was startled to find his demeanor shifting, to feel the power radiating slightly in the air.  “You and the others undoubtedly thought you were protecting Emma when you chose to keep Granny’s death a secret.  I didn’t interfere at the time—though perhaps I should have, when I guessed the truth—and I kept my mouth shut in the diner.  But _don’t_ do that again.”

“We made the best choice we could at the time!”

“No, you didn’t.  And now you’ve given someone who wants to destroy Emma the ammunition to do so.”

“Will Scarlet—”

“Is not at fault.  I may not like the man—and I certainly do not appreciate the romantic choices he made during my absence—but you drove him straight into Mordred’s arms, Regina.  And when people stop trusting their leaders to do the right thing, they’ll turn to someone like Arthur.  Do you really want that?”

* * *

 

She was out of options, so Zelena went to the castle in the woods.  Fortunately, there were no foolish guards to stop her—not like she would have let them—so she was able to stride right in.  Finding the owner of said castle was easy; he was in a well-appointed presence chamber, and was every bit as handsome as Zelena had heard.  _Far too handsome for Regina,_ she thought behind a contemplative look.  _Robin is uncouth and dirty, but_ this _man is culture personified._ Zelena approved of him.  _Very_ much so. Mordred was a king, and a great one.  _And_ he was a legendary sorcerer, one who people across every realm had heard of! He was worthy of Zelena’s power.  She had wanted her pet back, but perhaps an ally, a _lover_ , would be better.

So Zelena stepped out of the shadows, her head held high and proud.  “You must be Mordred.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, My Lady.”  He turned to face her, dark eyes curious.  “Though…if I had to guess, I would guess that you must be Zelena.”

“My reputation proceeds me, I see.”  She gave him a little curtsey.  She had, of course, transformed her hospital rags into a nice black dress shortly after Emma helped her escape, but Zelena had made sure to make that dress nicer before coming here.  Zelena knew she looked good, and Mordred’s eyes swept over her appreciatively.

“That it does.”  The king stepped forward and took Zelena’s right hand, planting a kiss on its back.  “So, what may I do for you, My Lady?”

“Well, this is somewhat embarrassing to say, but I need sanctuary.”  Zelena smiled ruefully.  “I’m afraid that my dear _sister_ Regina is out to murder me.  And my unborn child.”

Dark eyes studied her without flinching; Mordred seemed about as movable as a marble statue.  “Why would anyone try such a terrible thing as that?”

“Jealousy.”  And for once, Zelena knew that was _true_.  And it felt _wonderful._   “She can’t have a child of her own, and she wants mine.”

“Is that so?” That finally made Mordred’s eyebrows go up, but his expression barely twitched. 

Zelena shrugged.  “We have something of a tempestuous relationship.”

“I imagine so!”  Brown eyes met blue, and Mordred smiled.  “Welcome to my castle, Lady Zelena.  I am sure we will have _much_ to talk about.”

* * *

 

“How’s Ruby?” Rumplestiltskin asked as Belle came into the shop, mostly to take his mind off of the memories running through his head.  He was _not_ going to let thoughts of Zelena push him out of his own shop; the woman had already ruined enough pieces of his life.  _I am not giving her this._

Of course, thinking such thoughts when Belle was the one walking through the door and wrapping her arms around him was easy.  It was when he was alone that things grew harder, because then Rumplestiltskin could think of all the ways in which he might have crumbled.  Yes, he’d somehow managed to come out on top in their little encounter—thanks, in no small part, to the power that could give him courage—but he knew how close he’d been to a panic attack.  His nightmares had been full of Zelena the previous night, but at least he had finally learned his lesson.  Never again would Rumplestiltskin hide such nightmares from his wife.  Those inescapable nightmares might have demonstrated a weakness he _hated_ having, but Rumplestiltskin knew that Belle would not use that weakness against him.

Only the darkness whispering in his mind had been able to convince him of that, and now that he was free of that corrupting influence, he could finally trust in their love.  So, he embraced Belle back freely, not worrying about what he might ‘need’ to hide from  her or that she would think him weak. 

“She’s doing better, I think,” Belle answered his question.  “I wish she’d stay with us a little longer, but I understand why she wants to get back on her feet.”

“I’m glad.” 

Ruby was a good girl, a kind person who Rumplestiltskin found himself forming a tentative friendship with against all odds.  Even the thought of having a houseguest had made him uncomfortable, but Ruby hadn’t been a burden, or even bothersome.  She’d spent hours exploring the magical nooks and crannies of the house with Belle, and she’d made such a disaster out of trying to bake a pie that even Rumplestiltskin had had to laugh.  Much to _both_ their surprise, he’d wound up teasing her about how he’d never seen someone other than Belle make such a mess, and the odd gulf between them had somehow been bridged.

“You knew, didn’t you?”  The quiet question held no blame, but he could sense exactly what Belle was talking about.  “About Granny.”

Rumplestiltskin hesitated for a moment, but lying never entered his mind.  “I guessed.  Given the timing, it all but had to be her.”

“I think I would have known that if I’d done more than grieve, but I didn’t _want_ to know.”  He could feel Belle grimace against his chest.  “I should have figured it out.”

“I think we were a _little_ busy at the time, sweetheart.” There was no way that Rumplestiltskin was going to let Belle blame herself for not figuring out who had killed Granny.  He knew exactly _what_ was to blame, and it wasn’t even really Emma.  “And it’s not as if your friend Will didn’t tell the others.”

“Only to be turned into a cat for his troubles.”  Leaning back, Belle looked at him, her face a mess of anger and confusion.  “How could she do that to him?”

He shrugged.  “It’s better than turning him into something small and squishable, and then crushing him.”

“Rumple!”

“I’m not making light of it, Belle.  Cruel though that was—particularly allowing Scarlet to _know_ what he was all the while—turning him into a cat was reversible.  And that’s Emma fighting back.  I would have turned him into a snail and stepped on him, in my early days as the Dark One.  Or later on, I might have just turned him to a rat and set him loose, instead of taking care of him.”

“Tormenting him, more like,” Belle muttered darkly, but he could see that his point had been made.  She sighed.  “I’m just glad he’s all right.  I know Robin feels like I do—Will is our friend, and we let him down when we stopped looking for him.  There was just so much going on…”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “If the last two years are anything to go by, there’s always going to be something insane happening in this town.”

“You can say that again.” 

She hadn’t been serious, but he took the bait, anyway.  “There’s always going to be something insane happening inside this town?”

“Impossible man.”  But a glimmer of a smile finally touched Belle’s face, and Rumplestiltskin felt like that was a victory.  And it finally meant that he could turn the conversation to the topic he’d wanted to talk about, now that Ruby seemed to be managing and Scarlet was apparently safe and sound.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said quietly.  “I know you’ve been talking to your grandparents lately, and they’ve been asking about your mother.  Your father wasn’t there, and your memories are lost in a memory stone somewhere in Arendelle, so you can’t really answer the questions they’re bound to ask.”

“They already have,” she whispered, snuggling up to his chest.  Rumplestiltskin could feel her grief, and he tightened his arms around her.  Belle was his rock, but in this, at least, he could give _her_ strength.  She sounded like she needed it, broken and sad, saying: “It seems terrible to have been the one person who saw how their daughter died, but I _can’t_ tell them.  I’m not terribly convinced that everything they tell me is true—or that they aren’t leaving out facts that would make them look bad—but they deserve to know what happened.”

“And it eats at you that you can’t tell them.”  He didn’t need to ask, but Belle nodded, anyway.

“I _hate_ it.”

“Well, what if I said that I have a solution?”  Belle’s head jerked up to stare at him, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged minutely.  “I can draw portals, as you know.  It’s part of the Sorcerer’s power.”

“A…portal?”  Understanding filled her eyes, and he nodded.

“To Arendelle.  So we can find your memory stone—or, failing that, find the rock trolls who made it and have them trace the magic back and restore the memories they took.  I could try the spell, but it would be far safer to have the original caster do so.”

“Oh, Rumple, thank you!”  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart soaring.  He’d never be able to deserve her love, but at least he could give her something back that she _needed_.  “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” he whispered in return, holding her tightly.  “How about the day after tomorrow?”

* * *

 

“D’you know anything about travel between realms?” Will asked Morgan as they sat together.  The thief had mixed feelings about Mordred—despite how _good_ he’d thought it would feel to expose the bloody heroes’ secrecy, to finally get Granny some justice, Will found himself rather uneasy in the aftermath.  _That’s what I get for thinkin’ with me ass instead of me brain,_ he thought angrily.  Dead was dead, and a little revenge against Emma Swan wasn’t going to bring her back.

_All I managed to do was hurt Ruby, and she deserved better._ Too late, Will was realizing that Emma could have killed him, but instead, the new Dark One had just turned him into a cat.  Yeah, she’d tormented him all the time, and he wasn’t likely to forget the miniature lightning bolts she’d shot at him, but he was alive and just fine, even if his left eye had developed something a nervous twitch around magic.  Most importantly, though, those days as a cat had reminded him about what was really important.  His short-lived relationship with Belle had started making his mind turn, but being a cat—with nothing to do but think and avoid Emma—had told Will where he really wanted to be. 

“Some, yes,” Morgan answered, seated behind a high table and stirring magic in a silver bowl with one finger.  “Once, I performed a spell so powerful that it took two people from Camelot and across eight hundred years or so of time, landing them in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Can you do something like that again?” Because damn, wouldn’t that make things easier?  “I mean, I don’t really want to go forward in time, y’know.  Just, uh, home.”

“Are you not from the Enchanted Forest?” She looked up, seemingly surprised.  “I assumed you came through with one of the curses.”

“One of the—oh, right.  I missed the second one when I was in Wonderland.”  Will grimaced.  “Anyway, um, yeah.  I’m from the Enchanted Forest, and I did come over with the first curse, but then I went back to Wonderland.  I was there, ‘till, well, until I left in a huff like an idiot.  An’ I need to get back.”

“What for?”

“Me wife’s there.  I fought with her ‘cause I didn’t like the way she dealt with a war.  I told her she was goin’ dark again, and that she was a desperate idiot to want to find Jafar’s bottle—ah, hell, it’s a long story.  Suffice it t’say that I was a bit of a prat, and I had the White Rabbit drop me off here when I walked out.  I was probably wrong, and even if I wasn’t, Ana deserved a chance to explain herself.  So, I need to go back.”

Morgan studied him.  “You love her.  Your wife.”

“Aye.  More than anything.”  Will hadn’t admitted that to himself for a long time, but every time he’d gone out with Belle, he’d only been wishing she was Anastasia.  He’d been interested in Belle because she knew what it was like to love someone who chose darkness and power over you.  Belle was nothing like Ana, too; she was nice instead of volatile, selfless instead of selfish, and strong where Ana had sometimes thought herself weak.  But that hadn’t mattered, in the end.  Gold hadn’t really chosen power over Belle—or hadn’t meant to—and maybe Ana hadn’t meant to do the same to him, either. 

There was only one way to find out.

“I’m afraid that I no longer have the power to open a portal for you.”  Morgan’s voice was gentle, but it didn’t keep Will’s heart from twisting up in his chest.  “I am extraordinarily powerful for a human sorceress because I am half fae, but even my power has—had—its limits.  I cannot do that again.”

“Oh.”  Will felt himself slump.  “Then there’s no way back.  I sent the Rabbit home, an’ I told him not to ever come here again!”

He started pacing, wildly, grief mixing with anger to make Will ready to punch someone.  Or something.  Were all his realizations for nothing?  If he couldn’t get back to Ana, if he couldn’t try to make things right, where did that leave him?  If he’d been in his own home—or, really, one that wasn’t owned by a super-scary sorcerer who seemed to enjoy taunting the Dark One and seemed utterly confident he’d come out on top—he would have started breaking things.  He might even have punched the wall, which usually made him feel a lot better.  But even Will Scarlet wasn’t dumb enough to punch a solid rock wall, or at least not a second time.  He’d done that once when he’d been younger, and his knuckles were still scarred.  _Not to mention the crooked middle finger I got out of it when my hand didn’t heal straight._  

“There is another way.”  Morgan’s quiet words made him stop cold.  “The Sorcerer can draw portals.  It is part of Merlin’s power.  He can take you to any realm that is linked to the others by magic, and I do believe Wonderland should be on that list.”

“Merlin?  Isn’t Merlin, I dunno, a legend?”

“Merlin is dead.”  Something crossed her face, and Will thought it looked like heartbreak.  “But his successor can help you.”

“Great!  Then tell me who it is, and I’ll pop on over and ask.”  So long as it wasn’t Emma Swan, but she was the Dark One, and Will remembered plenty of legends about Merlin.  Merlin wasn’t that type, which meant whoever’d come after him wasn’t, either.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Morgan answered simply.  There was something odd in her face, something Will couldn’t identify, but he was more focused on the fact that he’d dated the man’s _wife_. 

“Oh, bloody hell.”   _This is going to be ugly for sure._

* * *

 

That evening, Regina and Robin tried not to think of Zelena.  Instead, they tried to find a little peace and solace in one another’s arms.  Henry was spending the night at the loft with David, and Roland had a minor cold that Regina knew better than to try to cure with magic.  (Any halfway decent sorceress knew that using magic to cure minor ailments only created magically-resistant strains of sickness, and Regina was _not_ going to curse Roland with something like that!)  So, they’d put the four-year-old to bed early and fallen into bed themselves.  Regina knew that Robin was trying to bury himself in her, trying to blank out the idea of Zelena trying to erase his memories.  _All so that she could seduce him and turn him against me,_ Regina thought angrily, listening to Robin’s steady breathing as he slept.

She was still staring at the ceiling, tired but not really sleepy, with too many thoughts racing through her mind to sleep.  Zelena really didn’t look at Robin as a person, did she?  She Zelena was acting like Regina used to, using people against those who loved them like they were mere tools.  But unlike Zelena, Regina had _learned_ from that; Robin’s words after finding out that she’d ripped Belle’s heart out still echoed in her ears.  He had told her that she needed to start respecting people for who _they_ were, not for who might come after her if she hurt them.  And…Robin had been right.  But Zelena still didn’t understand that, did she?

More worryingly, Regina wasn’t sure if _Emma_ understood that these days.  She and the new Dark One were on better terms, now, although there was still plenty of tension between them.  After they’d taken Zelena on together, Regina had asked Henry’s other mother what memories of Robin’s she had erased, and Emma hadn’t really given her an answer.  Emma _had_ told her what Zelena had planned for Robin, which made Regina _burn_ with anger.  But Emma hadn’t been willing to tell Regina what else she had erased.

_Except for the fact that she’d used water from the Forbidden Fountain.  If Emma had been careless, Robin would have been utterly wiped of_ everything, _and even True Love’s Kiss can’t fix that,_ she thought darkly, turning to look at her lover, just to reassure herself that he was there.  They were very lucky that Emma hadn’t made a mistake when she’d keyed that potion.  If she had—

Robin was twitching and jerking in his sleep, whimpering almost soundlessly.  His nightmares had grown quieter as of late, and Regina knew that Robin didn’t like admitting to them, but she couldn’t just leave him.  Regina had plenty of experience with nightmares of her own; she had used darker and darker potions to prevent them—and to shut out her guilt—as the Evil Queen, but she had learned that the cost of such things outweighed the benefits.  There were some potions that were not so trying on the soul, but they could not be taken terribly often.  Still, Regina thought she should make Robin one for the next night.

Now, however, she needed to comfort him as well as she could, so Regina leaned in and kissed Robin on the forehead.  Hopefully, she could quiet his terrors without waking him.  Robin deserved so much better than to walk through hell every night, just because her terrible sister had used him so.  Regina just wanted to make things better, just wanted to spare Robin from these horrors, even though she knew she could not.  He deserved so much better, having gone with a woman he thought was his wife because it was the _right_ thing to do.  How could someone so good be punished for trying so hard?

But as her lips touched his sweaty forehead, Regina was dragged down into the vortex of Robin’s nightmares.

* * *

 

Mordred no longer planned to use his original trap, yet in the meantime, it was a useful distraction.  As would this one be.  He had watched the new Sorcerer face off against the Dark One, and the sentimental fool had given the dagger _back_ to the demon.  Had Rumplestiltskin kept the dagger—as he should have!—Mordred’s self-appointed task would have been much easier.  He was not sure was the fool thought he was doing, but returning the dagger to the Dark One had been a move they were all certain to regret.  _He is swayed by his own experiences, but it must be plain to everyone by now that Rumplestiltskin was no normal Dark One._

Mordred had set his people to asking questions, albeit too late.  Yet they had come back to him with information that told him he needed to watch the new Sorcerer carefully.  Most Dark Ones died within the normal lifespan of a human, some lasting as few as fifteen to twenty years.  They usually burned furiously and then burned out, killed by some would-be hero or vengeful individual whom they had harmed.  They were all the same, all uncontrollable and undisciplined.  Even this former so-called Savior, Emma Swan, was of the exact same sort.  She’d killed an old woman without blinking an eye, and then she’d made a decent man suffer simply because he had witnessed that crime.

Rumplestiltskin was a fool if he thought she could be saved.  The same could be said of all the others who fought for her; Mordred knew what she was.  So, he would distract the only threat of the group with this intended-to-be-useless trap, continuing his work on it as if this trap were the method he intended to use.  The Sorcerer had already seen one trap of his, and there was no knowing who Will Scarlet would tell.  _Yet it serves my purpose, and so I work._

Besides, Rumplestiltskin’s little duel with the Dark One had taught Mordred something priceless: the Dark One carried the dagger upon herself at all times.  He had thought to use the gauntlet to find it, but now he did not need to, did he?

“Y’know, for all her nasty little tricks, she’s not an idiot,” Will pointed out as Mordred tied two strands of magic together.  “She was pretty sharp as the sheriff—excepting her awful taste in men—and that ain’t changed.”

“Of course it hasn’t.  If anything, the collective knowledge of all the Dark Ones before her have made her more dangerous, not less.” 

“Then why are you thinking this might work?”

Mordred merely smiled.  “You never know what might prove useful before the end.”

“Maybe if you mean to catch a rabbit,” a new voice put in, low and dangerous enough to send a shiver up Mordred’s spine.  “Not a Dark One.”

“I’d rather the rabbit, thanks,” Will retorted, skittering back a few steps.  Mordred, however, turned to face Killian’s love—regretting, all the while, that he had not been there when the Apprentice had so foolishly thought he could trap the Dark One in the Sorcerer’s Hat.

_He should have known better,_ Mordred thought, studying the Dark One as she slid into the crevice he’d been working in, her movements as graceful as they were deadly.  _Like me, he grew up in a world where that darkness had twice ripped free of its cage, destroying anyone and everyone in its path.  No mere Hat could have held it, no matter how powerful._ The woman who the darkness had consumed—not completely, but more than enough—had been a hero.  But no longer.  Now she was a monster.

“You had best leave now,” Mordred said quietly, letting out a breath and calling on his magic.  If he had to battle her here and now, so be it.  The circumstances were not ideal, but the odds were in his favor that he could defeat her and take the dagger.  After all, he’d seen her fight, now, knew she was uncouth and barely taught. 

This Dark One was no sorceress, no scholar.  She would fall like the others.

“I’m not here to fight,” was the surprising response.  He could feel her defenses, could feel the power of the Dark One rising to the occasion, but interestingly enough, she did not let it loose.  “I actually came—I came to apologize.”

“To me?” Mordred asked, confused.

“Of course not.”  She rolled her eyes, and then turned to his companion, shifting uncomfortably.  “I came to apologize to you.”

“That’s a waste of breath, y’know.  And I don’t want you to take my memories, either, before y’ask,  I may not have liked being your pet cat, but I don’t want to forget it, neither.” 

Interestingly enough, the Dark One flinched.  “I don’t blame you for feeling that way.  I—I’m sorry for what I did.  You deserve to hear that.”

“Aye, I do.  And maybe someday I’ll forgive you, but that day isn’t today.”  Mordred had never seen a non-magical man face the Dark One quite so bravely, but Will Scarlet didn’t look like he was going to back down—and then, suddenly, the Dark One did.

She backed away without a word, her eyes on Scarlet until she teleported away in a cloud of light gray smoke.  Still, he didn’t trust her, and Mordred stepped forward to take Will by the arm.

“We’d best go.  If she comes back, I’d rather not have you get caught in the middle of a fight.”

“Yeah, I think I’d rather not.”  Will laughed shakily.  “Just, uh, can we walk?  My stomach doesn’t take well to that teleporting stuff.”

Walking was such a waste of time, and yet Mordred had long since learned to make allies where he could.  Will Scarlet was stubborn and strong, and he’d already given Mordred some very useful information.  Only time would tell what other purpose Will might serve, and Mordred was not the type to burn bridges before they turned useless.  So, he nodded and allowed Will to fall into step at his side, his mind racing along quickly as Mordred measured chance against probability.  _Yes, the gauntlet will still do the trick.  I need not use it to lead me to the dagger, though that is inevitably the Dark One’s greatest weakness.  I can rework the magic on it to find her next greatest weakness…which will hopefully not be something she carries around on her person._

“Thanks, by the way,” Will said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.

“I don’t abandon my allies, even for expediency.”  Mordred had learned that a long time ago; loyalty could not be bought, after all.  It had to be earned.

Ironically, that was the one useful thing he had ever learned from Arthur.

“Then, uh, let me try to pay you back a little bit.”  That statement made him turn to look at Will, who gave him a shrug.  “Not that it’s any of me business, or that it’s equal to you keepin’ the Dark One off of me back, but there’s something you should know about the woman you’re giving sanctuary to, Zelena.”

“Oh?”  Mordred was definitely interested, now.  He’d initially been drawn towards Regina because, well, any sorcerer _would_ be.  As his mother had pointed out more than once he was long overdue to gain himself a consort; he had a bloodline to continue, and magic to pass on.  Of course, he would want a powerful sorceress as his companion.  Love could grow with time, but power was not something someone without it could understand.  He preferred to choose a woman who understood magic and its uses.  Otherwise, how would said woman react to her undoubtedly magical children?  It was far easier if he chose a woman of good blood and plenty of magic of her own.

However, Regina had proven less than receptive to his overtures.  She hadn’t refused him straight out, which proved she was canny enough to string him along, but Mordred did not care to waste time.  Oh, the fact that Regina had not thrown herself at him _was_ enticing, but if her sister—who was as magical as she—was available, Mordred saw no reason not to explore his options.  Particularly since Zelena had already proven her fertility.

“She’s bleedin’ bonkers, mate.  Mad as a fox in a henhouse.  That woman’s on the crazy train, if you know what I mean, and she’s the conductor.”

“I don’t know the phrase, but I think I understand your meaning.”  Mordred was fairly sure that a train was some sort of conveyance in this world; he’d perused an encyclopedia his mother owned and learned all he could.  Yet Will’s statement _was_ surprising.  Zelena had seemed perfectly intelligent and self-controlled so far.

Will gave him a hard look.  “But you don’t believe me.”

“I’ve seen no evidence to back up your claims,” he admitted.

“You will.  You might want to start by asking her _why_ Regina wants her baby.  I’m no friend to the Evil Queen, but even I draw the line at crazy women who impersonate men’s dead wives and rape ‘em.”

“She _what_?”

“See?  Told you.  _Crazy_.”  And Will explained.

* * *

 

David wasn’t expecting the crowd that burst into the sheriff’s station nearly a month after Emma had become the Dark One.  _Twenty-seven days.   It’s only been twenty-seven days, and yet it feels like a lifetime._   Mornings like this, he missed Snow dreadfully.  He missed her optimism, her sheer ability to believe that things would turn out all right.  Snow had always been strong; she had always believed in their daughter and _known_ they would find a way to bring Emma back.  David wondered how Snow would have reacted to the duel between Emma and Rumplestiltskin two days earlier.  She would have had a hard time believing that Rumplestiltskin was on their side, and yet David believed that he truly was.  No one else in the town, even himself, would have given Emma back the dagger in that moment, not after she’d killed two knights and threatened countless others.  Yet David thought that might just have been the right thing to do.

Now, however, he had to deal with this unexpected crowd.  Looking up from the computer at the sheriff’s desk, he counted three dwarves, King Midas along with his family, Doctor Whale, Ella and Thomas, and a slew of other townspeople.  All in all, twenty-three people packed themselves into the station, making Isaac—who was still locked up in one of the cells because he was absolutely a lesser problem than all of their others—speak up sarcastically.

“Is it party time?  If so, someone neglected to give me an invitation.  I’ll have a vodka martini, please.  On the rocks.”

“Shut up, you,” Leroy growled, even as Whale volunteered:

“I can make you a cocktail you’ll never forget.”  The doctor smiled nastily.  “Particularly after you made me a coachman in your lousy little story.”

Isaac shrugged, unoffended.  “Artistic license.” 

“Shut up or I’ll stuff you back in the asylum.”  David gave Isaac a hard look.  He got enough lip from the ex-Author, who _had_ been in the asylum until Zelena had been broken out.  Now that the mystery behind that had been uncovered, David really should move the snarky writer back down there, but more important things just kept coming up.

“You know, that’s a good point.”  Leroy looked back at David, who started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  “This town’s got a perfectly good jail, yet we keep letting criminals run around freely.  It’s bad enough that Zelena escaped, but no one is trying to trap the person who _let_ her out, either.”

David gaped, trying to wrap his mind around exactly what Leroy was saying.  How could Snow’s most loyal dwarf even _think_ those words?  Leroy had always been one of their staunchest supporters, had always been there when they needed him.  And now he was insinuating that they should imprison Emma.  Snow’s _daughter_.  Would they have dared say this if Snow was still alive?  A screaming feeling of empty inadequacy gripped David; if Snow was here, she would know what to do, what to say.  She would know how to reassure people and would know what to do with the entire crowd that was nodding and murmuring in agreement with Leroy’s statement.

“She’s got to be stopped, David,” Whale said strongly, and then gestured over his shoulder at the still-scowling former author.  “What happens if she lets this one out next and tries to get him to rewrite our lives _again_?”

At least David had an answer for that.  “It wouldn’t matter.  Isaac isn’t the author any more.  He can’t change anyone’s stories—no one can.  The quill has been broken.”

“That’s not the point,” Midas spoke up, looking uncomfortable.  “The point is that—as good and as helpful as she once was, your daughter has started hurting people.  Between turning people into statues and felines, she also killed Granny.  That can’t be allowed to stand, no matter who she is.”

King Midas had always been a voice of reason, even in the Enchanted Forest.  He never tagged along with riotous crowds, and David knew that Midas wouldn’t stick his nose into business that he did not consider vital.  That fact, however, did nothing to make Emma’s father feel better.  It only made him feel worse.

“We’re all grateful for what Emma did in the past, Your Highness.”  Leroy looked like he didn’t enjoy what he was saying, but that didn’t make things better, either.  “But she’s not the same.  This ain’t your daughter.  This is the Dark One.”

“We have to lock her up,” Ella chimed in, her expression fiercely stubborn.  “We did it to Rumplestiltskin.  We can do it to her.”

“ _Or_ someone could get the dagger,” Leroy added.  “No one knew about that before, but we all do, now.  That’ll stop her, right?”

“Exactly.”  Whale spoke up again before David could do more than open his mouth.  “That’ll give you time to do whatever you want to get the darkness out of her.  But in the meantime, she won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

Several people chimed in with their agreement, but David finally managed to get in first.  “Look, everyone slow down, all right?”  A few mutinous looks greeted that statement, but he held up a hand for silence.  “I understand that everyone is worried.  I am, too.  But you have to understand that this _isn’t_ as simple as you want it to be.  Yes, Emma killed Granny, and that is terrible.  But what we have to remember is that it’s the _Dark One_ at fault, not Emma.  She doesn’t want to do this, but in the beginning, she couldn’t stop herself.”

“And now? She turned us into statues last week,” Kathryn said angrily.  “ _That’s_ not the actions of someone who doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Actually, I think it might be.”  David barely managed to reply around the lump in his throat.  “I can’t pretend to understand what she’s going through, but I’ve talked to Rumplestiltskin about it quite a bit.  That darkness _drives_ the Dark One to evil.  Many of you saw it—do you think _you_ could manage it any better than the Savior?  Emma is fighting it, and the two people she killed outside of Granny’s were both threatening Emma and Hook.”

“Yeah, but who else is going to get hurt while we watch her fight it?” Ella glared.  “No one thinks this is Emma’s fault, David, but she _is_ the Dark One now.  We’ve got to stop her.  And if you won’t do it, we will.”

“You knew about Granny.”  Leroy’s eyes were narrow and bitter, and David’s chest grew tight.  He couldn’t even deny that.  He _wouldn’t_ deny that.  They had made a terrible mistake in keeping that secret, and now they were all paying the price, weren’t they?  “You denied _Granny_ justice just because it’s your daughter who’s the demon now.  Why should we trust anything you say?”

David opened his mouth to object, but too many voices spoke at once, and they just wouldn’t listen to him. No matter what argument he tried, the despair continued to rise within him.  These people _knew_ that it wasn’t Emma’s fault, but they didn’t care.  And while he did understand that people were afraid of what the Dark One might do next, they didn’t seem to understand that anything they did to the Dark One would also affect _Emma_.  What if Belle had been right, and they’d never be able to get the darkness out of Emma, that this was what Emma might be for the rest of her life?  If that was the case, they had to learn to live with her and _help_ her…something that no one outside of Emma’s family seemed willing to do.

* * *

 

The wound in his side still wasn’t healing.  _It’s not going to,_ Merlin’s voice whispered, now fainter than ever.  Rumplestiltskin contemplated pulling the other sorcerer out to have a chat, but he stopped himself.  The more often he did that, the weaker Merlin became, and he needed to save that knowledge and advice for when he _really_ needed it.  For now, he was perfectly capable of looking at the stab wound in his side and grimacing. 

At least he could use magic to stop it from bleeding and to keep the wound clean.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t really considered the ramifications of letting Emma stab him, but in hindsight, it had been a very stupid idea.  He had assumed that he was safe from the dagger’s nasty side effects now that _he_ wasn’t the Dark One, but apparently any secondary power could do this to him.  He’d owned a few of those over the centuries, left several in the Dark Castle—which was perhaps a destination to stop by on the way back from Arendelle, while he was drawing portals already—and knew of a handful of others.  _Perhaps it’s time to do some research on that front,_ he thought, pulling open the giant red book, _Of Originale Poweres_.  Even that made his side burn, but Rumplestiltskin absently channeled a little magic into numbing the pain.

He needed answers.  He could worry about the wound later.

* * *

 

She was glad to find the bookworm in the library.  Having this conversation inside Gold’s shop would have been beyond awkward, particularly if Rumplestiltskin walked in.  Regina didn’t know who else to ask, though, so she walked into the library, noticed the giant straightening out shelves to the right, and strode up to the circulation desk.  Belle, who was sorting through the card catalogue, didn’t even look at her.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sure.”  Belle glanced her way briefly, and then returned her attention to the card catalogue.  “What can I help you with?”

“I, um, need to—would _like_ to—talk to you in private.”  Regina was really bad at _asking_ for anything, particularly from someone that she’d viewed as a tool for so long, but she knew that she had to stop looking at people like that.  If Regina was going to be a better person, she would have to be one _all_ the time.  Not just when she wanted light magic or wanted people to think she was better.

That made Belle turn around.  “Okay.  Let’s go into the office.”

Nodding, Regina followed the librarian into the tiny office shoehorned onto the back of the library.  The fact that Belle actually was willing to turn her back on Regina—after everything she’d done to the younger woman—said an awful lot about how courageous Belle was.  _I never really appreciated how much strength you need to stand up to a sorceress,_ she thought.  Magic was power, but courage…courage was something else entirely.  And that was what Regina needed right now.

“So,” Belle said, closing the door behind Regina.  “What do you want to say that you can’t have people overhear?”

“I actually needed to ask you something.  It’s kind of personal.”  Regina swallowed hard.  “So, if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.” 

Belle gave her a wary glance, shifting back ever so slightly, and it took everything Regina had not to flinch.  Oh, she deserved the look Belle was giving her, deserved the other woman’s mistrust.  Even though she’d apologized, Regina knew that a long time would pass before Belle was ready to actually trust Regina.  _If that ever happens at all._   Strangely enough, Regina was all right with that, instead of being as angry as she would once have been.  Did that mean she was growing as a person?  Robin would probably tell her so, but Regina had her doubts.  _I’m hard headed enough that it takes me forever to learn something, but maybe it’ll stick this time._

“I can’t decide if I’m going to answer or not if I don’t know the question,” Belle said reasonably, and Regina let out a breath.  It was now or never.

“I know you and Rumple have had your ups and downs, but I saw your kiss when Merlin tried to take him over,” she said slowly.  “You’re True Love.  And…I believe Robin and I are as well, even though there’s been nothing to technically prove it.  So, I was wondering—he has nightmares, right?”

The last four words came out in a rush, and Regina cursed herself for sounding like a fool.  She hadn’t meant to sound so awkward or so stupid, or to have Belle eying her so suspiciously.

“I’m not sure that’s your business, Regina.”

“I’m not looking to find Rumple’s weaknesses, really.”  She was doing this all wrong, but the only way to do it was to forge ahead, even if she looked like an utter fool.  “It’s just that Robin does.  Some nights are worse than others, but what Zelena did haunts him.  And last night, I kissed him on the forehead to try to calm him.”

Realization dawned on Belle’s face immediately.  “And you were pulled into his nightmare.”

“It’s not just me?  I’m not crazy?” Regina felt weak-kneed with relief.  “You’ve had that happen, too?”

“Yeah.”  Belle hesitated for a moment, biting her lip.  “It’s happened a few times.  Rumple noticed after the first one.  He theorizes that it’s a previously unexplored side effect of True Love, or at least one no one’s ever written about.”

“I thought I was going crazy.”  The admission slipped out, and again, Regina felt like a fool.  She didn’t _like_ showing weaknesses, particularly not in front of this slip of a girl, who was likely to tell Rumplestiltskin everything.

_Then again, we aren’t what we were,_ she told herself.  _He’s not looking for every advantage to use over me, and I’m not trying to send a girl in to strip him of his power._

Surprisingly, Belle smiled. “I thought I was, too, at first.  It’s, well, awkward isn’t the right word.  Even if it has helped me understand Rumple better, I know he’s uncomfortable with me knowing that much.”

“I’m sure Robin will be, too.”  Regina hesitated, and then decided she might as well just ask her next damn question.  Who cared if she looked like a nervous and lovesick fool?  Belle probably knew exactly how she felt.  “Should I tell him?”

“Robin?  He’ll notice if you can’t calm him and he wakes up mid-nightmare.”

“But if he doesn’t, he won’t know?”  Even as she asked, Regina knew that wasn’t the right answer—and the hard look Belle gave her only underlined that fact.

“Do you _really_ think that’s the right thing to do?” the librarian asked pointedly.

Regina shrugged. “I just…I just don’t want him to think I’m spying.”

“Then tell him before it happens again.  He’ll forgive you for hesitating, but not if you keep the truth from him until you’re forced to tell it.”

“You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”  She sighed.  “All right.  I’ll tell him.”  Regina turned to go, figuring that she should talk to Robin before she found an excuse not to, but she looked over her shoulder as her hand touched the doorknob.  “Thank you, Belle.  I, uh, really appreciate the advice, even if I sometimes do act like a bitch.”

“You’re welcome.”  A sly smile crossed the bookworm’s face.  “And I understand.  You have to stick with what you’re good at, after all.”

Regina surprised herself by laughing.  _The bookworm has teeth,_ she’d once said, but maybe that was something she could _like_ about Belle instead of trying to use.  They would probably never be friends, but Rumplestiltskin would always be one of the people who Regina was closest to.  Getting along with his wife was probably a good thing now that they were on the same side, and as long as Belle didn’t turn into some boring paragon of virtue, Regina figured she might even enjoy herself from time to time.

* * *

 

Morgan had started this complicated blood magic spell five days earlier, and when she stepped into her workroom a little before midnight, she realized it had finally borne results.  The magic had been made even more difficult because she very much didn’t want its object to know she was testing him, which had necessitated placing a marker very near the pawnshop in order to let her magic detect if one of her relatives was inside.  She had certainly noticed Danns’ and Arthur’s presence there a few days earlier—though she hadn’t needed magic for that, as simple observation did the trick—but Arthur, fortunately, was not her blood brother.  His mother had been the only mother she truly remembered, as Igraine had played a far greater role in her life than Queen Mab ever had, but Arthur was not her brother, for all she had called him that growing up.

But that was neither here nor there.  Her past did not matter—or it shouldn’t.  Except the spell results were right there, staring her in the face, and Morgan knew the truth.

Her useless, merely human, son had become the Dark One.  And he had been the Dark One for longer than _any_ other.  Oh, how Merlin must be laughing!  He probably knew, and even if he didn’t, her old mentor, lover, and enemy would find the situation deliciously ironic.  Morgan, who had loved him, tried to save him, and had then helped her son orchestrate his death, had borne the man who now inherited Merlin’s power.

Her son was alive, and his name was Rumplestiltskin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Five—“A Winding Dimly Lit Road,” in which Belle and Rumplestiltskin head to Arendelle, Killian meets with his Uncle Mordred, Emma goes to talk to David and runs into a lynch mob instead, and Regina tries to help Robin. 
> 
> In response to the many questions I have received, I’ve opened a poll to see if more readers want the story to continue on as Captain Swan or if people would prefer it to see the story shift to Swanfire when Neal/Baelfire returns. I’m happy to write either one, so I thought I would let you all decide. You can find the poll on [my profile on FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/~robin4), or on [my tumblr.](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com/post/134545715650/i-need-your-input-on-roc)


	35. A Winding Dimly Lit Road

They stepped into the courtyard early that morning, holding hands and smiling like giddy children.  While Belle felt a little guilty for leaving Storybrooke when things were in such doubt, she also knew that things weren’t likely to work themselves out anytime soon.  _Besides, I do owe my grandparents answers about Mother,_ she thought.  Arthur and Guinevere—particularly Guinevere—made her uneasy at times, but Belle wanted to think the best of them.  Even if she hadn’t, she would have wanted to know what happened to her mother for her own sake.

“Ready?” Rumplestiltskin asked, his eyes searching her face.

“I’m ready.”  Belle squeezed his hand reassuringly.  “So, um, how exactly do you ‘draw’ a portal?  I know it’s not something you could do before—if you could have, you would never have needed the curse.”

His expression darkened, but only slightly.  “No, I wouldn’t have.”  For a moment, she saw his eyes go distant and unfocused, and Belle knew her husband was listening to Merlin’s voice.  “It seems to be rather like simply _willing_ a door to draw in the air.  I’d try to leave you behind on the trial run, but I don’t think you’d let me.”

“Not a chance.”  Belle had always craved adventure, and in her mind, there was nothing better than an adventure shared with the man she loved.  They would go to Arendelle together, and he’d help her find those who could restore her memories.  She knew that reliving her mother’s death wouldn’t be pleasant—nor would finding out the reason she had blocked those memories in the first place—but Belle was prepared to face that.

“Well, I _have_ learned not to argue with you.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled, raising his right hand.  Belle could feel magic building, could feel the thrill of power running through her, and she tried unsuccessfully to hold back her grin. 

Magic _was_ pretty amazing, she had learned.  Oh, she still had so much left to learn, having barely mastered the basics (which, Rumplestiltskin assured her, would probably be harder for her than more advanced spells, given how much she enjoyed studying).  But she finally understood why magic had become one of her husband’s passions.  There was so much that she could do with it, so many amazing doors to be opened.  Discovering shecould do magic had been an eye-opener that was almost as extraordinary as watching Rumplestiltskin learn that he _enjoyed_ using magic to help people.  Every day, Belle felt like she learned something new about the man her husband now was, and she loved him even more for it.

A wooden door appeared in the air before them, hovering above ground for a moment before touching down on the grass.  The doorway was dark around the edges, but decorated by yellow flowers—crocuses, Belle recalled—and blue designs.  The door even _reminded_ her of Arendelle, of the short time she’d spent there and the friend she had made.  Belle still felt a little guilty for the fact that she hadn’t been able to reconnect with Anna during her time in Storybrooke, but everything had happened so quickly that, by the time Belle knew Elsa had found her sister, they had already left for Arendelle.  She burned to apologize for hesitating before trying to save Anna…but maybe now that they were going to Arendelle, she’d have that chance.

“Is it time?” Belle asked, feeling the magic of the door _click_ into place. 

“I believe so.  This doorway should take us relatively near where the rock trolls live.  We’re likely to have to walk a bit, but I’d rather not plop a portal down inside someone else’s magical domain.”

Belle nodded absently, knowing that was a good idea.  But her guilt over Anna made her remember something _else_ she had to feel guilty over, and standing here holding her husband’s hand just brought that old wrong right to the forefront of her memory.  _I didn’t even try to convince him, and for all my apologies—and his easy acceptance of them—I never really thought about how badly_ me _using the dagger on him must have hurt Rumple._ Belle knew her husband well enough, particularly now that he was more open about his issues, to know that the fact that the dagger she’d used had been fake hadn’t stopped it from tearing a hole in his already weathered soul.  Yet he’d always tried to blame himself for all the things that went wrong in their relationship, despite the fact that Belle knew that she bore part of the blame, too.

_But this is a new start for both of us_ , she told herself firmly, coming up on her tiptoes to kiss Rumplestiltskin on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Just because.”  She squeezed his hand.  “And thank you for doing this for me.”

“After all the things you do for me, sweetheart, this is the least I can do.”

“Don’t say that.”  Belle squeezed his hand harder.  “Don’t _ever_ say that.  We’re in this together, no matter what.”

His smile was still a little shy, but she could see love shining in his eyes.  “Then, shall we go?”

Belle nodded, and they stepped through the portal together.

* * *

 

Morgan arrived precisely in time to watch the door click shut.  For a moment, she contemplated following them through the portal—where it led hardly mattered.  She had not been such an eager fool as to try to find her son the night before, but Morgan knew that waiting would not make things any better.  Truthfully, there had only been one possibility when the new Sorcerer had walked through the protections on the trap Mordred was building, but maybe Morgan had been in denial.  She had almost _hoped_ there was another answer, because the alternative meant that she had abandoned her son even more thoroughly than she had intended to.

_I left him with his father because I knew I could not take him with me…and yet I never once bothered to find out who he became_.  Morgan knew that was her fault, knew that she truly was a failure as a parent.  Her third son had died with his grandmother when the darkness swept over Avalon.  Her only daughter had been murdered by her brute of a husband.  And now her last child had been the _Dark One_ for three centuries, while she continued onwards, blissfully ignorant.  Morgan was not fool enough to think she could make up for that, but she had to at least let him know.

He deserved that much, yet he had already left.

Morgan hoped he would not be gone for long.  What she had seen of the new Sorcerer—now that he was free of the darkness, which she knew corrupted someone beyond measure—indicated that he was not going to run away when Storybrooke was in danger.  She hesitated for a moment, studying the door.  _Arendelle, probably, judging from the markings._ But she made no move to follow.  Whatever Rumplestiltskin needed to do, she would be waiting when he returned. 

And then she would tell him the truth, no matter what it cost her.  Mordred, however, could wait until his younger half-brother knew.  She could give Rumplestiltskin that much of an advantage, at least.  Even if he hated her, she could give him that.

* * *

 

Killian had come to breakfast with his uncle with no small amount of trepidation, but Mordred _was_ family…and he wanted to help Emma.  Yes, his actions in the diner had caused a bloody disaster, but the worst part about it was that Mordred hadn’t _lied_.  He’d even rescued Will Scarlet, who had been under Killian’s nose the entire time.  That realization still made him feel guilty, no matter how little use he had for the annoying thief.  He wasn’t staying with Emma because darkness was who _he_ was, now.  He was staying with her to save her, and it was time Killian remembered that.

_I can’t just let myself get caught up in this.  I love her, but_ this _isn’t Emma.  She’s trying so hard, but…I suppose it can be hard for someone like Mordred to see that_.

“In retrospect, my methods may have been a little flawed.  I honestly did not anticipate such a hostile reaction from the townspeople.  After all, few appreciate how dangerous the Dark One is more than I, and the last thing I want to do is get more people killed,” his uncle concluded.

“Even if they’re your father’s allies?” Killian couldn’t help asking.  “Seems to me that would be a case of killing multiple birds with one stone.”

“It’s not worth the price.  Once the Dark One is enraged—no matter how _good_ they once were—reining it in is difficult.  If not impossible.”

“You have _no_ idea how hard she’s trying,” he said quickly.  The words were almost a reflex by now.

Mordred met his eyes levelly.  “And losing.  They all do.”

Killian could only swallow, guilt and pain threatening to consume him.  He missed Emma, the real Emma.  _My Emma._

“But, enough of dark and foreboding topics.  I’ve spent most of the time I’ve known my nephew lecturing you about dangers you are all too well aware of.”  Mordred’s smile was surprisingly sheepish.  “Instead, why don’t you tell me about your days as a pirate? I understand you met a great deal of success after you left my navy.  With my best ship, I might add.”

Changing the subject was such a relief that he couldn’t hold back his grin.  “Aye.  But if you wanted to keep your ships from going rogue, you should never have sent them to a hellhole like Neverland.”

“As I am now duly educated.  Regale me with your adventures, and then tell me what I must do to get myself a tour of the _Jewel—_ forgive me, the _Jolly Roger_.”

There were many things Killian had done in his days as a pirate that he was not proud of, but some of his adventures had truly been epic.  A few were even journeys he remembered with pride, and he had always had the finest ship and crew any captain could wish for.  So, the stories rolled easily off of Killian’s tongue, even the darker ones.  Not being judged for his past was a relief, as was the easy conversation with a relative.  It had been so long since Killian had any family at all—three long and painful centuries—and he found himself relaxing after the first story and a few drinks. 

He exchanged stories about Liam for tales of his own father’s youth, laughing as Mordred described the mess he and Gwaine had gotten in shortly after Gwaine had met Killian’s own mother.  Ragnelle had apparently disliked them both intensely for some ‘accident’ with a goat that left them both clutching their sides with laughter, though Mordred assured him that Ragnelle had come around on the topic of Gwaine.  Killian had been so young when he’d lost his father, and he’d never even _dreamt_ that he’d be able to hear about what it was like growing up in Orkney, or about how his father would have been a king if Orkney had not been destroyed.  Mordred painted an enticing picture of the life Killian _should_ have had, one in which no one would ever have questioned how suitable he was for Emma.  It was a wonderful dream, and what was the harm in letting himself indulge for just a few hours?

* * *

 

“They’re all taking it wrong, aren’t they?” Henry asked, pushing his eggs around his plate. Regina had had an early meeting that morning, which meant Robin had made breakfast for both boys.  Roland was done already, and was now happily engrossed on the floor with his toys, but Henry just wasn’t hungry.

“It’s hard not to, I think.  People are afraid,” Robin replied quietly.  “Fear makes people do some really stupid things.”

“Gramps told me how a bunch of people came to the station to blame him.  _I’m_ angry, too, but I know that’s not my mom.  Not really.”  Henry had to take a deep breath.  It had taken him a lot of soul searching—and another conversation with his paternal grandfather—for Henry to understand how someone as _good_ as Emma could kill Granny and turn Will Scarlet into a cat, but in the end, he’d come to understand that it was the Dark One’s fault.  Not Emma’s.

“I believe most people know that deep inside.”  Robin smiled wryly.  “But when you’re frightened, it’s so much easier if you have someone to blame.  And the Dark One is wearing Emma’s face, now.  Even though they see the difference with Gold, they _know_ how dangerous Emma is as the Dark One, and that’s hard to ignore.  Particularly when they used to trust her so much.”

“Grandpa said that he killed more people in his first _day_ as the Dark One than Emma has even hurt.”  He couldn’t stop the bitter words from coming out, though he did have to add a caveat when Robin blinked in surprise.  “But they _were_ knights who had come to take my dad away to die in a war.”

“That would drive any parent to violence.”  Robin’s look was strained.  “I know that my hands aren’t clean, either.  I’ve killed to protect my family, though I always tried to find a way not to.”

“I guess that’s the real difference between heroes and villains, isn’t it?  Heroes try everything else first, and villains just go for the kill.”  Henry stabbed his eggs angrily.  “And now the Dark One has made my mom into a villain.”

“It’s not her fault, Henry.”

“I know.  I think that makes it worse.”

* * *

 

She needed to talk to her father.  Henry might not have wanted to listen to her—and when she was being honest with herself, Emma could not blame him—but she needed to talk to David.  _He knew and he hid the truth, which meant he wanted to give me a chance,_ Emma told herself firmly.  _Both of my parents knew._ Thinking about Snow, however, made grief and rage rise in tandem, so she pushed those feelings aside.  Emma couldn’t afford to let the darkness rage right now.  She’d already done enough damage—and if she lost control again, she knew she’d lose the dagger.

Just _thinking_ of the dagger in someone else’s hands made her want to shut down, made her want to crawl into a corner and hide away from everyone.  Just once, she’d stood there when the dagger was in someone else’s hands, before her mother had given it back to her.  Emma had felt so trapped, felt like she was chained in a cage.   The darkness had shown her bits and pieces of what had happened to Rumplestiltskin while Zelena had the dagger, and Emma _never_ wanted to be so vulnerable.  So abused. 

_Protect the dagger, and that will never happen,_ the darkness whispered, its voice low and reassuring.  Emma almost took comfort from it before she caught herself with a start, struggling to push it away even as the voice continued: _Kill the Sorcerer and then he can never take it._

Shaking her head desperately, Emma stopped her car in front of the sheriff’s station.  She’d made the conscious choice not to teleport herself, instead thinking that if she could arrive like she used to, she might just prove to her father that she wasn’t so different.  _And maybe I can prove it to myself, too._   Trying to pretend everything was normal was only a trick, though, and the darkness within her cackled softly even as Emma turned the bug off and climbed out.

If she’d been too caught up in her thoughts to notice the crowd nearby, however, _they_ hadn’t failed to notice her.  The group of thirty or so started towards her, with three dwarves in the lead.  Her practiced eye—Emma had been the sheriff not too long ago, and still remembered how to do that job, thank you very much—picked out Doctor Whale, Kathryn, Ella, and a number of others, and they were clearly aiming for her.  The sight of another mob made her stop uneasily, and Emma was tempted to just teleport herself away.

_Kill them.  Show them who the real power in this town is,_ the voice inside her whispered, and then changed in tenor, becoming less deep and more silky, almost feminine and persuading.  _You’ll get used to the hate, but if they don’t fear you, they will_ never _stop abusing you.  It’s easy to hurt someone when you don’t count them as human._

Her lips moved almost on their own: “You know, after what happened to the _last_ crowd to corner me, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to come close, if I were you.”

_That_ made them stop.  A few even flinched back in fear, and part of Emma—that silky smooth voice that loved the thrill of terror and power—loved it.  Leroy, however, spoke up after a moment, leaning forward aggressively, even though he didn’t dare get within ten feet of her.  Under other circumstances, Emma might have found that amusing.  Now, she just felt sick.

“You’re not gonna hurt us,” the dwarf declared.  “Not unless you want to prove your father a liar when he says you’re trying to be better.”

“What did you do to him?” Emma demanded.  Before she could even _think_ , power leapt to mind, filling her hands with raw and beautiful energy.  So far, the magic was invisible, but Emma knew it was there.  Waiting.  _You know you want to,_ the voice whispered.  _Just do it.  Let loose._

“Nothing.”  Whale looked offended.  “Unlike you, we don’t go after people who used to be our friends.”

Emma swallowed hard.  She couldn’t deny that, not with August coming around the corner to join this mob and Ruby standing about thirty feet away with her arms crossed.  Still, her first instinct was to wipe the floor with these _peons_ for their disrespect, and Emma had a hard time fighting that back.  “I can’t change what I’ve done,” she said as reasonably as she could.  “But cornering me is _not_ a good way to make sure it never happens again.”

Why would these idiots not listen to her warnings?  She thought she was getting a grip on the darkness, but when people did stupid things like this, it was a thousand times harder!  _Show them who you are, Dark One.  Or are you too afraid that they’ll hate you?_ the voice asked her.  _They already do.  Don’t you see that?  There’s no reason to try to be good for_ them _.  They don’t understand how hard you’re fighting, so why bother?  Fear is so much easier than friendship._

“Wow, it really took a _long_ time for you to resort to threats,” Whale snorted.

“I’m not threatening you!”

“You could have fooled me, sister.”  Leroy’s voice was a low growl, but anything else he was going to say was interrupted by Regina striding into the crowd.

“What the hell is going on here?  What is _wrong_ with you people?” The mayor looked around, her hands on her hips and glaring at anyone who looked ready to argue with her.  Her angry gaze, however, settled on Emma, who didn’t like the implications of that look.

“I didn’t do anything,” she snarled.  _Yet._ Emma wanted to smack that voice, and it took all of her self-control not to scream at it out loud.  _Shut up!_

“You didn’t have to.”  Regina sighed and turned back to the crowd.  “Look, people, go home.  The last lynch mob dispersed a little smaller than it started, and the last thing you people want to do is provoke Emma’s inner demon.”

“No, we just want a way to protect ourselves from _her_ ,” Leroy argued, and Emma couldn’t stop herself this time.

“What are you going to do, lock me away in a cage made with fairy dust?”  _Good chance of that working.  I’d be out in a minute, long before they could set that up.  Rumplestiltskin stayed in that cage because he_ wanted _to, but I’ve been locked up before.  I’m not playing that game again._

A few voices immediately piped up in agreement with Emma’s snarled question, and listening to them made her darkness rage all the stronger.  _Kill them.  Start with the obnoxious dwarf, and then move onto the insane doctor.  No one will blame you.  They all know this is the Dark One, not Emma Swan.  Just tell them it was too hard to fight.  Shed a few tears and show regret, and you’ll be able to get away with anything._

“That’s not the answer,” Regina cut in before anyone else could speak up, which made Whale glare.  “You’ve all lived in this town long enough to know how utterly pointless that is, so stop with this crowd-funded idiocy and _go home_.”

“Says the woman who used to slaughter villages just to find Snow White.”  Doc pushed his glasses up nervously, but went on: “Do you really want to stop her, Your Majesty, or are you envious that she has an excuse to hurt people?”

“Of course I don’t want anyone hurt!” Regina looked wounded, but Emma was rather glad to see the fire directed away from herself.  Besides, Regina still had plenty to answer for.  _Let them chew on her for a while.  Maybe that’ll fill them up._   “Have I given you _any_ reason over the past few months to doubt that I want to protect you?  _You_ asked me to be your mayor again!”

“That was before we found out that you kept Granny’s death a secret!” Leroy lurched forward a step; he seemed to have no problem trying to threaten Regina, though he clearly wanted to stay away from Emma.

“Because I knew you would all react like this!” Regina shouted back, and Emma cocked her head to watch the carnage.  _They’ll tear themselves apart without any help from you,_ the voice marveled.  _Oh, it’s always so wonderful to see heroes fall.  You could pick a few of them off before they noticed._

_You should._

“Damn right we would!” Whale backed Leroy up immediately.  “Granny deserved better!”

“So does Emma!” Regina’s statement made Emma whip her head around to stare; hadn’t they been fighting with one another just a few days ago?  “She took that darkness on to save _all_ of us, and it’s trying to turn her into something she isn’t!  What the hell is wrong with you people that you can’t see that?”

“It’s not a matter of what we can see,” August spoke up, his voice hard.  “Sure, maybe she saved all of us.  Maybe that darkness would have just petered out.  We only have your word on what it was doing, and frankly, Madam Mayor, that’s not very trustworthy at the moment.”

Regina gaped. 

“Give us the Dark One’s dagger,” Whale demanded, his voice flat.  Emma, however, felt herself back up a step unwittingly; had she really hard what she thought she had?

Leroy nodded vigorously.  “We need a way to stop her.  To protect _everyone_.”

“I don’t have it,” Regina snarled as Emma stood frozen.  “And even if I did, I wouldn’t hand it over to a mob.”

She had trusted these people.  She had _saved_ these people.  And this was how they repaid her?  By trying to _enslave_ her?  Emma felt the darkness starting to rage, but now she didn’t want to push it down.  She couldn’t believe how ungrateful they were.  Plenty of people in this town had done worse than she, and they wanted to control her. 

“No.”  The word came out cold and hard as Emma pulled forth her fury to mask the terror rolling through her.

_You know what they’ll do,_ the darkness told her, and it wasn’t wrong.  _They’ll lock you up.  They’ll keep you from your family.  They’ll treat you like the monster you are, and you’ll never see the light of day again._ Emma knew that was true.  So many Dark Ones had been treated thus, often by ‘good’ people who thought they were doing the ‘right’ thing.  And in the end, all those people did was give the darkness a stronger foothold, make the Dark One consume the host’s heart just that much faster.  Zoso had barely lasted fifteen years under such control.  Rumplestiltskin would have survived centuries more if not for Zelena.

Just thinking of what the dagger had allowed Zelena to do made Emma’s skin crawl. 

“You want to prove you’re not going to hurt more people?” Surprisingly, it was August who said those words, and Emma felt her heart break.  “Then hand it over.”

“Says the guy who tried to lie his way into getting it before for _power_?” she snarled to mask her hurt.  August had been her _friend_ , and now he wanted this, too.  “No thanks.  If you had the dagger, I’d find myself filling your pockets and nothing else!”  A cold chill ran through her, and Emma had never wanted to kill a friend so much.  “The dagger is not a toy.  This is not a game.  This is my _life_!”

“No one wants the dagger for power,” Leroy tried to say.  “We’ll give it to the Blue Fairy for safe—”

“No.” She cut him off again, and this time it was Emma who loomed forward, towering over the dwarf and letting her power start to gather.  Leroy felt it; she could tell.  “And what are you going to do, _make_ me hand it over?  You’re welcome to try.”

Leroy backed up.  After a moment, so did the others.  Everyone but Regina was eyeing her warily, and Emma was glad.  They _should_ be afraid.  This was their doing.  She’d only wanted to come talk to her father.

“Emma…” Regina’s voice was a whisper, a warning.  Clearly, she could feel the magic brewing, too, could feel the way Emma _ached_ to let it go.  “Careful.”

She opened her mouth to snap back, and then caught herself.  _This isn’t me._   A dark howl rose in her mind, but Emma pushed it down.  The power was useful, sometimes, but she needed to keep control.  _I’ll prove them wrong,_ she decided over the darkness’ objections.  _I’ll prove them all wrong._

“I’m under control,” she said softly.  “Even if _some_ people want to ruin that.”

Regina’s eyes met hers, but Emma shrugged off the compassionate glance.  She had come to visit her father, and she would be damned if she was going to let anyone stop her.  Without a further word, Emma strode into the sheriff’s station.

* * *

 

Belle supposed that her husband _might_ have been a little vain, but she was all right with that.  Besides, even though the first thing he’d done after coming through the portal was use magic to change their clothes, tromping around the mountains in high heels probably wasn’t a good idea.  She’d wound up in clothes that strongly resembled what Belle always thought of as the ‘adventuring outfit’ she’d worn when she’d travelled with Mulan, while Rumplestiltskin wore his typical leather pants, silk shirt, and a vest.  He’d left the dragonhide jacket off, though, which Belle thought said a lot about how much he had changed.  

“I don’t really remember how to get there from here,” Belle admitted, looking around.  “There are a lot of rocks that all look the same.”  She smiled sheepishly.  “I suppose we could, uh, ask for directions.  That’s how I found my way there last time.”

“No need.”  Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Magic always leaves a trace, particularly magic that’s lived in one place for centuries.  It’s that way.”

Belle followed his gesture with her eyes, and she _thought_ the path through the rocks looked vaguely familiar.  But maybe she was wrong.  She really was quite terrible at finding her way around without a map or a book.  Still, the fact that she couldn’t sense anything magical made her wonder.  “How can you tell?”

“I can see it.”

“See what, the magic?”  Learning magic was like reading a story that always had new chapters, each one better than the last.  Part of Belle wondered why she’d never gone beyond learning potions and such before, but then again, they’d always been so _busy_.  And she’d been so afraid of learning darkness because that was all Rumplestiltskin really knew.  _He was surrounded by it for so long that it’s a wonder he ever learned any other magic at all._

“Yeah.”  He smiled.  “Magic isn’t a separate sense.  Eventually, you’ll be able to see magic, hear it, or even taste it.  I prefer the visual option myself, though.”

“I think I will, too.”  Tasting magic just sounded weird, and Belle wasn’t sure she’d be able to focus on anything else if she learned to hear magic.  But she was good at compartmentalizing visually, which meant she would probably be able to see magic and not find it too distracting.  _Except when driving.  I’m new enough at that, still.  How_ does _Rumple manage to drive if he can see magic, too?_  

That, however, was a question for another day.  Belle had enough on her hands at the moment; her stomach was full of butterflies as they headed up towards a narrow path among the rocks.  She thought it was the same path that Anna had fallen from when Belle had failed to help her in time, and just walking here made her nervous.

“Um, this might be it.  Where the memory stone fell, I mean.”  The words came out as a whisper, and Belle bit her lip hard as Rumplestiltskin turned to face her.  She had never really seen where the stone fell to after Ingrid arrived, and over thirty years had passed.  Granted, Arendelle had been frozen for many of those years, but there had been plenty of time before the first curse for the stone to have moved.  _Or been taken._ “Do you think it might still be here?”

“Well, there’s one way to find out.”  He took both of her hands.  “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to summon the stone with magic,” Rumplestiltskin said, and Belle wanted to lean into his gentle voice.  She wasn’t flighty by nature, but she’d always led with her heart, and Belle still felt terrible.  She’d failed Anna, and she’d also lost her last link to her mother while she was at it.  All right here.

“Okay.”  Belle closed her eyes, pushing those thoughts aside.  Immediately, she summoned up that moment of pure joy that she had decided to use for her magic.  Remembering those emotions were easy; it took little effort to remember the overwhelming happiness she’d felt when she watched her husband wake from his coma, free of the darkness and alive.   Rumplestiltskin had never asked what memory she’d used, but Belle could feel her heart fill with love for him every time she reached for magic.  “I’m ready.”

“All right.”  His soft voice came very close to her ear, and Belle felt warm. “I want you to focus on the stone.  Remember how it felt in your hands, and _pull_ it to you.  The memory stone is a part of you, and it’s linked to you no matter what.  So, it should come when you call.”

Belle pulled in a deep breath and pushed her guilt aside.  The stone had felt smooth in her hand, she remembered.  A little warm, even.  It had been almost round and—

“Belle?” An excited voice broke her concentration, and Belle’s eyes flew open.  “It is you!”

Anna of Arendelle had just come around a corner on the path, dragging a young man by the hand.  She rushed forward with all of the enthusiasm Belle remembered, letting go of her companion to sweep Belle up in a tight hug.  To do so, Anna had somehow managed to brush Rumplestiltskin aside like he wasn’t even there, and Belle caught her husband’s bemused expression out of the corner of her eye.

“What are you doing in Arendelle?” Anna continued before Belle could get a word in.  “I heard you were in Storybrooke, and I was _so_ sad that I never got to see you.  But we left in such a hurry because Hans—he was a kind of evil prince who had lots and lots of brothers—was ruling Arendelle, and we had to stop him.  But never mind that.  What are you doing here?”

Belle had to laugh a little as she pulled back.  She’d forgotten how enthusiastic Anna was about everything.  “I actually came to find my memory stone,” she admitted, squaring her shoulders.  “The one I lost, I mean.  But I also wanted to apologize to you.  I, uh, let you down.  I never should have valued a stone—no matter what memories it contained—over your safety. And I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s no big deal.”  Anna waved a hand as if Belle’s years of guilt and self-recrimination meant nothing.  “It all turned out all right in the end, even if it was a little messy in the middle.  I didn’t blame you, anyway.  Ingrid would have found _some_ way to get me, and at least that way she didn’t hurt you.”

“I…I’m not sure I deserve such easy forgiveness.”

“Of course you do!  You were just trying to hold onto the last memory of your mother you had.  I’d have probably done the same, you know, if I could have.”  Anna looked at Rumplestiltskin with a smile.  “And who’s this, anyway?  Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Oh, this was going to get awkward.  Belle had finally gotten the story of _Rumplestiltskin’s_ various trips to Arendelle—and his encounters with this realm’s royal family—out of her husband the night before, and she knew that he’d met Anna before, even if Anna didn’t recognize him when he looked purely human.

“Anna, this is my husband.  Rumplestiltskin.”

More introductions weren’t necessary.  Anna skittered back, and her companion jumped forward as if to defend her.  He spoke up immediately:  “Aren’t you that twisted and evil sorcerer who caused so much misery?  The one everyone was so worried about when we left Storybrooke?”

“I was,” Rumplestiltskin started to say, but Anna cut him off, wheeling to glare at Belle.

“You _married_ him?  How could you do that?  Or did he force you?  If he did—”

“No!” Belle cut her off as forcefully as she could; Anna looked ready to try to pick a fight in her defense, and Belle really didn’t want that.  “Look, you need to understand that Rumple was under a curse.  He’s not _inherently_ evil.  He was possessed by a darkness that he’s now free of.  He’s human.  Not evil.”

“It’s your fault that Ingrid had that urn in the first place!” Anna snarled at Rumplestiltskin.  “She made me put my sister in it, and then _you_ kept _Elsa_!”

“Yes, I did.”  Belle was so proud of the way Rumplestiltskin didn’t try to prevaricate.  “I did many terrible things that I’ll spend a lifetime atoning for.  And, although I’m certain you won’t believe me, I am sorry for the role I played in harming your family.”

Anna glared.  “In my experience, curses don’t make people evil. They’re just a convenient excuse to hide behind.”

“Then don’t come to Storybrooke and see Emma.”  Belle said the words without regret; although Rumplestiltskin certainly deserved some of the blame for what had happened to Elsa and Anna, the truth of the matter was that Ingrid had done far more to her nieces than Rumple ever had.  She wasn’t going to let him shoulder all of the blame—but she knew he would if she didn’t speak up.

“What does Emma have to do with anything?” Anna’s companion spoke up again and Anna gave Belle a slight shrug.

“This is Kristoff.  _My_ husband.”

“My question stands,” Kristoff said gruffly.

“Emma’s the Dark One, now.  She took on the darkness when it escaped, and it’s been corrupting her as much as it ever did Rumple.”

“But Emma’s so good!”  Anna looked like Belle was speaking another language, but she’d always been smart.  “Okay, I get your point.  And I don’t think you’d lie to me, either, so I guess we shouldn’t try to stab your husband.”

“That would be welcome, yes.”  Belle smiled despite herself.  Maybe Anna was _still_ too trusting, but she liked the younger woman.

“I’ve had enough stabbings this week, thanks,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, and Belle squeezed his hand.  She knew that the wound hadn’t really healed yet, and she kept meaning to bring that up, but now wasn’t the time.

“What, did you run into someone else you screwed over?”

“Kristoff!” Anna gasped.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Not this week, no.  Emma stabbed me, actually.”

Anna looked at Belle.  “Did he deserve it?”

“Not that time.”  She smiled at Rumplestiltskin’s affronted look, squeezing his hand again.  “Others, sure, but he was trying to stop Emma from killing anyone.  It worked, too.”

“What, did you two switch roles or something?” Anna looked suspicious again.

“Let’s just say it’s…complicated.”  Belle knew that Rumple wasn’t going to say more than that, and she opened her mouth to try to get back to their original quest.  Again, Anna beat her to it.

“But you’re here for your memory stone!  I don’t think it’s still around here—Grand Pabbie doesn’t like to leave memory stones lying around, if you know what I mean.  But he probably still has it.  Do you want us to take you to find it?  Kristoff and I were here to visit the rock trolls.  They’re kind of his family.”

Just _listening_ to that monologue left Belle feeling a little out of breath.  “We’d be grateful,” she said honestly.  “And it _is_ good to see you.”

“Then come on!  We don’t have a lot of time to waste—but I bet Elsa will understand if we’re late for that big state dinner tonight.  It’s not like Kristoff or I really care what realm those twin princes are from, anyway…”

* * *

 

“I am _not_ giving up the dagger!”

David spun to face the door as his daughter stormed in; he’d come in the back a few minutes earlier because the irate crowd outside still liked heckling him.  Their distrust was almost physically painful to experience.  He had always tried to do his best for Storybrooke—as had Snow, who they were now painting with the same acid brush they did him!—but he understood why people were so disappointed and angry.  Trying to hide who had killed Granny had been so very wrong, and yet it had seemed like the only choice at the time.  If they hadn’t kept silent, that same crowd would have tried to go after Emma when she _couldn’t_ stop herself, and there would have been a lot more deaths.

Judging from Emma’s thunderous expression, however, she had just encountered Leroy, Whale, and the others on her way in.

David raised his hands, hoping to placate her fury.  “No one said you had to.  People are just upset.  You’ve got to give them time.”

“Time?  _Time?_ ”  He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Emma look so angry—or so broken.  “None of you have _any_ idea what I’m going through, how hard it is to hold this back.  I don’t want to be like this.  I don’t want—”

“I know.”  Cautiously, David stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his daughter, feeling a little surprised when she slumped into him and didn’t pull away. 

“I thought I could save everyone, Dad,” Emma whispered against his chest.  “But now I can’t even save myself.”

“You did save us.  And don’t think for a moment that anyone else could have fought this as well as you have.  You know what would have happened if that darkness had gotten ahold of Regina.  Every bit of good she’s done would have been wiped out, and _so_ many more would be dead.  The fact that you’re here right now tells me that this isn’t you.  It’s a curse, and we’ll find a way to beat it.”

David felt her shake, and Emma’s voice was brittle.  “I don’t know how anyone lived with this without going mad.”

_Who says they didn’t?_ he stopped himself from asking, remembering Rumplestiltskin when he’d been locked up down in the mines, or even the half-insane giggle that had characterized the imp back in the Enchanted Forest.  _If we knew then what we know now…would we have approached him differently?  We all assumed he was evil because he wanted to be, and yet now we see a good man trying to come out from behind the shadows of darkness.  And that same darkness is trying to swallow my daughter whole._

“I believe in you,” he said as gently as he could.  “And your mother did, too.  That’s why we kept what happened with Granny quiet.  We wanted to give you a chance to beat this.”

“I didn’t mean to kill her.” 

Was that a soft sob?  David couldn’t tell, so he just tightened his arms around her.  A ghostly hand seemed to land on his shoulder as he did, and David swallowed back his own tears.  How could he explain to Emma that Snow was there, too, and that they both still believed in her?  They always would.  Even death couldn’t change that.

“I know,” he said again.  “I think even the crowd outside knows that.  They’re just scared.”

“Regret doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my freedom.”  Emma pulled back, her eyes blazing, and suddenly she was the Dark One again.  “I’m not going to be someone’s slave.”

“I don’t think you should be.”  Reaching out, David put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, and was very glad when she didn’t pull back.  “But…is there an in-between choice?  I keep thinking back to the fact that the last thing you did before the darkness dragged you away was to drop the dagger, to leave it for us.  You wanted us to save you, to stop you.  Is there…is there a way for someone to keep the dagger safe, and _not_ use it?”

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare for a moment, until Emma seemed satisfied that David wasn’t asking because he wanted to see her trapped or hurt.  Then she shook her head sadly.  “No.  Even if someone doesn’t use it, I feel like I’m in chains.  Like there’s this cage around me and I can’t—I can’t _breathe_.”  She looked down at the ground.  “And if what Rumplestiltskin says is right, it only makes things worse in the long run.  If I can’t control myself, if someone else has the dagger, it only makes the darkness take over faster.”

“Oh.”  David hadn’t relished the idea of holding _anything_ that could control his daughter as thoroughly as the dagger could, but he would have done it if doing so would help her.  But if that only made things worse, there was no chance.  He swallowed hard. “Then you keep it safe.  Don’t tell anyone where that dagger is, and we’ll trust you to control yourself.”

“I’m trying.”  She bit her lip, looking ready to cry.  “But it’s so hard, Dad.”

David just hugged her again, and held her tightly.

* * *

 

Calming that mob down had taken all the patience Regina had, and after that, she’d broken a few things in her office, fixed them, and then headed home.  Fortunately, it was her turn to make dinner, which meant she had something to concentrate on (particularly once she decided to make the most complicated meal she could think of, just to distract herself).  Roland was going through a picky stage, but he seemed to like dinner well enough, and Henry was still in the ‘eating anything you put in front of him’ period of being a pre-teen and now teenager.  She made sure Roland was in bed while Robin finished helping Henry with his history homework.  Apparently Robin had developed a passion for American history when he was in New York, which Regina found odd but very well timed. 

Two hours later, however, they collapsed on the couch side by side, working on their second bottle of wine.  Regina really just wanted to get drunk and stupid, even if that wasn’t a luxury she’d allow herself with both boys in the house.  Still, the thought was pleasant, particularly after the mess of that afternoon.

“I’m beat,” Robin said softly, leaning back and staring at his wine glass as if he expected it to jump off the coffee table and come to him.  “Is it really only nine?”

“Barely.”  The clock read 9:01.  Roland was sound asleep, and Henry was probably reading, but Regina had given up on trying to enforce any bedtime before ten for Henry.  He was usually pretty good about going to bed around 9:30, anyway, and who wanted to begrudge their son a love of reading?  It was certainly better than the video games he liked to play, but Regina _had_ drawn the line at letting her son have his Playstation in his room.

“Urgh.”  Robin slumped, and Regina reached out to take his hand with a smile.  She felt a lot more mellow after the wine, and although she still didn’t know what to do about the people demanding Emma’s imprisonment, she could leave that problem for another day.

“Nightmares keep you up last night?” she asked as gently as she could, trying to broach the subject now that she knew what had happened.

“Sort of.”  He grimaced.  “It could be worse.”

Regina swallowed.  “Do you…do you want to talk about them?”

“Not really.”

_Damn._ So much for easing him into it that way.  Still, Belle had been right.  If she waited, this would only get harder.  “There’s something I need to admit to you,” she said softly.  “The night before last, I tried kissing you on the forehead to calm your nightmares.  It seemed to work…but I think I got pulled into your dreams.”

Robin sat up straight in a hurry.  “You what?”

“I didn’t mean to.  I had no idea that True Love might work like that—”

“True Love?” Robin interrupted, and Regina found herself shrugging helplessly.

“I, uh, talked to someone else who had the same thing happen.  Not with details, just to make sure it wasn’t something I was doing on purpose, or—”

Robin cut her off again, but this time it was with a kiss. Surprised, Regina took a moment before she kissed him back, but she could feel his desperation mingling with joy.  Yes, his nightmares were horrible and Regina wished they could banish them forever, but at the same time, _knowing_ they were True Love meant so much.  So very, _very_ much.  _This isn’t stolen fairy dust and an inexperienced fairy.  This is real._

“I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, Regina,” Robin said huskily.  “And, I suppose that if I’m going to share these nightmares with anyone, it might as well be the person who I trust most in the world.”

“I…I don’t know what to say to that,” she whispered, touched.

“It sounds rather terrible, doesn’t it?”  His smile was crooked.  “I love you so much that I want to share my horrors with you.”

Regina laughed with him, squeezing his hand tightly.  “Terrible or not, I’m here with you.  No matter what happens.”

Robin just kissed her again.

* * *

 

By the time Emma got home, it seemed like _everyone_ knew about the fools who had tried to ‘convince’ her to hand over the dagger.  Killian had hunted the Dark One for years, so even if he hadn’t known Emma so well, he could have told them _that_ was never going to happen—a mother bear was more likely to give up their cubs than the Dark One the dagger.  _Is that why everyone usually holds the ‘heroes’ in such high regard in this town? Everyone else seems to have turned their bloody brains off._

“Are you all right, love?” he asked softly as Emma strode in.  She looked tired and worn out, like she was fighting with herself.  _Again._

“I’m fine.  I didn’t kill anyone, before you ask.”

“Well, I was going to ask if the collective mess of Dark Ones in your head had come up with a more creative alternative to killing, actually.”

Emma snorted.  “Not likely.”

“Well, then I’m glad you stopped them,” Killian said as lightly as he could, moving forward and wrapping his arms around her.  Emma melted into his embrace, and Killian let himself believe—just for one moment—that everything would be just fine.  She was still _Emma_ , for all she’d changed, and he loved her.  “After all, if you started killing every idiot in this town, only your family would be left.”

“Killian!”  A strangled laugh came, though, which made him smile.  “Don’t encourage me.  Or it.”

“Is the voice in your head at least sexy sounding?” he asked, because at least he had her laughing.  That was rare enough these days. 

“No.  Sometimes it even sounds like a woman, and I don’t know why,” Emma grumbled.

Now it was Killian’s turn to laugh.  “Not interested, love?”  She shook her head mulishly, and he grinned.  “Damn.  There go my hopes of a threesome with you and the Evil Queen!”

“ _What_?”

“I thought that would get a rise out of you.  Relax, love, you’re more than woman enough to keep me occupied.”

Emma gave him a mock glare.  “I’d better be.”

“Always,” he promised, and leaned in to kiss her.  It was a sweet kiss, and a simple one, and for a moment it actually did feel like they were back to normal. 

Maybe Emma _could_ fight this.  She’d managed not to kill anyone despite what the darkness wanted, and she seemed to be winning.  Yes, she’d done some terrible things, but Killian knew better than anyone how deeply she regretted killing Granny.  And yet…Emma wasn’t the only one who had regrets, was she? He was plotting with Mordred behind her back while she was fighting for her very soul.  What kind of man did that make him, if he was willing to disregard his love’s choices?  Yes, he had told Mordred that he wasn’t going to lead her into any trap…but maybe he should simply steer well clear of the whole mess.  Even if Mordred was right, if Killian helped him in any way, it really wouldn’t be fair to Emma.

Emma needed him, and that was what mattered most.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Thirty-Six—“Refining the Soul,” in which David tries to apologize to Ruby, Belle recovers her memories of her mother, Mordred learns to manipulate Zelena, the Black Fairy searches for her wand, Killian goes to David for advice, and Storybrooke’s angry citizens pay the Sorcerer a visit concerning Emma. 
> 
> Don’t forget to vote in the poll! It will stay open until I post on Friday, so if you want a voice in which way this story will go (Captain Swan or Swanfire), drop a vote on my FFN profile or on my tumblr. I’m happy to write either one, so I thought I would let you all decide.


	36. Refining the Soul

Will had tried to leave the day before, only for Mordred to ‘chance’ upon him and ask him where he was going.  So, he’d made some flippant remark about wandering around out of boredom, which made the so-called King of Camelot introduce him to a few pretty young ladies from Camelot.  Will might have been interested if said young ladies hadn’t made a point of telling him about how they’d been part minotaur just a few weeks earlier—and if he hadn’t wanted desperately to get back to his wife.  Unfortunately, Mordred had merely shrugged and said they would investigate getting Will back to Wonderland “in good time”, and Morgan had already told she couldn’t help him.

Morgan had, however, also told him who _could_ help him get home, and Will wasn’t about to sit around and wait for Mordred to decide that it was time to help.  Any idiot with half a brain could see that Mordred was obsessed with taking the Dark One down.  Will didn’t really disagree with that goal, particularly after his time with claws and fur, but he wasn’t willing to wait, either.  _I should never have come back to this bloody town,_ he thought, pacing along the highest wall of the castle and glaring in Storybrooke’s general direction.  _Next time you’re going to storm out in a huff, you moron, make sure you just go to the Underland or something.  Somewhere easier to get back from when you realize what a right bastard you’ve been._

Yeah, Mordred could deal with the ‘Dark Swan’ by himself, thank you very much.  Will had coughed up enough hairballs since being turned _back_ from cat form, and he was going to stay the hell away from the Dark One, Mordred, and the latter’s strange vendetta. 

Will was going to go _home._

* * *

 

“Ruby?” David called softly, standing half inside the open back door to Granny’s.  Ella, who he knew wasn’t one of his biggest fans at the moment, had just gone out with the trash, but David wasn’t here to talk to her.  “Are you in there?”

“Right here.”  As always, the werewolf appeared with unsettling quietness.  Snow had always envied Red’s ability to move silently through any terrain, but right now, it made David jump. 

Noticeably, Ruby didn’t apologize, although she always used to do so with a smile in the past.

“I wanted…I wanted to come apologize to you.”  He swallowed hard.  “What Snow and I chose to do…it was wrong.  We were so caught up in putting our daughter first that we hurt you deeply.”

“Yes.  You did.”  Her voice was flat, but David could see the pain in her eyes. 

“You trusted us, and we let you down.  I can’t begin to say how sorry I am for that.”  David took a deep breath, and the ghostly feeling of a hand in his helped him go on, because he _knew_ that the aching pain in his heart wasn’t merely his own.  Ruby had been Snow’s oldest friend, and they had completely disregarded her when they’d learned their own daughter had killed Granny.  “I doubt you’re ready to forgive me, but I want you to know that if you need anything, all you have to do is say so.  I won’t let you down again.”

“You’re right.  I’m not ready to forgive you.”  Ruby looked away for a moment.  “And as nice as the offer of help is, I think I have everything covered.”

“I understand.”  His chest was tight with regret; David knew that he should have come by right away, but things kept coming up, and somehow poor Ruby kept getting pushed down on the priority list.  He’d come by once, but she hadn’t even been there.

“Do you?  When you came by two days ago, you didn’t even ask where I was.”

“I…I guess I assumed you were grieving, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”  _It seemed like that was the least I could do, after my family has already destroyed yours._

Ruby looked him right in the eye.  “I was at the Golds’.”

She didn’t have to say more.  David understood what that meant.  Once, his family would have been the first people that Ruby turned to for help, and now, thanks to their betrayal, she would go elsewhere.  She already had, and that burned, even though David knew that he deserved the cold shoulder.  His daughter had killed Ruby’s only family, and he and his wife hadn’t even bothered to tell Ruby the truth.  _Or to even think about what it meant to her._

“This guy bothering you, Ruby?” a new voice said, and David turned to see a sharp-eyed Asian woman leaning out of the hallway behind Ruby.  The newcomer watched him distrustfully, as if she didn’t care who he was, and that only made him feel worse.

“No, David was just leaving.”  Ruby smiled at her friend.  “Weren’t you?”

“Um, yeah.  I just—I’m sorry.  Please believe that.”

“I know.”  She looked away, and the other woman put a hand on her shoulder.  “That makes it even worse, so you can go now.”

Nodding, David left with a heavy heart.  _Never again,_ he vowed silently.  Never again would he betray a friend.  Yes, his daughter had to come first in his life—Emma was cursed, and she needed help—but he wouldn’t cover up any wrongdoings to save her.  He would find the _right_ way to save Emma, without lies.  He wasn’t just a father, David suddenly realized.  He was Storybrooke’s only sheriff, now, and that meant he had a responsibility bigger than himself.

* * *

 

They had wound up spending the night in Arendelle, much to Rumplestiltskin’s annoyance.  But Anna had insisted, and Belle had given him one of those pleading looks that he never could ignore.  Those big blue eyes had worked on him even when she’d just been his maid and he’d been desperately trying _not_ to be in love with her, so there was absolutely no way Rumplestiltskin would be able to resist now that they were married.  And he _had_ told Henry where they were going, which meant that the only person who truly cared where Rumplestiltskin went wouldn’t worry.  So far as he knew, Belle had told her father, too, but his relationship with Maurice was a lot more peaceful when they avoided one another, so he hadn’t asked.

“See?” Belle hugged his arm to her side as they walked back through the portal and into the Sorcerer’s House’s courtyard.  “That wasn’t so bad.  You even enjoyed yourself.”

Rumplestiltskin scowled.  “I enjoyed dancing with _you_.  The rest of it was…unsettling.”

“You just don’t know what to do with people who aren’t skittering away from you in fear during social situations,” she said pointedly, which made Rumplestiltskin shrug uncomfortably.  She was right, of course.  People had been wary but not hostile in Arendelle, and that was strange.

“Let’s go inside and take a look at your memory stone, shall we?” He didn’t want to have another conversation about why he was so uncomfortable with people who didn’t hate, despise, or fear him.  Belle knew enough, and she was always the optimist who told him things would get better with time.  Yet centuries of experience had told Rumplestiltskin they’d all come to hate him soon enough, so he didn’t want to argue.

“All right.”  Belle’s voice faltered slightly, and suddenly her happiness faded to anxiety.  “Will you…will you stay with me for it?  I don’t remember seeing her die, but I know I did.”

“Of course I will, sweetheart.”  Wrapping an arm around her waist, Rumplestiltskin pulled Belle close as they walked into the House, which had opened the giant double doors leading in from the courtyard for them.  “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, but I’ll be right beside you.”

“I can show you?” Her voice was absurdly small, and he stopped to touch her face.

“If you want.  But you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want—I don’t think I want to do this alone.  To watch it alone.”  Blue eyes searched his face.  “Is that terribly weak of me?”

“No.  No, of course it isn’t.”  He hugged her briefly, kissing her hair.  “Now, let’s go to my study where we can sit down, all right?”

Belle nodded, and they walked down the hallway in silence, arms wrapped tightly around one another.  Rumplestiltskin had never known his mother—his father had told him that she’d left him with Malcolm as an infant—so he couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like to relive the memories of a dear parent dying.  But he knew Belle, who loved with all of her heart and soul, would be torn up by it.  She had been closer to her mother than her father, and if there was anything Rumplestiltskin could do to lessen her pain, he would do so without hesitation. 

They reached his study quickly enough.  The House had helpfully provided a vast room right off of the library it had given Belle, one that included a vast array of magical artifacts before Rumplestiltskin even moved his own inside.  Most of the items he’d been most worried about leaving out for others to steal or use lived in that room, and although he generally disliked the Sorcerer’s House’s habit of making autonomous choices, he approved of that one.  He also rather liked the study, surprisingly.  The airy room, complete with skylights and floor-to-ceiling windows, felt _lighter_ than his old tower or cellar workrooms, and somehow that complemented his new magic and new attitude far better than a more familiar room would have.

There was also a pair of blue couches in the corner, complemented by a matching window seat nearby.  That was where Rumplestiltskin led Belle, who carefully took the memory stone out of her bag and studied it as they sat down.

“What do I do?”

“Just hold the stone in your hand and will the memories back,” he explained gently, shifting so that he could wrap his left arm around her waist. 

Belle glanced up at him.  “How do I let you in?”

“Like this.”  Rumplestiltskin laid his hand on top of hers, with the stone sandwiched between their palms.  “When you see the memories, I will as well—unless you want to block me out.  If you do, just pull the stone away.  I won’t stop you.”

“I won’t.”  She swallowed, looking down at the stone apprehensively.  “I trust you.”

Rumplestiltskin just squeezed her, and Belle nodded resolutely.

“All right.  Let’s do this.”

Magic _pulled_ , and suddenly they were sucked into the vortex of memory.

_“Darling, we must leave, quickly!”  The speaker was a woman who looked terribly like Belle, simply taller.  Rumplestiltskin started slightly, and then he realized he was looking at his wife’s mother._ Colette, _he remembered her name was.  She looked frantic with worry. “Where are you?”_

_“I’m right here, Mother!”  Unsurprisingly, they stood in a library, surrounded by books.  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t leave without this.  It’s the first story you ever read to me, remember?  It’s what made me fall in love with books.”_

_Colette smiled, the expression as fond as it was strained.  “Of course I remember, my Belle.  Quickly, we must fleet befo—”_

_A rumbling noise filled the room, and both women gasped.  Colette, however, quickly pulled her daughter underneath a large table._

_“They’re here.”  Belle turned worried eyes on her mother._

_“We’ll hide until they pass,” she whispered, holding Belle tightly.  Through their connection, in the memory, Rumplestiltskin could feel Belle’s terror.  She had lost friends, so many friends, to the ogres, and now she feared her own foolishness might make her mother pay the ultimate price, too._ I should have left when Papa told me to, and not come back for the book! _Belle berated herself worriedly.  Yet she still clutched the leather bound book to her chest, and Rumplestiltskin knew without looking what book it had to be._

Thud.

_“Ogres!” mother and daughter gasped together, clinging to one another.  Rumplestiltskin had seen grown men piss themselves with fear in similar situations, had seen boys weep and knights flee.  Both women were remarkably brave, for all their terror.  A growling noise came from somewhere above them._

_“It’s going to be all right.” Colette spoke with too much calm, too much confidence, but he knew Belle couldn’t see that.  She was being beat too strongly by the whirlwind of her own emotions, remembering her fear and hopelessness._

_Suddenly, the table they sheltered under shot into the air, torn away by a giant set of hands.  An ogre roared, and Belle flinched—hardly an uncommon reaction—but Colette shot to her feet._

_“Mother!”_

_Guards rushed in, alerted by Belle’s scream, but Colette had already—inexplicably—stepped towards the ogres, her arms raised.  Belle screamed for her again as a daring guard grabbed the young woman, pulling her towards the door as Belle kicked and fought, and Rumplestiltskin was so busy watching her that he almost didn’t notice the brilliant white light filling the room._

_Colette’s hands were raised and her face set intently, her brows knitted in determination.  She was clearly unused to magic but summoning forth power from her love for her daughter, desperate to protect Belle with magic she_ knew _she had.  “Get her out of here!”_

_“Mother, no!”  A second guard grabbed Belle, and they picked her up bodily, pulling her towards the door.  “Let me go!”_

_An ogre reached for Colette, and then jerked back as if burned by the brilliant white magic.  There was a certain glitter to the power that Rumplestiltskin recognized; it was watered down and not quite what he was used to, but he_ had _seen this before.  The second ogre skittered away from Colette with a rumbling cry, but the power faltered as a third ogre tested it.  Then all three came on together, and Colette’s hands started to shake with the effort of holding them back._

_“Mother!” Belle howled, and Colette looked over her shoulder, just for a moment._

_Tears sparkled in her brown eyes.  “I love you,” she whispered._

_For a moment, the magic pulsing out of her hands grew stronger, forcing the ogres back long enough for the guards to pull the still-struggling Belle from the room.  But even as they crossed the library’s threshold, two of the ogres broke through Colette’s magic, and Belle caught sight of a giant club raising into the air._

_“No!” she screamed, and then everything went black._

The memory slammed to a halt, leaving Belle to sob in Rumplestiltskin’s arms.

* * *

 

Scarlet had warned him about the witch, but for all Mordred knew, the man was justifiably wary of anyone with magic.  Besides, the former cat hardly had the answers Mordred was looking for, which left him with a lot of work to do on his own—or with the option of asking Zelena.  Given that Mordred was in a bit of a hurry, having already re-enchanted his gauntlet to lead him to that which he desired, he opted for the latter choice.

“Is there anywhere in this strange little town that one might find a magic bean or some other method of creating a portal?” he asked Zelena.

“What do you need that for?”

“To get to the Enchanted Forest.  And back.”  He didn’t need to tell her the whole of his plans to tell the truth, or at least most of it.  Of course, Mordred really needed to get to the border between the Enchanted Forest and Camelot, to the land in which he had been born:  Orkney.

“Whatever would you want to do that for?”  She scowled.  “There’s not much left there, particularly after the second curse.  Even the survivors of the first one got dragged over here that time.”  A giggle.  “Much good it did them.”

“I have business I need to conduct.”  _And a Dark One to seal in her ‘own’ vault forever_ , he didn’t add. 

Zelena’s eyes narrowed at that, and Mordred couldn’t help recalling that he’d already been told she was unbalanced.   _Bleeding bonkers_ , Will had said.  _Mad as a fox in a henhouse._   Mordred wasn’t convinced of that, yet, but there was a worrisome light in her eyes that made him hesitant to trust her.  Hopefully, Will would be proven wrong.  He _did_ need a consort, after all.  Once he had completed his life’s work, Mordred fully intended to oust his father as humanity’s rightful ruler and get down to the business of having himself an heir.  Hopefully with a happier and healthier marriage than _either_ of his parents had ever managed.

“Well, I can’t help you there.” She shrugged dismissively.  “There are no magic beans left.  They disappeared while you were still off playing King of Camelot.”

“Then what good _are_ you to me?” he snapped before he could stop himself, and then forced a calming sigh.  “Forgive me.  I am—No, that was simply crass.  I apologize.”

Whether or not she was “conducting the crazy train” as Will so artfully put it, Mordred knew he should not be impolite to a lady.  Particularly one who might turn useful.  Zelena knew Storybrooke fairly well, after all; she’d tormented these people for months.  She _also_ had a good working knowledge of the new Sorcerer, whom she had actually controlled for a year when he’d been the Dark One.  Mordred could use that, but he would not gain her willing and eager cooperation if he was rude.

“No need to apologize.”  Zelena’s huge smile, however, said otherwise.  His apology—that of a king!—stroked her ego, and Mordred made a mental note about how easy to flatter she was.  “Because…while there may not be _magic beans_ in this pitiful little town, I overheard my dear sister talking about something even more useful.”

“Oh?  And what would that be?”

“I assume an object enchanted by the Sorcerer would do the trick?  That is, one that’s been used to open a portal before.”

“Definitely.”  Mordred schooled himself to wait patiently; Zelena was clearly enjoying stretching out the revelation.  “What do you know of?”

“The Apprentice’s wand.”  Zelena’s eyes gleamed as she wiggled in excitement.  “Apparently, they buried it with the sorry old man.  My idiot sister let them do that, though she seemed to think—as of a few days ago—that that was a mistake.  She was hoping it might do something against the terrible Dark Swan.”

Mordred couldn’t stop a snort.  “It’s not powerful enough.”

“Not for that, no.  But for your purposes?”

Crazy remained to be proven, but Zelena _was_ fairly smart.  Mordred would put off the idea of a more personal alliance until later, but for now, the knowledge she possessed would certainly prove useful.  Nodding briskly, he rose from his seat.  He had no problem using magic to dig the Apprentice up—Merlin’s little toady had been _almost_ as insufferable as his master, after all.  And Mordred was not a barbarian.  He would rebury the man, and no one would be the wiser.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Mordred was quite possibly the world’s most powerful idiot, because only someone who had taken right leave of their brain would ever go somewhere with Zelena.  Yet his rescuer had done just that, despite Will’s warnings, and it would serve the man right if he turned out to be Zelena’s next pièce de résistance.  Still, Will had _tried_ to tell him, so it was hardly Will’s fault if Mordred didn’t listen, was it?  And the fact that Mordred was gone—and Morgan was off doing who-knew-what, because that woman mastered mystery like no one else—gave Will an out.

So what if the castle’s owner didn’t want him to leave?  Will Scarlet had one mission in his life, and as far as he was concerned, he’d done as right by Granny as he could.  Sticking around in this town was likely to get him killed, and he had a marriage to repair.  Maybe he couldn’t do it, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try.  Watching Belle try to do the same had reminded Will of how very much he loved Anastasia, and what an idiot he’d ever been to walk away.  _We both thought they were choosing power over us, but maybe it’s not that simple,_ he thought for the thousandth time, slipping out of Mordred’s castle.  _Either way, I’m gonna go home and find out._

Getting through the forest was easy.  Will might not have been a Merry Man for very long, but he’d been a thief long before he’d met Robin, which meant he knew the ins and outs of getting around without being seen.  It didn’t take him long to get to town, either, and his timing was pretty good.  Most everyone who was heading to work was already there, and it was too early for lunch.  The streets were as quiet as they ever were on a workday, and no one seemed to give Will a second glance as he hurried down Second Avenue, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.  He knew where he needed to go.  Morgan had told him who could draw a portal, and while Will wasn’t dumb enough to try approaching the ex-Dark One himself (even if they had worked pretty well together to get Belle’s heart back from that steely-eyed Dragon Bitch), but he figured he could ask Belle for help.  No matter what happened, he’d always consider her a friend, and Will knew she felt the same for him.

Hell, being friends with her felt a lot nicer than the romance they’d tried to make themselves swallow.  _That_ little flirtation had laid heavily on his soul, but Belle was the kind of friend a bloke was lucky to have.  So, he ducked into the alleyway behind the pawnshop, skipping around to try the side door before anyone important noticed him.

“Bollocks.”  The door was locked, which meant he’d have to try the front.  But before he even got there, Will could see that the sign was flipped to ‘Closed’.  There didn’t seem to be any lights on inside, either, which meant no one was there.

Turning to his left, he glanced over at the library, but even from across the street, he could see that the ‘Be Back Later’ sign was out front.

“Where the bloody hell are you, Belle?” he half-whispered, half-whined to himself.  “I need your help.”

* * *

 

“Have you heard anyone talking about wands, dearest?” his wife asked as she walked into the room, and Arthur turned to face her distractedly.  He’d been working on list of those they could trust and those they could bribe; he knew the people from Camelot very well, but the strangers here in Storybrooke would have to be evaluated.

“I haven’t seen your sister, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No.”  Gwen—or Danns’, he supposed, as she had asked him to call him (an honor Arthur knew had been accorded to very few over many millennium; even Merlin had been reduced to calling her ‘Mistress,’ by the end)—waved a hand airily.  “I don’t particularly care what Reul is up to at the moment, so long as no one gives her the Heart.”

“We’ll find it first,” he assured his wife.  One of the worst things he had _ever_ seen was this beautiful and implacable woman with her power chained up and at a mere human’s whim; granted, her sister fairy, Reul Ghorm, had quickly relieved said humans of the Truest Believer, so that _she_ might control Danns’ instead, but seeing her like that had been heartbreaking.  And Arthur was not a man much given to emotion, nor to the illusion that his wife was not using him every bit as much as he was using her.  “What are you wondering about?”

“My wand was lost during my last exile, if you recall.  My sister claimed it, although I heard she lost control of it twice.  And I would very much like it back.”

“I thought you didn’t need a wand to do magic,” he protested, trying to recall the incredibly few number of times he’d ever seen Danns’ even touch the thing.  “Isn’t that a hallmark of what makes fae, well _fae_ , and not fairy?”

“It is.”  She sat across from him, gracefully sinking into a luxurious armchair.  There were many things about the so-called modern world that Arthur was not terribly fond of, but he was rather glad for the creature comforts offered here.  “But it is a secondary power, and I dislike the thought of it in others’ hands.  Besides, I do require it for the higher magics.  That is, unfortunately, a requirement of my power, as it is for all those born of faerie.  Even we Original Faeries.”

“Then we shall have to find that as well.  How goes your efforts to find other allies?”

They both knew that few enough fae had survived to come to Storybrooke; there were a few, of course, most of whom had worked in the dance studio with ‘Widow Morton’, but they would need human and contemporary allies, not simply people they had trusted in the past.  Arthur would work on the normal humans while Danns’ persuaded fairies and magic users to their side, and he dearly hoped she had more success than he had, thus far.

“There are a few possibilities.  Did you know there are two dragons here?”  She did not smile, but he could see the gleam in her green eyes.

Arthur sat up straight, his heart pounding in his chest.  “Dragons?”

“A mother and a daughter.  The mother is also a sorceress of note.”

“ _That_ would be useful, my love.”  His smile was big enough to stretch his cheeks to hurting.  They had started slowly—Arthur was not such a fool that he didn’t appreciate how his accidental killing of Snow White had alienated much of Storybrooke—but now the good news was beginning to roll in. 

First, they had found Colette’s daughter.  Neither would ever truly heal from the fact that their stolen daughter had died far too young, but they _were_ eager to get to know Belle.  And not only because her husband would make a powerful ally if they could draw him in.  She was all they had left of Colette, and while Arthur burned to get his hands on Lancelot and make him suffer for that betrayal, that would not stop him from treasuring his granddaughter.  Now, however, if they could add two dragons to their cause, they would have the nucleus of a truly formidable force.

They were going to do it, he knew.  Their mission may have failed in Camelot, but soon he would be humanity’s greatest and most legendary king—with the Queen of the Fae at his side, and her power to complement his.  They both burned for ultimate rule over their kinds, and they both knew they were stronger together.

_And when the day comes, we even have an heir, now._   Arthur smiled, and reached for his wife’s hand to kiss it.  Yes, this was everything he had dreamt of…and more.

* * *

 

“The fools are still out there,” Killian grumbled, gesturing angrily with his hook in the direction to the crowd that was meeting in the street for the third straight day. 

David sighed.  He didn’t need to look out of the windows to the sheriff’s station to know who was out there, and he knew that talking to them (again) would do him no good at all.  David had tried apologizing, Regina had tried bullying, and Emma had flat out taken to avoiding them.  The anger had spread to much of the town, as well, aside from those people who seemed desperate to avoid the entire issue.  Interestingly enough, Ruby—who was certainly the most injured party—stayed away from the grumbling masses, instead burying her pain in running the diner.  David, true to his word, was determined not to bother her until Ruby was ready, but his heart still ached when he thought of Snow’s friend.

He hadn’t forgotten the promise that he’d made himself that morning, though.  There had to be a way to help his daughter and do right by the town.

“I know,” he said heavily.  “They’re angry, and they’re frightened.  They feel betrayed, and I can’t really blame them.”

“You were simply putting Emma, _your daughter_ , first.  They do the same for their own families.”  Killian glared at the windows, but David shook his head.

“I’m supposed to be better than that.  _We’re_ supposed to be better than that.  There’s an entire town out that trusts us—mainly Regina and me, given that she’s the mayor and I’m the sheriff—to do the right thing.  And we failed them.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, mate.  You’re looking at things long-term.  Once Emma is herself again, the threat will be gone.  Of course that’s our highest priority.”

_He loves Emma, and has no other responsibilities,_ David had to remind himself before responding.  In truth, he was glad that someone was there to always put Emma first.  It made shouldering the rest of his responsibilities a little easier.  However, Killian’s words reminded him of their last conversation, and David decided there was no time like the present to face the music.

“Speaking of which, how is your, uh, project going?” he asked.  “You’d said that you were talking to Mordred about how to free Emma from the darkness.”

“Ah.  That.”  Killian looked away, seeming…embarrassed?  The pirate stared at the floor, scuffing the toe of one boot against the tile.  “I realized you were right.  It has to be her choice.  She’s trying so hard.  I can’t betray that.”

David let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  “That’s good,” he whispered.  “Have you talked to her about it?”

“Only about a thousand times, all with the same result.”  The pirate grimaced. “But not lately.  I’m leery of the backlash if I do.  What do I say to her, anyway?  ‘Love, I know I said I’d stand by you no matter what, but instead I’m going to demand you change who you are because I like who you used to be better?’  That’ll go over about as effectively as dropping the anchor on solid rock.”

“Since I’m no sailor, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you meant that as a bad thing.”

“Heartily.” 

“I’d suggest just telling her the truth,” David said.  “In my experience, that’s the best method with someone you love.”

“Yes, well, your experience doesn’t involve loving the Dark One, does it?” Killian snapped, but David could tell that his reaction was a response to stress, and didn’t take it personally.  He almost opened his mouth to suggest that Killian talk to Belle again, but the pirate gestured angrily at the windows once more, where Leroy and Doc were glaring in at them.  “Do those brainless idiots _want_ Emma to go on a rampage again?  Because if that’s what they want, I own a cell phone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Killian’s expression went dark.  “I’m not.  That’s the sad thing about all of this.  I just don’t know how to help her, David.  I can be there for her and I can hold her, but that’s not enough.  It’s driving me _insane._ ”

“Me, too,” he admitted quietly.  There had to be a way to convince Emma to take this path, didn’t there?  Perhaps David should talk to Mordred, himself.

* * *

 

Morgan was not one to wander around town.  She had done so, just to get her bearings, in the early days of the second curse, but she had quickly lost interest.  Morgan had spent so long away from people and society that she found having to socialize with anyone more than her son and Accolon rather wearying, particularly given the fact that there was little way for _anyone_ in this town to relate to a thousand-plus year old sorceress.  That did not keep her from watching, however.  She had watched the ‘Wicked’ Witch (whose alliance with Mordred she did _not_ approve of) with amusement, and had been slightly more alarmed by the so-called Snow Queen.  She had found the Queens of Darkness a little pitiable, and had been tempted to provide them with some much-needed leadership and guidance until the man who turned out to be her son stepped in.

She _had_ watched the Dark One with interest, never knowing what the drunk had named their son.  She couldn’t remember the drunk trickster’s name, either, only that he’d been interested and available, and Morgan had been desperate for _some_ sort of comfort, hating herself for reaching out as much as for what she had done.  She supposed that was a very bad recipe when it came to making a child, but how had the innocent boy she’d once looked in on become the longest lived Dark One _ever_?  Rumplestiltskin’s reputation said he was exceedingly clever, which was certainly proven by the fact that he’d had the Author write the darkness completely out of existence in that alternate world.  Had the fool Author not gone so far, changing _so many_ fates in such dark ways, the alternative world might even have held and destroyed the Dark One forever.

Unfortunately, the boy who she _also_ felt must be related to her had stopped that, which was an irony Morgan had yet to consider.  _If he is not related to Killian—which he apparently is not, for all that Killian is the lover of his mother—he must be related to Rumplestiltskin._ Morgan stopped cold, contemplating.  She had assumed that her son’s children might be here, but what was Henry Mills?  The boy had two mothers, but neither of _them_ could be related to Rumplestiltskin, or else she would have had four results to her spell, and not three.

“Oof!  Sorry, Miss…?”

Looking down, Morgan saw that the person to bump into her had been the very boy she’d just been thinking.  Henry’s smile was a friendly one, but he clearly didn’t recognize her—even though _she_ knew those brown eyes extremely well.

“Morgan,” she said with a smile.  There was no reason to hide who she was, not now.  Not with Arthur and his _wife_ here, that was for sure.  “I came with the second curse.  I don’t really have another name.”

“Then sorry, Miss Morgan,” the boy said.  “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“That’s quite all right.”  She had been headed for the pawnshop, but she stayed still to watch as Henry ducked inside.  He was greeted with smiles and enthusiasm by her son and his wife—a girl who Morgan knew next to nothing about, save for the fact that she had been the one to exile Rumplestiltskin when the darkness had nearly taken him over.

Ignoring Belle Gold was a mistake she would have to rectify, and soon.  But who could she ask for those details without arousing suspicion?

* * *

 

Henry pushed the door to the shop open, still thinking about his encounter with the older woman outside.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her before, which was weird for Storybrooke—sure, there were some people around town who weren’t really sociable, but Henry knew most everyone else.  And he knew _who_ most people were, even if he didn’t them often.  But “Morgan” was a mystery.

Unfortunately, she was a mystery that he would have to focus on another day.  Today, he had a lot more important things to do.

“Hey, Grandpa!  Hey, Belle!”

Both turned to face him with a smile, though Belle looked tired and a little sad.  It was Rumplestiltskin who answered: “Hello, Henry.  What brings you in today?”

“How was Arendelle?” He’d wanted to go, but he knew Emma would have flipped out if he’d asked to go, and besides, he thought that his grandpa and Belle probably deserved a little time by themselves.  Henry’s other relatives might never have noticed how they _always_ seemed to interrupt those two, but he had.

“It was…good,” Belle said slowly, exchanging a glance with Rumplestiltskin.  “But it’s better to be home.”

“I’m not sure you’re going to say that when I tell you what’s happening,” he answered wryly. 

Rumplestiltskin’s sharp eyes focused on him.  “And what’s that?”

“A lot of people have been after Gramps about everything that happened with Mom killing Granny.”  Henry managed to get the words out levelly enough, but he still felt his heart twist around in his chest.  “They tried to get the dagger, but Mom—Regina—stopped them and Emma left, but it’s only gotten uglier.  I think they’re coming here to ask you for help.”

“Me?” His grandfather looked shocked, and maybe a little alarmed.

“You’re the Sorcerer, now.  You’re not a bad guy anymore.” 

* * *

 

True to Henry’s word, the crowd arrived outside the shop within a few minutes.  The very idea of being the one whom the people of Storybrooke came to for help was utterly dizzying, not to mention ridiculous.  Rumplestiltskin met them outside the front door, because he wasn’t about to have a crazy mob milling about inside his shop, but he still wasn’t sure what to do with them.  Or himself.  Belle, by his side, simply squeezed his hand and gave him a brilliant smile.  _I’m glad one of us is confident_ , he thought irritably, but managed not to let his feelings show on his face.

“We need your help.”  Leroy didn’t waste time, at least, and he didn’t beat around the bush.  Rumplestiltskin could respect that, at least.  “The so-called ‘Dark Swan’ has murdered one person and turned four people into statues.  Not to mention turning Scarlet into a cat.  Someone’s got to stop her, and you seem like you can.”

“It’s…it’s a bit more complicated than that, you realize,” Rumplestiltskin replied as calmly as he could.  His mind was already whirling; he’d suspected this would be about Emma, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.  A month ago, the lynch mob would have been complaining about _him_.

“We don’t want her dead,” Whale put in.  “Everyone knows that would just give us another Dark One.”

“Just locked up.”  Doc pushed his glasses up nervously.  “That’ll keep everyone safe.”

“It won’t, actually.”  Much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, it was Belle who spoke up.  “When a Dark One is controlled—and I assume you want Rumple to get the dagger if any of this is going to work—it only makes them slide towards the darkness even faster.”

“What’s that matter as long as everyone is safe?” Ah, now Leroy was being as short-sighted as Rumplestiltskin had expected him to be, and he checked a sigh.  “It gives everyone a chance to figure out how to get the darkness out of her, and keeps her from killing anyone else.”

“Unless the darkness wins,” Rumplestiltskin countered, taking a deep breath.  He still didn’t like sharing his past with these people, didn’t like the vulnerability that left him feeling, but in this case, he needed to.  “Look, you all saw how I was over the last few months.  The darkness was _winning_ ; it was starting to control my actions and I couldn’t tell which were my decisions and which belonged to the Dark One.  That’s what happens to _every_ Dark One in the end—the darkness begins to consume them, until someone kills them and the entire cycle starts again.  And believe me when I say that you _do not_ want to deal with a Dark One untethered to a human soul.  That will make things a thousand times worse than you could ever imagine.”

“Yeah, but that took you, what, a hundred years?” That was Princess Abigail, who Rumplestiltskin had not expected to be with this group of reactionaries.

He grimaced.  “Three.”

“Then we’ve got time,” Leroy shrugged.

“No, we don’t.  _Controlling_ a Dark One—which would be required in order to keep her locked away—only speeds that process along.  Believe me.  I know.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to keep his face expressionless, but he saw several people exchange knowing looks.  He couldn’t help looking away for a moment, looking towards Belle for support, and she gave him a nod as she squeezed his hand.

_That part of my life is over.  Now, I need to spare Emma that_ , he told himself firmly, glancing at Henry.  Henry’s eyes were full of trust and confidence, as if he was certain that his grandfather could find a way to get these people to leave his mother alone.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how he’d come to earn Henry’s trust after everything he had done to him, but he was determined to never let Bae’s boy down again.

“Look, you have no reason to believe me and no reason to trust me.  But the Emma Swan you know—the one you trust—is still in there.  She’s no demon and she’s not suddenly evil.  She’s fighting off centuries’ of darkness, voices and memories you cannot understand.  If you’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt right now, she deserves the same.  Give her a chance.”

“We tried!”  Several voices objected at once.

“Look what happened to Granny,” Ella spat, glaring at him like it was his fault.  “And you _still_ gave her the dagger back.”

Well, he’d never much liked this princess, anyway, so Rumplestiltskin didn’t mind cutting her off at the knees.  “And you’ve noticed that she’s not killed anyone since, haven’t you, dearie?  We’re not talking about someone who chose dark magic.  This is a primordial darkness, the sum of human evil wrapped around a very fragile soul.  Yes, someone died, and it’s a tragedy.  But when I gave her that dagger back, it was part of a deal.  If Emma can’t stop herself, I _will_ take it from her.  Until then, however, you need to give her a chance.”

Ella’s face was red.  “What if we don’t want to?”

“That’s your choice.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “But you’re not going to force me to do your dirty work for you.  I know what she is, and I know she can control herself.  Give her a chance to prove it.”

* * *

 

Henry was practically glowing by the time they got back in the shop; the crowd had dispersed, albeit unhappily, and it didn’t look like anyone else was going to get ahold of Emma’s dagger anytime soon.  Leroy and the others had unhappily acquiesced to Rumplestiltskin’s proposal that they wait and see what would happen.  It probably helped that Rumplestiltskin was the only Dark One any of them had ever known, and they were accustomed to his self-control.  Emma had been unable to stop herself in the beginning, but she _did_ seem to be doing better, which presented a fairly convincing argument on its own, but Belle knew that peace in town hung by a thread.

_Back in the Dark Castle, when I was just mooning over my ‘monster’ and wishing he would fall for me, too, could I ever have imagined this?_ she asked herself, watching Henry bounce excitedly.  Even once she’d married Rumplestiltskin, she had never really grasped the entirety of the man he was beneath the darkness, but now she could see _all_ of him, and she had never loved him more.  Belle was a little ashamed to realize that she’d never understood how very selfless her husband could be.  Oh, she’d known he was capable of deep love and incredible kindness, but she had rather assumed that his selfish streak was, well, _his_.  Now, however, watching him help others without expecting anything in return was amazing.

The door swung open, making all three turn towards the ringing bell. 

“You’re arguing on behalf of the Dark One,” Belle’s grandfather said by way of greeting.  “That’s an interesting stance, particularly for someone who knows that darkness so intimately.”

“Is there a question in that?”  Belle could practically hear her husband’s stiff posture in his response.  She knew he was a little wary of her grandparents, that he viewed their motives with a Rumplestiltskin-esque dose of suspicion, but she disagreed.  Not that she wasn’t being careful about what she shared until she knew them better, but Belle knew that Rumple wasn’t exactly the type to trust quickly.

Arthur shrugged.  “Merely an observation.  I wouldn’t think that someone so acquainted with how dangerous the Dark One is would have given the dagger back, honestly.”

“I don’t need that power.”  The simple statement made Belle turn to Rumplestiltskin with a smile; once, he would have gathered _any_ and all power to himself simply out of habit, out of need for more and more power, regardless of how much he already had.  But not now.  Now he really _was_ different.

“Of course not.”  Arthur smiled, and started to turn to Belle to say something else, only for Henry to cut in mulishly.

“She’s my mom,” Henry snapped.  “And she’s not dangerous unless someone provokes her!”

“Then I hope no one does that.”

“Like _you_.”  Clearly, Henry hadn’t forgiven Arthur for killing his grandmother, but it was Rumplestiltskin who reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Henry,” he said softly.

“Sorry, Grandpa.”  Henry looked at the two of them, his features strained and unhappy.  “Can I go?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, Belle spoke up after giving Henry’s arm a squeeze of her own.  “Let us know if you need anything, all right?”

“I will.”  His smile was small, but genuine enough—at least until he looked at Arthur.  “Thanks.”

All three adults watched the teen go before Arthur asked the inevitable question.  “Grandson?”

His wide eyes bored into Belle, and she surprised herself by laughing.  “Step-grandson for me.”  She smiled, finding her grandfather’s obvious unease more than a little amusing.   “Rumplestiltskin was married a long time ago, centuries before he met me.”

“Ah.  Of course.  Forgive me.”

“Family in this town has always been a little confusing,” Belle replied, coming around from behind the counter to stand closer to her grandfather.  Rumplestiltskin said nothing, but she could sense his unhappiness, though that was probably left over from having had to deal with a large crowd of people more than Arthur’s presence.  “You get used to it.”

“I suppose that, given Gwen’s and my own convoluted family trees, I don’t have much of a leg to stand on.”  Arthur smiled crookedly, and then reached out to touch her arm.  “We were worried about you, though.  You seemed to disappear.”

Belle hadn’t thought that they’d notice.  She’d told her father they were leaving, of course, and she knew Rumple had told Henry, but she wasn’t really used to having someone else care where she went.  “Rumple and I went on a quick trip to Arendelle.”

“Arendelle?  Why would you want to go _there_?  And _alone_?”

There was something imperious in his tone that got Belle’s back up; Arthur was looking at her like she was some helpless little woman who wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.  Belle _had_ intended to tell him the truth—although she preferred to do so with both grandparents at once, so that she wouldn’t have to relate the details of her mother’s death more than once—but now she hesitated.

“We were hardly alone.  I have friends there,” she replied stiffly.

“You might have been hurt!  Do you have any idea what a valuable hostage you would be?”  He stared at her like she was insane.  “Crossing realms is dangerous!  I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

Rumplestiltskin made a small growling noise in the back of his throat, but Belle quickly twisted to face him, trying to let him know with her expression that she had this covered.  He nodded imperceptibly, and she turned back to face her grandfather.

“I’m not a child that can’t appreciate danger.”  Belle crossed her arms.  “And I didn’t ask for your protection.  This is _my_ life, Grandfather, and I will live it how _I_ choose.”

Arthur gawked at her like he’d never seen a woman stand up for herself before, and Belle just waited.  Finally, he seemed to gather himself.  “Well, you did inherit your grandmother’s spine, it would seem.”

It wasn’t quite an apology, so Belle continued to wait.

“I apologize,” Arthur said after another moment.  “I was simply worried.  Of course you were safe, and I don’t seek to rule you.  We just—we lost your mother, and neither of us can bear the thought of losing you as well.”

That admission made Belle soften.  “Well, I’m fine.”  She smiled.  “And perhaps the three of us can get together again soon.”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

 

Well, _that_ was fascinating.  Morgan had not expected to hear her long-lost son—no, _abandoned_ son; Morgan was always truthful with herself, even when the truth was unpleasant—advocating on behalf of the Dark One.  Nor had she expected that unruly crowd to let him, but they appeared to have listened, at least.  Was Rumplestiltskin so certain that this new Dark One could control herself?  Morgan had watched that fight, too, and she’d been impressed, despite not knowing whose lineage from which the new Sorcerer sprang.  _I cannot tell Mordred,_ she decided again.  _Even once I convince Rumplestiltskin—which should be far easier when we can use blood from_ both _of us to prove our relation—I must be careful how I tell Mordred._

Her eldest son was bound to be displeased by this; he already disliked the Sorcerer,and Mordred was livid over the fact that Rumplestiltskin had given the dagger back to Emma Swan.  If he knew that Rumplestiltskin was his half-brother…well, it had been Morgan who had stopped him from killing his half-sister once, very long ago.  She _thought_ Mordred regretted that lapse, but one could never be certain with her son.  He had inherited Arthur’s ambition and Arthur’s detachment, neither of which served him well when his temper was up.

And speaking of her dear stepbrother, he had just stepped out of the pawnshop.  When had hegone inside?  Morgan had allowed herself to be distracted by the dragon sorceress and her daughter, who were currently discussing—nay, arguing—something with one of the many princesses who lived in this town.  It had been a lively sight, watching the younger dragon take offense at what the princess said to her mother, but Morgan wished she had not allowed her attention to wander.  The last thing she wanted was Arthur speaking to her son.

“You’re keeping lower company that your ego usually allows for,” she commented idly, knowing it would make Arthur turn to face her.

They hadn’t seen one another for over eight centuries—although most of those years had passed, for Arthur, in his death-like sleep—and when they had last spoken, they had argued.  _Again._   So, the stepsiblings spent a long moment sizing one another up, remembering their old battles, and neither giving an inch.

“Morgan.”  He tried to sound cool, but she could hear the anger in his tone. 

“Your wife isn’t going to be able to bind _this_ Sorcerer to a dagger.”  Morgan smiled.  She knew ‘Guinevere’s’ best trick, now, and she would prevent it.  No matter what it took.

She had lost Merlin to Danns' a'Bhàis.  She would not lose her son to the Queen of the Fae.  Morgan had been unable to save Merlin, for all that she had loved him.  Even True Love’s Kiss had not been enough, for Merlin had never loved her the way she did him.  He’d fallen for Nimue, of course, a sorceress who was younger and prettier than Morgan, for all she could not rival her power.  Morgan had been too broken down and worn out for Merlin to invest in more than a brief affair with her, but she had hardly been the only woman who had fallen for his charms, only to lose him.  _The other married my stepbrother,_ she thought angrily.  Morgan had never been certain if the Black Fairy had chosen to impersonate a human in order to hurt her or Merlin; either way, the ruse had worked.

“Why would we want to?”  Arthur’s smile was far too satisfied, and looking at it sent a chill down Morgan’s spine.  “He’s married to our granddaughter.”

“Your—your _what_?” 

Centuries had passed since someone had caught Morgan so thoroughly by surprise, but she now stared like a lost child.  _My son_ cannot _be married to_ the _Fae’s_ _granddaughter.  No.  No, this is not possible._

Arthur’s smile only grew.  “You remember Colette, of course.  Our dear daughter who Lancelot stole away—probably with _your_ help.”  Now his expression grew dark.  “Unfortunately, it appears that Colette did not survive to come to this quaint little town, but her daughter _did_.”

Morgan stood frozen, staring numbly as she watched a kaleidoscope of visions tumble through her mind.  None of them made sense, and none were wanted, but she got the gist even as she struggled to push them aside.  This changed _everything_.  Her own lineage was full of magic, passed down from the Lady of the Lake on one side and Queen Mab on the other.  Rumplestiltskin was an original power now that he had inherited Merlin’s powers, and yet his _wife_ was descended from one of the three original faeries—the far more powerful of the two remaining!—along with Arthur’s own half-fairy parentage.  And yet…the Black Fairy had also absorbed her lost sister’s powers when the White Fairy had been slain.  _Perhaps…_

“Struck speechless, sister?” Arthur mocked her, leaning in close.

“Don’t count your victories yet,” she growled.  “I know what _she_ wants, and I will not allow it to happen.”

“Oh, Morgan.  You’ve always been so optimistic.”  Arthur laughed.  “Your power is all but wasted.  Even with Mordred, you can’t stand up to two original powers.  And we both know you won’t ally with Reul Ghorm again, don’t we?”

She glared.  He was right, of course.  Morgan had done the dirty work last time, getting the Heart of the Truest Believer for the Blue Fairy, enabling Reul Ghorm to exile her sister.  Then, fool that she was, she had trusted Blue to do right by the eight-year-old girl who was the Truest Believer, only to learn that Blue had locked the poor child in a tower and isolated her from her own kind for three centuries.  From what little information Morgan had been able to uncover, the poor child—now a woman of unnatural lifespan, thanks to the fact that her Heart rested inside the powerless Black Fairy’s chest—had finally died of old age during the first curse, locked in the convent. 

No, she would not ever trust Reul Ghorm again.  Just remembering her own role in stealing that poor child made her sick enough.

“I will find a way,” she promised softly, but Arthur only chuckled as he walked away, leaving Morgan to stare at her son’s pawnshop in despair.

_Maybe Arthur is lying_ , she told herself desperately.  _Or…perhaps he is telling the truth, but his alliance is not as solid as it seems.  I know enough about Belle Gold to know that she seems_ good _and not like a true heir to the Black Fairy, so perhaps that old prophecy of my grandmother’s is true. Perhaps the White Fairy’s likeness will be born again, not in face but in power.  Is it possible that Fionna Rèitear stamped her, not_ _Danns' a'Bhàis?  Could her soul come from the White Peacemaker and not the Dance of Death?_

_Yet Merlin thought that very same power had turned Danns’ for the better as well,_ she remembered.  _And he was so very wrong._

There was no way to know, but she was far too shaken to try to introduce herself to Rumplestiltskin today.  Morgan headed away from the shop on wooden legs, trying to deduce her next step.  If Rumplestiltskin was allied with her old enemy, she would have to find a new way to defeat the Black Fairy.  Otherwise, everything humanity had fought for might just be lost forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Seven—“Gone With the Harp’s Echo,” in which Morgan tries to stop Mordred, Belle and Rumplestiltskin disagree over her grandparents, Will asks Belle for help, Rumplestiltskin eats crow and talks to Whale about the wound in his side, and Mordred uses the gauntlet with devastating effects.
> 
> The poll has now been closed, with SwanFire winning with 72.7% of the vote. This doesn’t mean that Killian will leave the story or suddenly go out of character; SwanFire will develop slowly, and Killian still has a major part to play. Thank you to everyone who voted!


	37. Gone With the Harp's Echo

“Well, the mob didn’t gather this morning, so I suppose that’s _something_ of a victory,” Regina muttered darkly, glaring at the ancient computer sitting on the sheriff’s desk.

“I’ll take it.”  David sighed wearily; the angry crowd had gathered every day for three days, and he’d really started to worry that they’d have a full-scale riot on their hands. 

“Rumple might have calmed them down for now—which I can’t _believe_ I’m saying—but that’s not going to help us get their trust back.  Which I can’t believe I’m worried about, either.”  There had been a time when Regina would have scoffed at the idea of winning her people’s trust and would have instead insisted on their fear, but that was before Storybrooke’s populace had _asked_ her to be their mayor again.  She hadn’t realized how important that trust was to her until she lost it, and Regina wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“There’s no magical solution for that, I’m afraid.”  Her stepson-in-law met her eyes squarely.  “We’re just going to have to work for it.”

Regina groaned.  “I hate doing that.”

“I thought you were the one who said you liked doing things the hard way?” David teased her, and she glared at him. 

“Don’t you know by now what a liar I am?  After all the pain I put you through, even someone as thick-headed as you would have figured that out by now.”

David laughed, clearly knowing that Regina’s snarky response was a reflex.  What really surprised her was that she laughed with him.

* * *

 

“He opened my book of prophecies, Mordred.”

Morgan’s head was still spinning from what she had learned the day before; her _other_ son was married to the Black Fairy’s granddaughter, to _Arthur’s_ granddaughter, and that fact seized her with uncharacteristic indecision.  She had known her plan, had been confident in what needed to be done, and now…now she was not sure.  But she was certain that Mordred was rushing into his plan to defeat the Dark One.  There was no question about that.

“Your protections on that are nearly a millennium old, Mother,” her protégé and son scoffed.  “Nothing lasts forever.  He was lucky, I’m sure.”

“ _Or_ he’s a relative of some sort.  Is Killian certain his brother never had a child?”

Mordred rolled his eyes.  “Absolutely positive.”

“You are rushing into things,” she said for the fourth time.  “And you’re going to threaten a child to do it.”

“I know you find it distasteful, but she is the _Dark One._   If the gauntlet leads me to him—and I know it will—it is worth the sacrifice.  Besides, he’s thirteen.  That’s hardly a child.”

“Child enough.”  Morgan rose, walking over to look her son in the eye.  They were of a height, but she knew how to make Mordred feel small.  She rarely looked upon him with disapproval, and she could see his unease, but that did not make her step away.  “I will not support you in this.  You are letting your hatred of the Dark One cloud your judgment.  Emma Swan is not the real enemy here.”

“No, she’ll simply be a tool of that enemy.  That damn Sorcerer is a fool if he thinks he can keep the dagger away from Danns’ a'Bhàis,” Mordred snarled.  “He thinks small!  He refuses an alliance with me to help _the Dark One_ , when there’s a much bigger threat at hand.”

“One you did not tell him about when you offered said alliance.”  Morgan should have done that herself, but she had not thought that Danns’ would get her claws in so quickly.  Who could have predicted that Rumplestiltskin would marry her granddaughter?  _One who used the dagger nearly as adroitly as her grandmother.  I must remember that._   Was it too late to pry her son away from the Black Fairy? Morgan was not sure, and the thought terrified her.

Mordred looked at her like she was speaking nonsense.  “He should trust me.”

No, now was not the time to tell Mordred that Rumplestiltskin was his brother.  Or that her instincts told her that it was Rumplestiltskin who was mostly likely to foil Mordred’s latest scheme.  _Danns’ might be working to pull him to her side, but he’s also working with the leadership of this town.  I saw that yesterday._ Fortunately, as things stood right now, it was clear that Rumplestiltskin—and his wife—would choose Storybrooke over Belle’s grandparents, which Morgan was glad to see, even if it meant Mordred would be stopped. Sometimes, Mordred needed a loss or two to bring his ego under control.  Still, she disliked the idea of sending her son into danger, so she sighed.

“Do not do this, Mordred,” Morgan said softly.  “You do not know what dangers lie ahead.”  Neither did she, to be truthful.  A thousand visions about the coming days flitted through her mind, and all Morgan truly had was a prophecy that made no sense.  “The Vault will open today, but it will not reveal what you wish.”

“All I’m concerned about is it opening.”  Mordred smiled, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.  “Wish me luck, Mother.”

“I wish you long life, but not success in harming a child.”  She pulled away from him stiffly, but Mordred still walked out, confidence making his strides long and springy.

They both knew that Morgan couldn’t stop him.  If Mordred refused to listen to her wisdom, her power would not be sufficient.  Once, she had been more powerful than her son, but no longer.  Her years in a crystal cave meant that Mordred had all but outstripped her in magical scholarship, and her strength was barely beginning to return after the overwhelming feats she had accomplished at the end of the war.  No, Mordred would do as he pleased…and knowing her son would survive gave Morgan little consolation.  _He should know better than to threaten a child,_ she thought sadly.  _But Arthur’s ambition will always win out over compassion, I fear._

* * *

 

Belle loved her husband to distraction, but there were times that he drove her insane.

“I think that you might want to proceed with caution, that’s all,” Rumplestiltskin repeated stubbornly.  “There’s something…off about all of this, something I can’t quite put my finger on.  And something Merlin seems unable to say.”

“About my grandparents?”  That was new, and maybe not just Rumplestiltskin being paranoid.  Her husband might have been a much more open man these days, but he was still maddeningly protective over her.

“He did know them.”

“Well, obviously.  Can you pull him out so we can all talk?  Maybe Grandfather would like to see him—”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head firmly.  “I tried this morning.  Merlin’s fading faster than either of us thought he would.  It hasn’t even been a month, but if I pull him out again, I’m quite certain it’ll kill him.”

“Oh.”  Belle spent a moment swallowing that one.  Despite their somewhat rocky beginning, Belle had become rather fond of the old sorcerer whose soul was perched inside her husband’s body.  Merlin wasn’t a bad man, and she was willing to bet he’d been very kind and generous before his soul had gone through the meat grinder of death and darkness.  She would miss him—but Merlin was hardly the subject at hand.  “That aside, I’m hardly saying that we should do anything more than invite them over for dinner.  I do want to tell them about my mother’s death.  They—they deserve to know.”

A gentle  hand touched her arm as Belle’s voice broke; reliving her mother’s death had been hard, even a day after she’d looked at the memories.  Rumplestiltskin spoke gently:  “I’m not saying they don’t, but we need to be careful.  I know you want to ask them about your magic, but I think we need to wait on that.”

“Why?”

“Because we still don’t know why Lancelot took your mother away.  From what David tells me, he’s hardly the sort to steal a child, and something doesn’t add up.”

“He _also_ tried to seduce my grandmother.”  Arthur _and_ Guinevere had told her about that, although they had been very careful to say that Colette had been born long before that affair.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t even blink at that news.  “Then that’s double the reason to figure out what happened _before_ you tell them that you inherited magic from your mother.”

“Rumple.”

“Something isn’t right,” he said for the third time, and Belle narrowed her eyes at him.   It wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin to be so vague about what was worrying him, unless he was trying to be evasive about something _else_.

“Why don’t you want them to know I have magic?” she asked bluntly, fearing that she already knew the answer.

“Sweetheart, magic is power, and people often—”

“Oh, this is about power again?” Belle snapped before she could stop herself.  “I should have known that everything would come back to _power_!”

“No!  It’s about _you_.”  Rumplestiltskin looked hurt that she’d suggest that, but Belle wasn’t certain she was wrong.  “We don’t know if we can trust them, and I don’t want to see you dragged into something dangerous!”

“They’re my grandparents!  Why would they endanger me?” she countered.  “They’ve been nothing but kind to me!”

“They’ve been kind to you while they’re busy putting out feelers and making connections that will let them take Storybrooke over.”  His eyes were hard.  “They’re planning something, Belle.”

“That doesn’t mean their ‘something’ revolves around me.”  Belle knew that she wasn’t being entirely logical, but Arthur and Guinevere were the only links she had to her mother.  She wanted to _know_ them, to listen to them tell her stories about her mother’s childhood.  Belle _wanted_ a relationship with them so badly that her emotions were overriding her intellect…and she knew it.

“That doesn’t mean that it _doesn’t_ , either,” Rumplestiltskin said softly but pointedly, and Belle sighed, fighting back the urge to storm out before they started yelling at one another again.

“I’m going to go to the library, all right?  I don’t want to fight, but…I need some time to cool off.” 

“If that’s what you want.”  His expression went from mulish to worried, and Belle reached out to take his hands.

Belle had promised herself when she had decided to give their marriage another shot that she wouldn’t ever storm out on Rumplestiltskin again without telling him where she was going.  She’d done that too many times, and her husband’s fragile self-esteem _always_ made him think that she was never coming back.  And she didn’t want to fight.  She just couldn’t listen to his suspicious theories about her grandparents without exploding right now.

“I’ll be back for lunch, all right?”

Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hands, and she could see the relief in his eyes, even if there was something less self-assured lurking in their depths. “All right.”

* * *

 

Being the new deputy sheriff was still a very strange feeling.  Robin didn’t actually have problems with the law, or at least not so long as it protected those that needed it most, so it wasn’t that.   Yet he’d spent a lifetime looking over his shoulder for a certain sheriff, and it certainly didn’t help that a good portion of this morning was going to be spent in Keith Nottingham’s vicinity. 

“It’s about time you took me back to the asylum,” Isaac said as Robin helped him out of the squad car.  The miscreant ex-Author’s hands were cuffed behind his back, despite the fact that the idea of Isaac overpowering Robin to steal the car was rather laughable.  Still, Robin was a new enough driver that he didn’t feel comfortable _not_ keeping his prisoner secured.  Fortunately, Isaac hadn’t done anything other than complain.

“Really?” he asked incredulously.  “You _want_ to go back there?”

“Well, I didn’t think anywhere could be more dreary than the asylum, but those puny little jail cells are even worse. There’s no privacy in there, and I don’t even have my own bathroom!”

Robin rolled his eyes.  “Yes, David and I heard you say that about a thousand times.”  

“You know, there are laws against that kind of treatment.”

“In Storybrooke?” Robin couldn’t help laughing.  “You’re lucky Regina didn’t decide to put you in a set of stocks in front of Granny’s and instead settled for buying Henry a new iPod.”

Isaac really had a masterful sneer, even when he was handcuffed and being marched into the hospital.  “How barbaric!”

“Well, I’d tell you to call a lawyer and complain, but I don’t think any of the ones in this town want to represent you.”  Robin snorted.  “I sure wouldn’t.”

“That’s because you’re an ill-educated outlaw with no sense of propriety.”

“Right.”  Robin didn’t bother telling Isaac that he was rather well born; the idiot had written the Book and should have known that.  He just punched Henry’s birthday into the keypad leading down to the asylum, and led Isaac down the stairs.  “Come on.”

“Oh, I’m hurrying.  Anything to get these handcuffs off.  They’re chafing my wrists something terrible.”  The former Author fidgeted.  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask.  Can’t I get a typewriter or something?  I’ve got a new story I want to write.”

Robin stopped cold to look at Isaac incredulously.  “Are you joking?”

“Why would I be joking?  I’m a writer.”

“Spare me,” he muttered, and led Isaac to his specially padded cell.  It was right next door to Samuel Boucher’s, the butcher who had tried to beat Rumplestiltskin to death.  Robin had heard that there was still a betting pool in town about how long Boucher and Nottingham would live after that stunt.  Most everyone seemed to expect Rumplestiltskin to seek revenge, but over three weeks had passed, and nothing had happened.

“Thank you.”  Isaac sounded peevish, but Robin had worn enough shackles to know what a relief it was to get them off, so he just nodded and locked the door.  A squad of Regina’s old royal guard had been hired on to provide security down there, and he caught the eye of one of them, tossing the keys back.

“Quiet down here?” Technically, as David’s deputy, Robin outranked the guards, which he found very, very strange.  _Oh, how things have changed since my outlaw days.  I’m living with a queen who is also the mayor, and her royal guards respect me._

“So far.  These two like to argue”—the guard gestured at Boucher and Nottingham—“but there’s not exactly much they can do except yell a lot.”

“And give me a headache!” Isaac called from inside his cell. 

Robin turned and closed the viewing slit.  He really didn’t have the energy to deal with Isaac any longer, but he did want to peek in on his old enemy.  Nottingham had always been a slimy bastard, and Robin was never able to convince himself that the ass was out of the way unless he saw him.

“What do _you_ want, thief?” Nottingham growled as soon as Robin lifted the flap to peer in.

“Just to make sure you’re happy and comfortable.”  Robin grinned, and Nottingham glared.  “Don’t get angry with me.  You’re the fool who got himself locked up for assault and attempted rape.”

“Bitch had it coming,” was the muttered response, and Robin’s knuckles went white while he gripped the metal flap.

“You _do_ know that the lady in question is a friend of mine,” he grated out.

“All the more reason to put her in her place.”  Nottingham sneered, and it took all the self-control Robin possessed to not go in there and use his fists to teach his old enemy a lesson.

“I’ll just put that in your record, shall I?  I’m sure that the judge will be happy to know you’re properly repentant.”  He closed the flap without another word, almost shaking in rage.

Boucher had sold Nottingham out in their first hearing, of course; the two might have been friendly, but they were hardly loyal to one another.  He’d told the judge all about how Nottingham had wanted to rape Belle Gold, and about how he’d gleefully hung onto her and threatened her while Boucher had been busy beating her husband.  Robin hadn’t been there, but he’d read the reports, and he hadn’t really been surprised.  There hadn’t been a safe place for young girls in the town of Nottingham, which was why so many of them had fled to the forest, choosing a morally questionable lifestyle with the Merry Men over a theoretically more honorable one in town.  Robin had been a thief and an outlaw for much of his life, but he had _never_ been the type of man Nottingham was.

And it was really nice to live in a town where bastards like that were locked away instead of being the ones running things.  Evil sorcerers and Dark Ones were one thing: everyone knew they were a threat.  Robin could deal with that.  He was just glad that those in power actually deserved to be there.

* * *

 

It was about bloody time.

Will let himself in the library’s side window; he really didn’t want to be noticed any more than he had to be.  He had no idea how the rest of the town felt about him after he’d revealed who killed Granny, and he _really_ just wanted to go home.  Yeah, Emma had come to apologize to him, but he wasn’t sure she actually meant that, which meant he wanted to avoid the Dark One, too.  Really, he wanted to avoid everyone but Belle, at least until he found out if she’d help him, anyway.  If she wouldn’t, he’d probably have to go crawling back to Mordred, which would make explaining the night he’d spent in down by the docks instead of in Mordred’s castle  a bit touchy.

Then he tripped over a box of books that he just hadn’t noticed.  His arms wind milling helplessly, Will _almost_ caught himself on a rolling cart of books, until it toppled, too, sending thief and cart both sprawling to the floor.

“Oof!”

“What the— _Will_?  What are you doing here?”  Belle came around the corner quickly, looking down at the mess he’d made.

Will smiled sheepishly.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  I wanted to talk to you, and I thought I was bein’ sneaky.”

“It’s a wonder you ever succeeded as a thief,” she replied with a laugh, offering him a hand up.  Will took it gratefully—his left knee was sore as hell—but he made sure to let go quickly.  No way was he going to piss off Belle’s again-powerful husband, particularly when Belle had made her choice clear and he wanted to go _home_. 

_Assuming Ana will ever have me again after the mess I made,_ he tried not to think.  But, just like throwing darts at her face, it never helped.

“Well, I’m usually better when there aren’t so many books around, tryin’ to fall on me.  Never a book thief, me,” he replied.

Belle laughed again.  “Then why are you trying to be sneaky?”

“Habit, I guess.  And I’m trying to hide from Mordred. You don’t have him hanging out in here, do you?”

“No.  Definitely not.” Her face darkened ever so slightly, but Will hardly noticed around the butterflies bouncing in his stomach.

“Good!  Right, then, I’ll get to the point since there’s no reason to beat around the bush.  I need your help.”  Will hadn’t meant for the words to come out in such a nervous jumble, but just thinking about Ana made him into a nervous wreck, and he didn’t want to lose his courage now.

“With what?”

“I need to get home,” he said bluntly.  “To Wonderland.  I…I never ought to’ve left, really.  Coming here was a huge mistake.”  Will swallowed hard.  “And…an’ if you can patch things up with your husband, maybe I can fix the mess of things I made with me wife.”

Belle smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm, and Will was surprised how comforting a friend’s touch could be.  It had been too long since he’d had real friends other than Ana, really since Alice and Cyrus had left for home.  He missed them, too, but maybe once he righted things with Ana, he could convince the Rabbit to take them on a vacation together to see their old friends.

“You want me to ask Rumplestiltskin to make a portal for you,” she said astutely.

“If he can.  Morgan—who’s a damn sight nicer than her son, really—said he should be able to.”  Will shifted nervously.  “But, uh, I figured that asking him meself might be a bad idea.  Assuming he’s still likely to hold a grudge, that is.”

“I’ll ask him.  I’m sure he’ll say yes,” Belle replied.  “After all, he was willing to help before you disappeared, even though he didn’t have magic, then.”

“He was?”

Before Belle could answer, another voice broke in.  “Is this thief bothering you, Belle?”

Will spun, surprised to see the leather-clad pirate sauntering in like he owned the library.  Hook was even arrogant enough to give Will the stink-eye over the mess of books, as if it was all his fault.  Nevermind that it actually was.

“Why would I be bothering her?  If I recall right, you’re the one who likes to go around threatening people she loves,” he shot back, which made the pirate scowl.

“Say the word and I’ll throw him out like the trash he is.”

“No.  Killian, Will was just here to ask me for some help.  There’s no need to throw him out.  And Will, be nice to Killian.  We’re all friends here.”  She gave them both hard looks, but neither man was willing to call the other anything remotely like a ‘friend’.

“Ah, I’ll be goin’, then, if you want to talk to the pirate.  Assumin’ you don’t want _me_ to throw _him_ out?” Will couldn’t help saying the last bit a little hopefully.  He still hadn’t forgiven Jones for the black eye he’d given him.  _Twice._

“You’re going to need a lot of help to do that, mate,” Jones laughed, and Will glared.

“I’m not your mate.”

“Stop it!” Belle snapped.  “Both of you.”

Her glare made Will remember that he was here to get Belle’s help, not antagonize her, so he shrugged.  “Sorry, Belle.  I’ll go before I can make more of a jerk out of meself.”

“Are you staying in the woods?” she asked abruptly, and he looked at his jeans self-consciously.  Will had been sure he’d cleaned all twigs and dead grass off of himself.

“Maybe.”

“Do you know where the Sorcerer’s House is?”  He nodded, and she continued briskly.  “Then come by tonight.  Best case, I can get Rumple to draw a portal right away.  Or, if it takes a little longer, you can at least sleep in a bed.  We have plenty of room.”

Only Belle be so kind as to invite her one-time, sort of boyfriend to spend the night, and only Belle would manage to get her husband to agree to that, too.  But Will didn’t doubt her, not at all.  One of the things he’d learned in his short time with Belle was that tiny body and gentle smile hid a will of iron.  So, he didn’t argue.  Hopefully, he’d be back in Wonderland before it mattered, anyway.

“Thank you,” he said feelingly. 

He’d have hugged her if the pirate wasn’t glaring protectively, and who the hell had made Jones into Belle’s overprotective big brother?  It was ridiculous, but Will skedaddled out of the library before he had to listen to the pirate start asking Belle questions about how he should deal with his Dark Swan and her recent issues.

* * *

 

The wound still hadn’t closed, which meant Rumplestiltskin really _did_ have to do something about it.  Even mitigating the pain with magic was becoming difficult, and that morning—before their argument in the shop, which Rumplestiltskin was still feeling alternatively guilty and angry about—Belle had made him promise to get it looked at.  While he knew that he could keep infection at bay, and Merlin had said the wound would eventually close itself up, Rumplestiltskin did have to admit that Belle had a point.  Unfortunately, there was only one actual doctor in this town, which meant he was going to have to eat some serious crow.

Thankfully, the hospital seemed to be having a very slow day (probably a good sign, since it meant that Emma hadn’t given in and torn apart the obnoxious crowd), and Whale was willing enough to come out to the Sorcerer’s House.  They both knew that the doctor would charge an exorbitant fee for making a house call, but so long as it meant that Rumplestiltskin he didn’t have to sit in that plastic waiting room and get stared at, it was worth the money.  Besides, even if he wasn’t spinning gold these days—or spinning at all—his bank accounts were more than comfortable.  All the designer clothes in the world wouldn’t put a dent in that, and the pink house had been insured.  Oddly enough, they’d acquired a new house for free, which was excellent from a financial standpoint, and a bargain that his cursed persona would definitely have appreciated.  Somehow, however, Rumplestiltskin got the feeling that ‘Mr. Gold’ would not have enjoyed inheriting responsibility for the barely-tamed magic of the place, or the enchanted odds and ends that had a habit of popping out at the worst moments.

Point in case: Whale walked into the study on Rumplestiltskin’s heels, only for the grandfather clock next to the door to lurch forward and try to take his coat.  Along with the hat that Whale _wasn’t_ wearing; clearly the clock had a slightly outdated view on human wardrobe choices, and it narrowly missed hitting the doctor in the head.

“What the hell, Gold?” Whale demanded, jumping away from the clock like it might bite him.

For all Rumplestiltskin knew, the clock might—he hadn’t realized it was capable of moving until now.  Blinking in amusement, he flicked a hand at the six foot tall clock and sent it sliding back against the wall where it belonged.  “My apologies.  This house is…unique.”

“That’s one word for it!”  Victor looked around suspiciously.  “Is any of your other furniture going to assault me?”

“Not that I know of.  But we did just move in.”

“Very funny.”

Rumplestiltskin started to shrug and instead wound up hissing in pain.  The wound really was getting worse.  _Bad enough that it hurts more than my pride, anyway._   Victor must have seen his grimace, though, because he turned from sarcasm to all business.

“All right, what’s the problem? And why are you calling _me_ instead of just snapping your fingers?”  There was a very noticeable twitch from Victor’s left arm as he spoke, but Rumplestiltskin decided to ignore that unless the doctor called attention to it.  They both remembered their last conversation of this ilk, of course.  That was why Rumplestiltskin knew he was going to have to eat crow before the hour was up.

Fortunately, he was no longer the Dark One, so he was only dealing with his _own_ pride, not that of an elemental darkness and all its hosts carving out space within his soul, so he answered directly:

“I find myself in possession of a wound that magic cannot heal.  I need your help.”

“Is this where I channel your inner asshole and make you say something about needing science instead of magic?”  Victor clearly couldn’t resist, and Rumplestiltskin sighed.

“If it’ll make this part of the conversation get over with faster, by all means get on with it.”

Victor shrugged studied him for a moment, and then shrugged.  “I guess I’m a doctor, not the Dark One.  Then again, you aren’t, either, so I guess you should just show me the wound and I’ll get to work.

“Thank you,” he said simply, the desire to say something sarcastic not even very strong.  Maybe he really _was_ a new man.  Still, he knew that he wasn’t going to enjoy this one bit, even when Victor paused in setting up the medical kit he’d brought to look at him strangely.

“You really _are_ different, aren’t you?”

“This from the man who was a part of that mob shouting for Emma Swan’s imprisonment?  I would think that it’s fairly obvious.”

The doctor shrugged unrepentantly.  “None of us knew you before.  Popular theory was that you were an evil sorcerer before you became the Dark One.”  He snorted.  “Though that theory kind of got smashed when Nottingham and Boucher beat the snot out of you.”

Oh, _that_ was a pleasant memory.  Rumplestiltskin liked to think that he’d started to learn to live without magic before he’d become the Sorcerer, but those days had still not been pleasant.  _And the worst of it is knowing that I couldn’t even protect Belle when they came upon us._ He swallowed hard.  “I’d rather not be reminded of that, thanks.”

“Hell, I’m surprised those two are still locked up.  I would have figured you’d come up with some sort of creative revenge by now.”

“I’m not that man, not anymore.”  Those words came out more quietly than he’d intended, showing more of Rumplestiltskin’s feelings than he cared to share.  Was it that damn scrubbed-clean heart again, pushing him towards openness and honesty that made him so uncomfortably vulnerable?  Quickly, he gathered himself and dredged up a crooked smile.  “Besides which, you’ve been in the asylum.  Would you like to stay in there, wondering when someone is going to turn you into something nasty?”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Victor quipped back, and Rumplestiltskin found his smile turning a little more natural.  “All right, show me the wound.  I’m guessing it’s where Emma stabbed you?”

“Right in one.”

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin shrugged out of his jacket—which hurt far worse than he’d expected, even _with_ the magic he was using to dull the pain—and pulled his tie off with his right hand.  Peeling his shirt off was a little harder, though thankfully he’d stopped the bleeding days ago, which meant that the wound didn’t stick to his dress shirt.  _Small blessing, that.  I don’t want to think about how much this hurts if I were to_ stop _mitigating the pain._

“Damn.  That’s…what the hell _did_ that?”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced, not needing to look at the wound.  It was still raw and looked poisoned, with a black and purple latticework of lines spreading outwards from the deep cut like a toxic spiderweb.  Belle had noticed that the wound seemed to be getting worse just that morning, which finally made Rumplestiltskin face the fact that it really wasn’t getting better.  Oh, the wound would eventually close, but it was healing _incredibly_ slowly, and just keeping it clean with magic was no longer wise.

“The Dark One’s dagger, of course.”  He sighed.  “It’s a long story, but let’s just say that some weapons—fortunately very few—act like poison for someone like me.”

“Like you?”

“An original power.”

There.  He’d said it out loud.  As Merlin had pointed out, he _was_ one now, and there was no escaping that.  Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t entirely comfortable with what he’d become, but there really was no avoiding it.  _Not if you are going to win the battles to come,_ Merlin’s fading voice whispered, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to shiver.

“Well, doesn’t that sound special?”  Victor’s voice was dry, and Rumplestiltskin started to retort, only to yelp in pain as Victor pressed a disinfecting wipe to the wound.

“Ow!” He twisted to glare at the doctor.  “I kept it clean with magic.  You don’t have to do that.”

“You can feel free to trust your magic.  I’ll go with good, old fashioned antiseptic, thank you very much.”

“I don’t—”

“Keep your arm out of the way.”

Glowering, Rumplestiltskin moved his right arm aside, resisting the urge to shove Victor back with magic.  The wound burnedwildly at a touch, and if he hadn’t been using two different spells to reduce the pain, he was pretty sure he’d be screaming instead of yelping.  Even so, he could feel his breathing growing faster, and his chest was tight with pain.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin grasped a few threads of his own magic, drawing it inwards and trying to calm the wound, but his fears proved very well grounded indeed.  No matter how much magic he used, the level of pain remained constant.  _Great.  Now I’m pouring power enough to light up New York City into it, and it still feels the same as it did when I was using a tenth this much magic._

“You okay?” Victor asked unexpectedly. 

He hadn’t been listening, and Rumplestiltskin released the magic with a shaking breath.  “What?”

“Your entire body just spasmed.  What happened to your magic taking care of this?”

“I told you.  It’s like poison that doesn’t have a cure.”  Rumplestiltskin bit his tongue hard; he didn’t need to snap at Victor, and it really wouldn’t make things go any better.  “Will you just get on with it?”

“I _am_ working on that, you know.”  Victor finally finished cleaning out the wound and reached for a needle.  “You want me to numb the area with something before I stitch you up?”

“It won’t work.”

“I’m not talking magically.  _Your_ methods might not work, but mine will.”

“Fine.”

Fortunately, Victor was partially right.  The local anesthetic he used _did_ dull the pain some, and at least it spared Rumplestiltskin the feeling of a needle punching in and out of his skin.  The sharp, roaring ache of the wound itself didn’t vanish, but even that seemed to decrease a bit.  Victor’s stitches were neat and quick, too, which Rumplestiltskin was grateful for.  Even if he wasn’t very good at expressing that at the moment.

“You know, you could just accept the fact that medicine can do things that magic can’t,” Victor commented idly as he tied the stitches off.

“How _does_ your left arm feel, Doctor?” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help his grin.

Victor snorted.  “Well, _you_ can be glad I’m not left handed.  I wouldn’t want to stich anyone up with a magically-attached arm, after all.”

“What, doesn’t it work properly?”  He twisted to look at the other man quizzically, feeling a little offended that Whale had never said anything about his arm not being right.

“No, it’s fine.  I just always feel…weird, knowing that it was ripped off and put back on with magic.”

“Better than your way,” he said pointedly, and Victor scowled.

“ _Only_ in _that_ case.”  A pointed gesture at Rumplestiltskin’s side.  “You, on the other hand, weren’t served very well by it.”

“A rarity, I assure you.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted loftily, but he did really enjoy rehashing their old argument.  “And, no offense to you, Doctor, but I have no intention of ever needing to repeat the experience of you stabbing a needle into my side over and over again.”

“Well, then I recommend against getting yourself stabbed.”

They laughed together, and Rumplestiltskin had to admit that Victor had a point—at least on that front.  Not that he was ever going to say that medicine (or science!) was better than magic, but he was perfectly content to continue their mostly-civilized argument for the next few years.

* * *

 

“The sense I get from that wand is that it needs a rather strong dose of dark magic to create a portal,” Zelena said, which made Mordred turn to look at her.

“Your point?”

Her eyes gleamed.  “I thought you were some sort of _good_ guy.  With principles, and all that.”

“Sometimes.”  Mordred snorted.  “Others, well, I’m a practical man.  I do what is needed, and if dark magic is needed, that’s what I use.  It’s a balance.”

“ _Finally_ , someone speaks sense!”  She gestured at the grassy ground in front of them.  They were near the playground, right on the edge of the park, which was hardly where _Zelena_ would have chosen to put a portal to another world, but apparently Mordred had other ideas. 

He lifted the wand, and she watched him critically, feeling him shaping and calling magic as he did so.  Mordred really was a handsome man, made more so by the power he possessed.  Still, it was something of a relief to know that _he_ didn’t know how to make a doorway, either; he had to consult a page of handwritten notes that Zelena knew he’d gotten from his mother.  Part of her wanted to sneer at that, but she supposed that if _her_ mother had been Morgan le Fae, she would listen to her, too.  That woman was properly terrifying, in a dangerous and tricky kind of way.  A proper mother for a sorcerer-king to have, in fact.

One moment passed, and then another.  Mordred stopped the magic, scowled, and then started over. 

“I could simply summon us a tornado to take us there,” she suggested, growing impatient.  No matter how hard Zelena tried to school herself into waiting, it was _hard_.  She couldn’t wait to see the look on Emma’s face when Mordred’s plan worked out, and then _she_ would get her revenge, too.  Oh, Mordred wasn’t going to let her have the dagger and control another Dark One—which was such a pity—but Zelena was going to get the next best thing.

“No.  Getting back will be too complicated.”  He raised his hand again—already wearing the fascinating gauntlet he’d created centuries earlier—and began the spell a third time.  This time, however, Zelena could feel the difference right away.

“Ooooh, that’s different,” she cooed excitedly.  Zelena had always been a loner; she’d never imagined how much _fun_ it could be to work with someone else.  _He wants to make himself king of all magical realms.  So long as I can make myself—and my power—indispensable, I can easily be his equal and his queen._   Mordred wasn’t a sexist prig, unlike most men with power that Zelena had met.  Then again, with his mother, how could he have been?

“There.”  Even as he said the word, a door shimmered into existence before them, pine-colored with green trim. 

“Excellent.”  Zelena licked her lips, and then gestured at the gauntlet.  “You didn’t need that, you know.  I could tell you that the brat is the thing she loves most.”

Mordred shrugged.  “I prefer to be certain.  Now, if you’d be so kind as to go through the portal, I would prefer that our Dark One not know that I have assistance.”

Was he _crazy_?  “And what happens if your plan fails?  Then I’ll be stuck there!”

“Not with this.”  Mordred offered her the wand, which made Zelena blink.  “Worst case, summon yourself that tornado and go where you wish.”

“Right.”  She wasn’t sure what to say.  Zelena wasn’t used to allies who didn’t try to stab her in the back, and it only made her want Mordred _more_.  Now if only she could find a way to tie him to her, one he couldn’t get out of…

“Remind me, once we are finished with this, that there is another wand I must find,” he mused, turning away until he glanced back at her.  “You do recall the way, yes?”

Zelena nodded.  “I can find it.”

“Excellent.  Then when next we see one another, we will remove the Dark One from all the realms.  Forever.”

* * *

 

“You know, I used to hang out in this castle all the time during the first curse.  Then Mom got angry ‘cause Emma hung out with me here and knocked it down.”  Henry hopped up on his ‘castle’ and sat down.  He was thirteen, now, and probably too big for playgrounds, but the castle was still a cool place to hang out.  Particularly with a friend.

“Did Emma build it again?”  Grace asked.  “Before, I mean…”

“Nah, I think Mom felt guilty, because she put it back last year, saying something about how it wasn’t a safety hazard when it was built right.”  Henry grinned.  He didn’t really want to think about Emma right now; he’d talked to his mom and to Grandpa Gold about what had happened, and both had told him that they didn’t think Emma really could stop herself at that stage.  And she _did_ seem to be trying, or at least she hadn’t hurt anyone lately.  Henry thought that counted for something, and he knew that the Dark One wasn’t really his mom—any more than the Dark One had been his grandpa.  Still, it was hard.

Particularly when Ruby had been noticeably colder when he and Grace had stopped by the diner for lunch earlier.  Oh, it was obvious that Ruby was trying not to treat him differently, but Henry had always been observant.  He didn’t blame her.  His mom had killed her grandmother, and that hurt everyone.

“She really is getting better, isn’t she?  I remember when my Papa wouldn’t go near her, but he actually was joking around with her a little yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s kind of funny.  We were in town, and Papa made some remark about not selling us stuffed rabbits, and your mom got all embarrassed.  I guess she’d disguised herself as an old woman a long time ago and sold Papa my favorite stuffed animal back home.”  Grace giggled.  “I told her I still liked it, and she didn’t seem to know what to say.”

“That’s my mom.”  Henry loved Regina dearly, but he was old enough to think that getting mortified from time to time was probably still good for her.  It reminded her of what she had been, and kept her from relapsing.

“So, what’s up with her and Robin Hood, anyway?  _That’s_ a weird relationship.”

“Isn’t it cool?  He’s really Robin, too, and he’s teaching me to shoot a bow and arrow, and…”

* * *

 

Emma watched her son from a distance, trying not to let the sight of him smiling and laughing break her heart.  She was _glad_ that Henry was happy—he deserved to be!—but being on the outside really hurt.  She hadn’t wanted to kill Granny; to this day, she still wasn’t sure what had made her hands move, or why she’d twisted the crossbow around and shot Granny with it.  But she had, and every time she started to feel regret, the voices in her head only cackled gleefully.  _They_ were happy about it, even though Emma just wanted to be herself again.  Usually.  _If I could keep the power and get rid of those voices, if I could make my choices all my own again…_

With an effort, she tore her mind away from those thoughts.  Henry was what mattered.  Henry and…what was her name?  Right, Grace.  Jefferson’s daughter.  She was Henry’s friend, and Emma was glad for it.  But the girl didn’t seem likely to leave any time soon, which meant Emma’s grand plan to talk to her son alone would have to wait for another day.

Heart heavy, she turned away.  Emma wouldn’t ruin Henry’s afternoon the way she’d ruined his birthday.  She could wait.

* * *

 

As strange as it sounded, Robin had slept much better since he’d shared his experiences and his nightmares with her, and Regina felt that she really ought to thank the librarian for the advice.  She didn’t often actually _ask_ for help, but Regina realized that most people, when they did, actually went to say thank you to the person who had given it to them.  She was a mother twice over, now (at least informally), and soon to gain a third child once Zelena’s baby was born, assuming they could catch Zelena in time.  Regina had never liked admitting that she needed to change, but she did want to be a good example for all of her children, which meant that she owed Belle a genuine thank you.

A back corner of her brain reminded Regina that doing the _right_ thing like this might actually earn her forgiveness for having stolen Belle’s heart, assuming she did it often enough, but Regina pushed that aside.  She wasn’t doing this because she wanted something in return.  She was doing this because she _should_.

Once, a young Regina would have said that was reason enough, and she wanted to get back to that.

So, she pushed open the front doors to the library, only to almost run smack into ‘Queen Guinevere’ of Camelot.  The other woman eyed her imperiously, which immediately got Regina’s hackles up, and for a long moment, they simply stood staring at one another, locked a silent battle of wills.  _Regina_ certainly wasn’t going to be the first to step aside; this was her town, and she knew full and damn well that Arthur and Guinevere wanted to take it over.  Let the other woman get out of _her_ way.  She could stand there all day.  _Hell, I’m thinking about taking Mordred’s offer of an alliance, because A, he didn’t kill Snow, and B, he’s against those two,_ she thought, meeting Guinevere’s eyes blandly.

Suddenly, however, Guinevere smiled and glanced over her shoulder at the librarian.  “I look forward to seeing you later, Belle.”

“And I you.”  Belle smiled brilliantly, and Guinevere stepped aside.

“Madam Mayor.”  Somehow, when Guinevere said those words, they almost sounded like a thinly-veiled insult, but not quite.  Her tone was almost _too_ polite, though. 

Regina narrowed her eyes.  “Ms. Morton.”

Ah, that hit home, and Guinevere didn’t like it.  Still, she let Regina sweep past her into the library and then left, which was a victory as far as Regina was concerned.  However, she couldn’t help noticing how at ease Rumple’s little wife had seemed with the enemy.

“So, are the rumors true, then?” she demanded.  “Did our happy Camelot couple turn out to be your grandparents?”

Belle bristled.  “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but yes.”

The hostile answer made Regina blink.  “Easy, there, Bookworm, I wasn’t trying to be offensive.  I was just curious.”

“You have a very abrasive way of showing your curiosity,” Belle replied dryly.

“What crawled up your skirts?”  The younger woman wasn’t usually like this; she was usually Rumple’s sweetness and light, and all that other nauseating crap.  Clearly, something was going on.

Belle sighed.  “Nothing.  I’m sorry.  It’s not you I’m angry with.”

Oh, that made everything clear.  “What’d he do _this_ time?”

“Nothing.  We’re simply disagreeing.  People do that.”  But Regina could tell by the look on Belle’s face that it was more than that.  She hardly wanted to be the other woman’s confidant, but she _was_ curious.

“About your family?” she guessed, gesturing towards the door Guinevere had just walked out of.  Regina snorted.  “Let me guess.  Rumple doesn’t trust them.”

Belle simply crossed her arms, clearly not wanting to get into this discussion with Regina.  _Well, too bad.  You’re having it._

“He’s right, you know.  Those two want to take over Storybrooke.  They’ve got their knights out talking to people, and Arthur’s squire is making an ass out of himself trying to learn every law we have.  He’s making noises about _elections_ , as if that would get Arthur in power.” Regina rolled her eyes.  “As if we’d let any of the people from Camelot vote.”

“I’m sure it’s far less sinister than you’re making it out to be.”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  But if there’s one thing I know about royalty, it’s that we _like_ ruling.  I learned to put it down, and I didn’t come back into office until people wanted me here.”  That had been a hard lesson, but one Regina was quite sure she was better for.  “I guarantee you that neither of _them_ has ever learned that.”

“That doesn’t make them bad people,” Belle protested.

“I never said it did.  Ambition isn’t evil.  Believe me, I know the difference.” Regina thought about that one for a moment.  “So does Rumple, come to think about it.”

“I am _not_ going to pull you in the middle of a _minor_ disagreement my husband and I are having.”

“Good!  I don’t want to be in the middle of _anything_ the two of you get up to, frankly.  Ew.”  She didn’t want to _think_ about what they got up to, either.  Not ever.  So, Regina quickly changed the subject to the one she’d come there for.  “Besides, I didn’t come here to talk about him.  I came here to thank you.”

Immediately, Belle’s slightly distrustful expression warped into confusion.  “Thank me? For what?”

“For…for answering my questions about nightmares and True Love.”  Now that she’d started, Regina found the topic rather awkward, and she shrugged uncomfortably.  “It helped, I think.  Both of us.”

“I’m glad.”  Belle smiled kindly.  “Robin’s my friend, you know.  And I know how he feels about you.  I’m happy for you both.”

“It’s still weird, all right?” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now the words had come out, and she felt her cheeks heat slightly.

“I know.”  Belle laughed softly.  “Believe me, I know.”

* * *

 

Zelena had been right.  Once Mordred willed the gauntlet’s magic outwards, it led him straight to the boy.  He had a few mixed feelings about the child, particularly given the fact that he seemed dear to his nephew.  Mordred had decided to leave Killian out of this plan entirely; now that he had Zelena on his side, he really didn’t need Killian to watch his back.  There were enough spells on the door that it would take the Dark One an hour or two to break through, and that would give him plenty of time.  There was no need to ask Killian to choose.  _It is not his fault that she’s manipulating him like this,_ he told himself yet again, trying not to be frustrated with his nephew’s continued love for a monster. 

Besides, by the end of the day, that would not matter.  Killian’s heart might be broken, and he might never trust Mordred again, but he would at least be free of the demon.  Forever.  _And if the price to be paid is that I must trap my best friend’s soul as well, I will do it.  Nothing is too high to keep the Dark One’s power out of the Black Fairy’s hands._

Magic tingled in his palm as Mordred walked across the playground; a few children saw him and looked his way curiously, but none shouted an alarm.  They were children of the Enchanted Forest, after all, and a man with a metal glove on, using magic, was probably quite normal for them.  Or at least not abnormal enough to ignore their games of—of, well, whatever they were playing.  Aside from one group playing knights and dragons, Mordred realized that he couldn’t recognize _any_ of the children’s games.  He really needed someone to tell him about this town, this world.  Someone other than Zelena, who had not spent much time in it herself, or his mother, who ignored most everyone.  But that would be a project for when he returned from disposing of the Dark One.

Young Henry Mills sat on some sort of wooden castle-like thing, talking to a girl of about his own age.  The fact that the two were allowed to socialize unsupervised made him a little uneasy.  What kind of morals did this world have?

No matter.  Mordred did not have time to care about that. 

“Henry Mills,” he called, approaching the pair from behind. 

“Yeah?” The boy turned, but his eyes went wide when he caught sight of the gauntlet, and he jumped down from his perch.  “Grace, go.  Get out of here.”

“What?  Why?”

“Just trust me, go!”

He really was a smart child.  Mordred didn’t know how the boy recognized the gauntlet, but that didn’t really matter.  Clearly, Henry knew enough to be frightened, and that was _exactly_ what Mordred wanted.  After all, there was no point in kidnapping the boy if his mother didn’t realize he was gone.  Mordred was patient, but he was not prepared to wait _that_ long.

Grace scurried away, and Mordred walked forward.  The boy backed away from him, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket—Mordred knew what _those_ were; his mother had insisted on getting him one, and he hated the infernal device.  Killian had tried to show him out to use it, but he’d mostly ignored those instructions.  However, he had no intention of letting Henry call for help so easily, so he waved a hand and the phone clattered away from the teen.

Henry leapt for it, but Mordred teleported himself in a swirl of maroon smoke, landing right behind Henry and bringing his gauntleted hand down on his shoulder.  “Not so fast.”

Predictably, the boy tried to jerk away, but Mordred had enchanted the gauntlet with extra strength long ago, so Henry’s fight was pointless.  Mordred held him easily.

“Let go of me!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he replied bluntly.  “I have need of you.  If your mother does as she’s told, you won’t be harmed.  If not, I’m afraid I cannot make any promises.”

“They’ll _both_ kill you for this,” Henry swore, and for a moment, Mordred missed a beat.

“Oh, yes.  Your adopted mother, Regina.  You think they’ll both come for you.”

“Of course they will!”

“Well, you can’t really reach her right now, can you?”  Did he have to spell it out for the boy, or would Henry get the message?  Probably not.  “ _Either_ of them,” he stressed, and then he saw realization flicker in strangely familiar brown eyes.

He tightened his hand on the boy’s shoulder, just to make sure Henry understood how dangerous the situation was.  Mordred was already focusing on the doorway, already beginning to pull them in that direction, when Henry started to shout:

_“Emma—_ ”

They arrived right outside the door, and Mordred yanked it open.  Henry finished his cry right on cue.

_“—Swan!”_

He knew that tradition dictated calling the Dark One three times, but a desperate call from her own son would certainly do the trick.  He could already feel magic stirring, could feel Henry trying to yank away.

Just as the Dark One appeared, Mordred dragged the boy through the door and into the Enchanted Forest.

* * *

 

Henry’s desperation had _burned_ into Emma’s very soul, and she’d taken herself to him without thinking, only knowing that her son was calling for her and he was afraid.  Emma gathered power to herself even as she teleported, digging into the darkness, into her own magic, and into everything she had.  She didn’t care what it took.  She was going to save her son.

But Emma arrived only in time to watch Mordred drag Henry through a wooden doorway that stood in the middle of nowhere. 

_“Henry!”_ she screamed, leaping forward.  Her heart was pounding in her ears, magic roaring through her, ready to fight and ready to kill.

“Mom—!”

The door slammed shut, and Emma smashed right into it.  But she didn’t care.  Frantically, she grabbed the knob and twisted, almost breaking it right off in her haste.  But the door wouldn’t budge, not even when she slammed her fists into it as hard as she could. 

“Henry!”  Rage made her even thinking hard, and the voices screaming inside her didn’t help.  _Kill him!  Kill the man who took someone we love!  Rip him to pieces and make him suffer._   Magic whipped around her wildly, tearing at the door, at the trees, and at the very ground.  Emma hadn’t lost control like this since the beginning, but she didn’t give a damn.  _Get through the door.  Kill him!_

“I’m trying!” she snarled, finally getting ahold of her temper enough to take a step back and raise her hands.

Gritting her teeth, Emma blasted every bit of fury she felt at the door, only to be thrown back fifteen feet, landing hard on her back.  The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she was the Dark One and didn’t really need pedestrian things like air, so she got up and tried again, this time with even more power, summoning her own magic in addition to the darkness.

Again, she was thrown back, although this time Emma managed not to fall.

And this time, she knew. 

She couldn’t get through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we see Mordred’s plan coming to fruition! Do you think Emma will get through the barrier, or will she have to go get help?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Thirty-Eight—“This Squalid Destiny,” in which Emma faces off with Mordred, family members follow her desperately, Killian confronts his grandmother, and Rumplestiltskin makes a choice that will change everything.


	38. This Squalid Destiny

Emma didn’t know where to go.   Her first instinct was to go to Regina; she was Henry’s other mother, and she knew a lot about magic.  But if Emma’s magic couldn’t open that door, Regina’s wouldn’t be able to, either, because Emma was more powerful.  And power _mattered_ ; she remembered how skillful and powerful Mordred was, particularly now that her temper was under tight control.  _I can’t save Henry if I freak out,_ she told the darkness firmly, willing it to be silent.  Oh, she’d give it what it wanted, but not yet.  First, she needed to get to wherever Henry had gone.

And for that, she needed the Sorcerer.

Decision made, Emma teleported herself straight into his house.  She landed in the library because she’d been there before, ignoring the telltale shiver of magic that ran through her as she bludgeoned her way through his wards.  _They weren’t designed to keep me out,_ she realized with surprise.  Was he expecting her?

“Emma.  What are you doing here?” Rumplestiltskin stood in the doorway, clad in nothing but trousers and a button-down shirt, and looking surprised.  For a moment, Emma’s mind goggled at the fact that she’d only seen him without the jacket and tie when he’d been stabbed and poisoned, but she quickly got over that.

“Mordred took Henry!”

“He _what_?” Magic reverberated through the air, heavy and dangerous, and part of Emma utterly _sang_ with joyous fury.

“He took Henry,” she repeated in a snarl.  “Through some doorway, a portal or something.  I couldn’t go through and I couldn’t see where it went, but he _took_ him.”

_Don’t trust him,_ the darkness whispered.  _Kill him and take his power.  Then you can save the boy._ For a moment, Emma wanted to listen; Rumplestiltskin had _taken_ the dagger from her—but he had also given it back.  _Shut up,_ she told the darkness.  _He’s Henry’s grandfather.  He’ll help me for Henry’s sake._

_I think he already has._

The darkness didn’t like that at all, but Emma managed to ignore it as her son’s grandfather twitched his fingers, making magic she couldn’t quite identify shoot out of the room.  Then he nodded briskly.  “Take me to the door.”

Emma didn’t bother to ask; she simply swept him up with her magic as well, teleporting Rumplestiltskin with her.  He grimaced as they landed inches away from the door, but didn’t complain, instead running his hand over the wood in silence.  He studied the doorway, eyes narrowed, but Emma couldn’t feel him _doing_ anything.  Rumplestiltskin was just standing there like some damned fascinated scholar while Henry was in danger!

“Well?”

“The door leads to the Enchanted Forest,” he said slowly.  “But it’s warded.”

“I could have told you that.  I couldn’t get through it.  That’s why I came to _you_.” Emma glared.

“Even if you could have broken the wards, you wouldn’t have made it through.  The Dark One is…repelled by the Sorcerer’s magic, and this portal was created by the Apprentice’s wand.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted out a humorless laugh.  “Believe me, no one knows better than I that a Dark One cannot get through a portal created by the Sorcerer’s magic unless the Sorcerer allows it.”

“You’re the damned Sorcerer,” she spat.  “Unless you were lying about that.”

He wasn’t, though.  The darkness in Emma knew that, recognized its old enemy.  She was just too angry to care about what she said.  Too worried.  Her chest was tight and _everything_ was wrong, because Henry was in danger.  She had to get to him.  Had to save him.  She didn’t know what Mordred wanted, but if he wasn’t going to let her get to Henry—

_Kill him.  Kill them all._

“Calm yourself, Miss Swan.  I—”

“Take the damn wards down so we can get through!” she snarled, her hand reaching out—almost on its own—to grab Rumplestiltskin by the front of the shirt and shake him.  Hard.

“Enough.”  His hand clamped down on her wrist, and she felt him using magic to break her grip. But Emma let him, still seething.  “I’m not going to open this portal.  Do you think me mad?  There’s no knowing what traps Mordred might have laid on the other side.”

The words burst out of her uncontrollably.  “We have to get to Henry!”

“Of course we do,” he agreed.  “And we’ll go, but not through this portal.  I’ll draw us another one.”

“Another?” Emma eyed the existing door warily.  She could break through those wards with enough time.  She could call Regina and they could do it together.  Maybe trusting Rumplestiltskin was a bad idea.  He’d never been exactly honest, and although some of that had been the darkness, he was still a smart and tricky bastard.  He might mean exactly what he said, and then leave her here.  Or there.  Who was to know what he might do?

“As you said, I am the Sorcerer.”  Brown eyes met hers, and Emma tried to calm her raging worry.  “Henry is my grandson, Emma.  I will not let anyone endanger him,” he said softly.  “We’ll find him together, and then bring him home.”

“Why should I trust you?” she whispered, her voice tiny.

“Because I lost my son through a portal to another realm when he was only a little older than Henry is now.  I will _not_ let the same happen to my grandson.”

* * *

 

Regina was walking out of the library when her phone rang.  She answered without even looking at the number.  “Hello?”

“It’s Jefferson,” came the unexpected answer. 

“What are you—”

“Grace and Henry were hanging out in the park, and she says some strange man came up with a metal gauntlet and grabbed Henry.  She didn’t know who he was, but I think it was Mordred.”

Regina almost dropped her phone.  “ _What?_ ”

“She says they went through a door,” Jefferson confirmed.  “I don’t know anything else, but I wanted to call you as quickly as I could.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, feeling cold and afraid.  Regina hung up the phone mechanically, and then hit Henry’s speed dial.  _Please let Grace be wrong._ One ring.  _Please let her be wrong._ Two rings.  _Henry’s going to answer and everything’s going to be fine._

Three rings.

And then four.

“You’ve reached Henry Mills.  Either I can’t answer the phone because I’m in Camelot, or Mom grounded me and took my phone after she heard my voicemail message.  I’ll call you back when I can.  Bye!”

Regina hung up and called again.  The phone went straight to voicemail.

“No,” she whispered, this time the word tumbling out verbally.  “No, this can’t be happening.”

“Regina?”  Belle’s voice came from behind her.

She called again, and one, two, and then four rings later, Henry’s cheerful voicemail message picked up.  Regina almost threw the phone against the wall in frustration.  “Henry’s gone,” she whispered.

A hand landed on her arm, surprisingly gently, as Belle asked: “What happened?”

“Jefferson—that was Jefferson who called.  He said Grace saw Mordred take Henry through a portal, or a door…God, I didn’t even ask _where_ in the park they were.  And I don’t know what the _hell_ Mordred would want with my son!  I’m such an idiot!”

“You’re not an idiot.  And I think I can help with what happened.”

Surprised, Regina twisted to face Belle, not sure she’d heard properly.  Yes, Rumple’s little sweetheart had magic now, but she was utterly untrained and—was that a magical note of some sort she was holding in her hands?  Regina snatched it.  “What’s this?”

“It just appeared. It’s from Rumple.”

Quickly, Regina read the magically-drawn script, her heart hammering wildly in her throat.  She’d seen Rumplestiltskin’s handwriting enough times to recognize its magical counterpart, but the words did little to make her feel better.

_Belle—Mordred took Henry to another realm.  I’ve followed with Emma.  I hope to be back soon.  Stay safe.  Love you, R._

“This is next to useless,” Regina growled.

“No, it isn’t.”  She looked up and was startled to see the determination in Belle’s eyes.  “If we can find the door, between the two of us, I’m sure we can get it open.”

“I don’t need help from you with magic,” she snapped reflexively.

Belle rolled her eyes.  “With all due respect, you’ve got plenty of power, but if it’s a doorway, it’s the Sorcerer’s magic—or at least the Apprentice’s.  And which one of us has been reading those books alongside Rumple for the last month?”

Regina had to admit that she had a point.  Without saying so, of course.  “Fine.  Let’s go.”

She didn’t wait for permission; Regina just teleported herself and the librarian straight to the park, and started calling Henry’s phone again so that she could hear it ringing. 

* * *

 

The door shimmered into existence a few feet away, nearly identical to the one Mordred had used the Apprentice’s wand to create, though darker in color.  Rumplestiltskin had used his will to shape its destination, reaching beyond what he could sense with his own magic and into a realm he had once been so very desperate to leave.  His door mirrored Mordred’s, but it grew blacker around the edges, quickly becoming an inverse of the other door.  Rumplestiltskin twitched his fingers, tying the magic off, and reached for the doorknob.

“Take my arm.”

“What?” Emma looked at him like he was crazy, her hazel eyes narrowed and dark.  Clearly, everything within her was rebelling against the idea of touching him, though he wasn’t sure if it was the Dark One’s hatred of the Sorcerer at play or Emma’s own feelings. 

“What you _are_ disagrees with the Sorcerer’s magic.  I can build the doorway so that you can get through, but it will be easier if we are in contact.”

“Fine.  I don’t have time to argue with you.  My _son_ is in danger.”  Emma grabbed his arm roughly, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t object.  Emma had a point.  The longer they waited, the more danger Henry was in. 

“Let’s go.”  He pulled the door open, and they stepped through together. 

The same strange feeling of walking through water engulfed him for a moment, and then they were through.  Emma made a small noise of discomfort, hissing irritably, and then yanked her hand away from his arm.  Rumplestiltskin paid her no mind—nor did he bother remarking on the fact that Emma’s skin was going gray-gold, spreading outwards from her hands and upwards toward her face.  Instead, he lifted his left hand, and snapped his fingers, aiming a quick spurt of magic over his shoulder.

The door disappeared, and Emma jumped.

“Where the hell did it go?”

“It’s hidden.  I don’t want anyone following us through and bumbling aimlessly around the Enchanted Forest.”

“Good idea.”  Emma arched an eyebrow at him.  “Speaking of which, are you going to go tromping around this place in slacks and a dress shirt or— _what the hell?_ ”

She’d noticed her skin, finally. 

“What the _hell_ is this?  What’s wrong with me?  I’m—I’m…”

“Like I was?” He managed not to smile, and Emma just nodded, her eyes wide and horrified.  “You’re the Dark One.  This is the Enchanted Forest.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured at her meaningfully.

“And that means—oh, God, yeah, it does.  How bad do I look?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I’d say you look fairly normal, but I’m hardly the person to ask.”

She glared for a moment, but Rumplestiltskin just met her eyes.  Then he concentrated for a moment, twirling his right hand just so, and a quick swirl of golden smoke surrounded him.  The sheer power of it made Rumplestiltskin shiver; magic was still different in Storybrooke, albeit not as much as it had been in the beginning.  Yet there was a slight _lessening_ of magic in Storybrooke, and for him, even a tiny percentage of an increase in his reachable magic was…extraordinary.  Fortunately, he spell he’d used was simple enough that it didn’t escape his control, and Rumplestiltskin wound up clothed in exactly the outfit he wanted. 

“Well, I suppose that’s more practical than the five hundred buck trousers and designer shirt,” Emma commented, eying his brown leather pants, blue silk shirt, leather vest and coat.  “Now, can we go find Henry?”

“No.  Not we, anyway,” he added when she started to snarl at him.  “You go ahead.  See what Mordred wants.  I’ll follow.  It’s probably best that he doesn’t see us together.”

“And why should I trust that you won’t just abandon me here?”

Rumplestiltskin turned calmly to look her in the eye.  “Either you trust me or you don’t, Emma.  Your call.”

* * *

 

They had found Henry’s phone, which led Belle and Regina to a doorway that simply had to lead to the Enchanted Forest.  Belle had used her newfound knowledge of magic to help Regina determine which parts of the door were Mordred’s defenses and which were part of the door itself (and therefore not to be destroyed, unless they really didn’t want to use the door at all).  Now, however, all she could do was sit back and watch Regina work.  She really didn’t know enough to pick apart spells like this, and although Regina was muttering about how this _wasn’t_ her forte, the former Evil Queen seemed to be doing pretty well.

That left Belle with little to do but think.  Think and worry.

Rumplestiltskin’s note to her had been short and almost impersonal, and she didn’t doubt that he’d been in a hurry to save his grandson.  Belle knew how Rumple felt about Henry, knew that he would _always_ go to the ends of the earth to keep his family safe, but she was starting to worry that there was something more at play there.  Had she pushed him too hard that morning?  Belle hadn’t meant to accuse him of angling for more power again; the words had just come out.  Her own insecurities had reared their ugly head once more, and she’d taken it out on her husband.

_Is he off to play hero now to prove to me that he’s different?_   Belle wished she could tell herself that wasn’t true, but she couldn’t.  What if Rumplestiltskin had rushed into something without his usual meticulous planning because of what she’d said?  Belle would never forgive herself if he was hurt because of her.  Mordred wasn’t supposed to be powerful enough to match her husband.  No one _should_ have been able to match him, aside from another original power, of which there were only the Blue and Black Fairies left, but what if Mordred had something else up his sleeve?  Surely, no one as powerful as Mordred was going to pick a fight he was certain to lose.

Belle knew her husband.  When his emotions were involved, he was prone to making grand gestures instead of executing meticulous plans, and she was terrified that he would do something irreversible because he felt he had to prove something to her.

“Stop hovering,” Regina snapped, making Belle realize that she’d been inching closer to the other woman as she fretted.

“Sorry.”  She bit her lip.  “I’m just worried.”

“You and me both.  Try doing something useful instead of breathing down my neck, will you? It makes concentrating hard.”

“Right.  Sorry.”  Belle knew she was worried when she was repeating herself, so she forced herself to turn away, staring blankly at the children on the swing set.  “I guess I’ll call Killian.  He has to be wondering where Emma is by now.”

Numbly, Belle pulled her phone out and dialed Emma’s boyfriend.

* * *

 

Killian nearly broke his phone hanging up.  He’d already been on his way out to see his uncle, determined to tell Mordred that he needed to give Emma a chance to make things right before he tried to force her into anything, so he’d been right outside the castle when Belle had called.  _He kidnapped_ Henry _, and Emma followed with the Crocodile_ , Killian thought, feeling cold.  _How could I have been such a bloody fool as to trust him?_

He barged into the castle, shoving guards and courtiers out of the way and storming into his grandmother’s rooms.  She was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a book, and looking entirely too content for someone whose son had just decided to destroy Killian’s entire world.   _How could I trust him?  He said he wanted to cure Emma, but why would he need_ Henry _to do that?_   The sinking, utterly _sick,_ feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he had been betrayed, just when he’d started to trust someone else.  He’d been so damned desperate for family that he’d let Mordred play him for a fool, and that made the man he had once been burn to _kill_ someone.

“What the hell was he _thinking_?” Killian bellowed.

Morgan blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Your bloody son!  He took _Henry!_ ”

“Already?”  She rose, eyes narrowing.  “Never mind.  Where did he take the boy?”

“The Enchanted Forest.”  The words came out in a low growl, hurt and furious.  “Through some doorway or portal that appears to be inaccessible to anyone else.  And he did it to lure _Emma_ there, because he’s a two-faced liar who used me to find out what was important to her.”

“I was afraid he would do that,” she said softly, and the resigned expression on his grandmother’s face made him want to shake her.

Killian lurched forward several steps before he could stop himself.  “Of course you couldn’t be bothered to tell me.  He’s your son, and to you, Emma is nothing except the Dark One.  Some bloody demon to be stopped.  You don’t care about her any more than—”

“No.”  Morgan cut him off, her eyes hard.  “You don’t know me, grandson, or my goals.  Your Dark One is safe enough from me, and I counseled Mordred against his plan.  He seeks to take her to the Vault of the Dark One, to take the dagger by threatening her son and thereby to lock her away, but _it will not hold._   The darkness broke out of that vault when far stronger magic users than Mordred sealed it away.  His plan is doomed to failure.”

Those words came like a blow to the chest; breathing was suddenly hard.  “He said he was going to strip the darkness from her, not lock her away.” 

“Mordred says many things.  Although, in fairness to him, I do believe that was his original intention.  Until he realized that he could not pull the darkness from her unwillingly.”  Morgan grimaced.  “Also, without the host, the darkness is much harder to control.  Merlin might have done Nimue a disservice by joining it to her, but he was right about that.  Bound to a human soul, the darkness is less destructive.”

Killian could only stare.  He had never really considered the possibility that Mordred might not be able to keep his promise.  Oh, he’d refused to lead Emma into that trap, because he’d really and truly hoped that Emma would _choose_ to let the darkness go, and then he’d be able to take her to his uncle for help.  But he’d never even considered the fact that Mordred wouldn’t be able to do the magic feats he’d promised.  _And now he wants to lock Emma away._   A convulsive shiver tore through him. 

“Why should I believe you when your son was so damned clueless?”

“Mordred was but five years old when the Dark One was created.  He believes he is destined to destroy the darkness, but prophecies…prophecies are not always what they seem.”  She looked into the distance for a moment, and then blinked rapidly.  “If you are here because you wish for a portal to follow them, I cannot make you one.  My powers are not what they were, and even at full strength, that was beyond me.  Mordred had to steal the Apprentice’s Wand for that purpose.”  She hesitated, giving him a strange look.  “The one who can help you is the Sorcerer.”

“The bloody Croc— _Rumplestiltskin_ —took Emma.  His wife called me.” He couldn’t stop his glare.  “There has to be a way through.”

“Killian.”  Mordred spoke gently, but when she tried to put a hand on his arm, he jerked away.  “Even if she does allow herself to be locked in, she will not be dead.”

“Yes, but then _he’ll_ have the dagger and he’ll command her to remain.  I know how binding those commands are, and I won’t let that happen to her!”

She didn’t even flinch at his outburst.  “If it comes to that, I will help you regain the dagger.”

“Yes, because Mordred is so likely to listen to Mommy at this stage of the game.”

“He will.”

“Pardon me if I don’t believe that,” Killian snarled.  “Every boy eventually breaks free of his mother’s tit.  Perhaps it’s simply taken him a few centuries longer than usual.”

He didn’t bother to determine if his grandmother was disturbed by his crudeness; Killian spun on his heel and strode out.  Staying one more moment in that castle would drive him utterly insane.  Morgan might believe there was no way to get to Emma, but he wasn’t going to accept that.  Killian was going to find something, anything, before that bastard could lock her away like she was some monster to be feared.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin’s directions were frighteningly easy to follow.  _Just go to where the darkness draws you most._   Emma didn’t like giving in like that, and the darkness positively raged at the idea—stronger and louder than ever—but saving Henry was her first priority.  Everything else could wait.  Henry was what mattered.

So, she strode up to the Vault of the Dark One, power bubbling in her veins.  _I came here,_ Emma realized.  When she had dropped the dagger, she had _meant_ to teleport herself to the woods, but she had landed here, hadn’t she?  And from the vault she had bubbled up as some sort of viscous black liquid, pure darkness coming out of the place where it had originally been chained to a human soul.  _Am I even human anymore?_ If her body had been turned into liquid darkness, did that mean the real Emma had died?  Was she only the Dark One, now?  Emma couldn’t remember, couldn’t _think._

But she had come here, even if the darkness had made her not think of it.  She’d been brought here, and then somehow—she couldn’t remember how—she’d wound up back in Storybrooke’s forest.  Swatting a tree branch out of her way viciously enough to break it, Emma scowled in frustration.  She hated not remembering, hated knowingthat the darkness within her was playing games and _laughing_ at her, but she couldn’t pay attention to that right now.  _Henry first,_ she told the darkness.  _Then you can gnaw on me all you want.  But first you are_ going _to help me save my son._

_You can’t trust anyone,_ that feminine version of the Dark One’s voice whispered.  _If you go there, you will rue the decision for the rest of your long and painful life._

“I’ll take that chance,” Emma growled, shoving her way out of the trees and into a clearing. 

The clearing was bigger than she remembered, but then, Emma’s memories were vague and spotty.  She also remembered the trees being green, only slowly turning to colors, yet now there was snow on the ground and the smell of it strong in the air.  The place was different, yet the same; the vault lay in the center of the clearing, the same symbols on it as before.  What hadn’t been here last time was Mordred, who stood across from Emma, with Henry pulled tightly against him.

Emma’s hands came up immediately, power flying to her fingertips, and she almost attacked without thinking.

“Don’t,” Mordred warned her, his eyes dark and calm.  “This gauntlet”—he nodded towards the metal gauntlet on his left hand, the one holding Henry’s throat with terrifying firmness—is enchanted.  Its magic will out-live me, so even if you kill me, it’ll still choke your son to death.”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Emma growled softly, her eyes on Henry.

Her son met her gaze, frightened but calm.  He knew she’d save him, and his faith in her made Emma want to cry.

“You, of course.”

“You’re not getting anything or _anyone_ until you let Henry go.”  Emma wasn’t negotiating.  Not with someone who could kill her son in a heartbeat.  And she’d seen that kind of flat determination before.  Mordred would do it.

“I think not.  I have no control over what you do if I let him go.”  Mordred looked down at Henry.  “Tell your mother that you’re all right.”

“I’m _not_ all right.  You’re holding me by the throat!”

Despite herself, Emma smiled.  _That’s my son._   “I’ll get you out of this, Henry,” she promised.  Then her eyes flicked to Mordred.  “No matter what it takes.”

Henry smiled despite the metal fingers gripping his throat.  “I know you will, Mom.”

“All it takes is you handing me the dagger of the Dark One.”  Mordred cocked his head.  “Now.  Or the boy dies.”

“Don’t do it, Mom!” Henry cried.  “It’s not worth it.  If you give him the dagger, he can do whatever he wants.  He can make you kill me if he has it.”

“I have no interest in him,” Mordred said immediately, and Emma could tell he wasn’t lying.  “I only want you.  And it isn’t personal, Miss Swan.  You are the Dark One, and you must be stopped.  Forever.”

“And what happens if I do?” she asked cautiously.  _Where the_ hell _is Rumplestiltskin?_  If that bastard had sold her out, if he’d abandoned her here, she was going to shove the dagger into Rumplestiltskin _so_ many times…then if Mordred wanted it so badly, he could pull the damn thing out of the freaking Sorcerer.

“Then you will enter the vault, and I will seal you inside for eternity.  It’s not the ideal solution—which would be destroying you and the darkness you host utterly—but my primary plan was…overturned, let’s say.  So long as I hold the dagger, you will remain secure.  And all the realms will be safe from you.”

“From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like _I’m_ the danger.”

“We do what we have to.”  Mordred shrugged.  “My life’s work has been to stop you.  I will not cease now.  _Give me the dagger_.”

“I wasn’t even _born_ when you started this damned quest of yours.  How the hell is this my problem?” Emma demanded, inadvertently taking a step forward.  _If you give him the dagger, he will force you to kill your son,_ the darkness whispered.  Emma’s heart was racing.  _And then he can shut you away._

But that was a bad idea.  Mordred tightened his grip on Henry’s throat, and Henry coughed out a hoarse cry.

“Stop!”  Desperately, Emma held her hands up, but Mordred didn’t look like he felt any regret for harming a thirteen-year-old. 

“The dagger, or he dies.  I’m done debating with you, Dark One.  Stop playing games.”

“This isn’t a game!  This is my son’s life!”

_If you go down there, we will never come out.  You don’t need much food, but you will slowly starve, slowly go insane until there’s nothing left of Emma Swan, only the Dark One.  Then you will be like us._   Emma shivered convulsively.  She could picture it in her mind so clearly.  She wasn’t sure if that was her imagination or if it was the darkness putting the image in her mind, but Emma could _see_ herself shaking alone in the dark, with no company but the voices in her head, stuck in the vault while Mordred commanded her to never leave.

“Yes, it is.  Make your choice, Dark One.”

_Don’t do it!  Don’t give up your freedom!  Don’t give us to him!_   The cacophony of voices was almost overwhelming, and Emma staggered.

“Don’t do it, Mom!”

Listening to Henry echo what the voices in her head said was sickening, and Emma almost gave in, just to make them shut up.  But she couldn’t.  _Henry is all that matters_.  Shaking and shuddering as the darkness fought to keep her still, Emma slowly reached inside her jacket to remove the dagger.  She barely registered Mordred’s smile; the darkness was giving everything it had to stop her.  But that was the trick, wasn’t it?  In the end, the darkness was still chained to a human soul, and that soul was still _Emma’s_.  The choice was hers.   So, she pulled the dagger free, holding it tightly in her right hand, breathing hard and not sure if she was winning or losing.

“I’m sorry, Henry.”  She would do it, Emma knew.  Rumplestiltskin was nowhere to be seen and she couldn’t afford to wait.  “I don’t give a damn if that bastard sends me down there for eternity.  At least I’ll know that you’re safe.”

“Mom—!” The cry choked off as Mordred tightened his grip.

“Let the boy go, dearie,” a quiet voice said from Emma’s right, and for once, even the darkness was glad to see Rumplestiltskin.  Particularly once Mordred loosened his hand and Henry could breathe again.

“It’s about damned time,” she hissed, turning to glare at him.  She wanted to kill him.  She wanted to hug him.  She wanted to blast him out of this world and straight into the underworld.  _Henry is what matters._ The bastard didn’t even look at her.  Mordred, however, had ceased to smile so arrogantly and now looked furious, and at least that was a significant improvement. 

“Stay out of this, Sorcerer!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, his hands spread away from his body in a semi-peaceful gesture.  “You see, although your plan is a decent one, it fails to take two important factors into account.”

Mordred sneered. “Oh?”

“Oh, yes.  One, someone will _always_ get the dagger.  It’s been true for every Dark One, and it’s been true for everyone who controls them.  You might shut her in there, and it might hold for a century or two, but eventually, someone will pull her out.”  He matched Mordred sneer for sneer, but Emma felt the magic building, not around her, but around _Henry._   “It might even be me.  I’m certainly immortal enough, these days, and not terribly well disposed towards you.”

“I can stop you.”  Mordred’s confidence seemed to return.  “You might be the Sorcerer, _Rumplestiltskin_ , but at your core you’re no better than she is.  Try the second reason.  I hope it’s better than the first.”

“Oh, it is.  That’s my grandson you’re holding.”

“What—?”

Mordred cut off as magic lashed out from Henry, striking the dark-haired sorcerer and twisting around the gauntlet, a trail of golden sparks twisting around the metal glove.  Crying out, Mordred jumped back, the fingers of the gauntlet popping open.  But Mordred was fast, and he reached for Henry again—only to be kicked hard in the shin.  Henry ducked Mordred’s wild attempt to grab him, and Emma took her chance.  She wasn’t sure she could sweep him away in time with magic, so she just teleported herself forward, appearing between Henry and Mordred and grabbing her son.  A thought brought them back to where she had been standing before, with Henry clinging to her in relief.

“Are you okay?” she asked desperately.

“I’m fine— _look out!_ ”

Henry’s cry alerted Emma just in time, and she teleported them again to dodge Mordred’s attack.  They landed a few feet to the right, only to find Zelena inches away and reaching for Henry.

“Not so fast, Swan.”  Zelena grinned, but Emma just flicked her fingers, throwing the witch back.

“I told you before,” she growled.  “You’re a speed bump, not a problem.”

A quick glance left showed her that Rumplestiltskin was dealing with Mordred easily enough; even as Emma looked over, the bastard who had kidnapped her son slammed into a tree with a gratifying crunch.  _Do the same to her,_ the darkness suggested softly, and Emma decided that was a good idea.  So, she waved a hand and sent Zelena flying over towards Mordred, grinning viciously when the witch landed on top of Mordred just as he tried to get up.  _Good._ Both cried out, and then started to struggle upright, but Emma hammered them back down by closing her fingers into a tight fist, and she grinned.

“What the hell took you so long?” She wheeled towards Rumplestiltskin.

“I saw what was happening.  You had to make the choice.”  He gave her a half smile.  “My apologies.”

_“Apologies?”_ Emma slammed magic into Mordred and Zelena again.  They were a useful outlet for her fury.

“You had a realization there, didn’t you?  About who and what you are?  Right about when you made the decision to hand the dagger over to save Henry.  You _won._ ”

She wanted to wrap her fingers around his too-smart throat and squeeze so hard.  “I almost gave him the dagger!” 

“Yes, you did.  _Almost._ You chose love over power, over your own freedom, and that matters.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, his gaze frighteningly intent.  “You made the choice that so few Dark Ones make—and one _none of us_ survived without regretting.  Every other Dark One that dared to value someone we loved more than our own freedom wound up controlled, and thereby doomed to let that damned curse take over.  You won, and _he_ is going to pay the price.  Not you.”

 The last words were accompanied by a vicious gesture towards Mordred, and this time it was the Sorcerer’s magic that hammered their opponents back into the ground.  Emma couldn’t bring herself to smile, however.  She was too busy thinking about what Rumplestiltskin had said, about how the voices had actually _quieted_ within her.  And it wasn’t just because Henry was beside her.  Emma was in control.  She didn’t feel that terrible pull, didn’t feel the overwhelming rage.  Oh, they were there—the darkness wanted her to kill Zelena and Mordred both, wanted her to do a thousand terrible things—but she could ignore those urges far more easily than before.

“You’re right,” she breathed.  “How did you know?”

“I’ve been where you are.”  His crooked smile was sad.  “For about a day.  When we got back from Neverland.  Try not to get yourself killed, because it’ll set you back by a wide margin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Anger coiled up inside her, but Emma was pretty sure those feelings were her own when she turned to glare at him.  “You could have told me what you were trying to do.”

Rumplestiltskin just snorted.  “And let the darkness ruin it?”

Emma had to admit that he had a point.  Henry, however, always had questions.

“What does this mean, Grandpa?  Mom’s still the Dark One, so how does it change things?”

“It means her choices are her own.  She’ll always have to be mindful of those voices, because they’ll never go away, but she’s won.  And since that idiot set it up, the darkness couldn’t really find a loophole.”

Henry turned to Emma, and the way her son’s eyes were shining made her heart twist in a wonderfully painful knot.  “This means the darkness can’t make you kill anyone else!”

“Yeah, it does.”  Emma felt like crying, but instead, she just hugged her son tightly.  _That wasn’t all us,_ the darkness whispered, and she shivered.  _That was you, too._   “I promise I won’t,” she whispered, and then had to remind herself to be realistic.  “Not unless it’s to protect someone, anyway.”

“I think I’m okay with that.”  Henry hugged her back just as fiercely, and Emma felt lighter than she had in the month since she’d become the Dark One.

“Now what?” she asked Rumplestiltskin, who was studying Mordred and Zelena as they staggered to their feet, clearly still dazed.

“I really wish she weren’t pregnant,” he said softly, making Emma frown in confusion.  “Or that my conscience would let me murder either one of them.”

“You have a conscience?” she couldn’t help asking.

He grimaced.  “Unfortunately.  And it’s not always as convenient as Belle seems to think.”

“You’re going to regret this,” Mordred hissed before Emma could ask why Rumplestiltskin was suddenly moved to murder—just when she’d gotten herself under control, no less.  Not that she didn’t agree.  The world would be a lot better place without Zelena in it, if not for the innocent child inside her.  And Mordred…well, he might have been Killian’s uncle, but Emma thought that budding relationship might just be destroyed by this little trick.  _Bastard,_ she thought angrily, and opened her mouth to answer.

“If I have to choose between the Dark One and someone who’s willing to lock a _human being_ away in that vault for eternity, I’ll pick her every time.”  Rumplestiltskin got in before Emma could answer, and she could feel a tremor of magic in the air.  She knew him well enough, or thought she did, to tell when he had a tight hold on his temper, but Emma could _feel_ the magic rolling off of him in waves.

She could see it, too, Emma realized.  Colors and layers and swirling threads of magic filled the air, not only around Rumplestiltskin but around Zelena and Mordred, too.  Those two were both building spells of some sort, but the magic around Rumplestiltskin was so much more _vivid_ that it made Emma blink.  Doing so, however, only made things more confusing, because then she relaxed enough to see her own magic, too.

“One soul is not too high of a price to pay to take _that_ darkness out of the world forever,” Mordred retorted.

“Or make it two,” Zelena cooed.  “I could live with having _him_ locked in there, too.”

“You always do want things you can’t have, don’t you?” Emma snorted out a laugh.  “You know, I almost felt sorry for you, once.  But that was back when I had a _lot_ more compassion than I do now.”

She might have won, but Emma was still the Dark One.  And standing here, in the exact same spot where Zelena had doomed the first man she’d loved to die, really didn’t make Emma feel a flicker of kindness towards the Wicked Witch.

“I suggest you both leave,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  “Unless you want to make this even uglier than it already is.”

Both bristled, but Emma saw them exchange glances.  She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know Mordred and Zelena were both choosing to fight another day, but at the moment, Emma supposed that was enough.  Besides, she didn’t want to kill her lover’s uncle until Killian knew what the bastard had done.  _He wouldn’t believe me because I’m the Dark One, and he certainly isn’t going to believe Rumplestiltskin, either.  Not if Mordred is dead.  Alive, the bastard can tell his own tale._   Then Emma could kill him.  She was all right with waiting.  _I made a promise,_ she reminded herself.  _But he’ll definitely threaten someone.  I can wait for that, too._   Henry wouldn’t like a revenge killing, after all.

Mordred and Zelena teleported away, and a very crooked smile bloomed on Rumplestiltskin’s face the moment they were gone.

“They’re going to have a very hard time using that doorway of theirs,” he snickered.  “I may have guaranteed it won’t take anyone back to Storybrooke from this end.”

“Where will it take them?” Henry asked as Emma tried not to laugh.

“I have no idea.  There are about thirty magical realms.  The doorway will pick one and send them there.”

“You put it on random.” Henry grinned.  “Did you get that idea from me showing Belle how to work my iPod?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Perhaps.”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Mordred and Zelena did not go straight back to the doorway.  Instead, they teleported towards what remained of a crystal cave, landing in a valley surrounded by high mountains.

“I thought you said that Camelot had been destroyed,” Zelena pouted.  “There’s nothing _here._ ”

“What made you think we were going to Camelot?” Mordred turned to look at her before striding towards the cave.

“You muttered that we were going to find something useful.  I assumed you meant something of yours.”

_Barking mad,_ Scarlet had called her.  So far, Mordred hadn’t seen evidence of that—raging envy, certainly, but not madness.  Still, she was rather annoying, and not rolling his eyes was hard.  “Hardly.  I brought everything I wanted of my own with me, because I knew Camelot was doomed.  This was the cave my mother weathered the centuries in, though, and _she_ didn’t bring everything.”

“It had _better_ be something powerful, because I really don’t relish being defeated like that again.”

_Neither do I._   But Mordred smiled.  “Oh, yes.  My mother stole the Greater Sapphire from the Black Fairy before the War of the Dragons.  She was always afraid to use it, but I am not.”

“The Greater Sapphire?” Zelena echoed, and he could hear her frown as she trudged along behind him.  “I’ve never heard of it.”

There were still some old wards on the cave, but Mordred was able to brush them aside easily enough.  The so-called Second Dark Curse had burned most of them away, and the rest were his mother’s work.  Those were easy enough to dismantle, particularly when so much pent-up anger and frustration lent power to his magic.

“It’s also known as Circe’s Pendant,” he clarified, and heard Zelena’s quick intake of breath.

“I’ve heard legends…” she whispered.

Mordred stopped as they reached the main cave, his eyes flying around the luxuriously appointed room.  His mother had never wanted him to touch the Sapphire, because she had always feared it would burn through a mere human.  Morgan had never used it, either, even though the Sapphire could have changed the very course of the war from the beginning.  _Not this time, Mother.  This time I am_ not _stopping._

“The legends are true.  When the Black Fairy killed Circe, she encased Circe’s power into a blue sapphire.”  Spotting the box he was looking for on a low table, Mordred bounced forward, cautiously pulling the lid open by hand. Usually, he would have simply of summoned the box, but not when it held an object of such power.  “Circe was an original power, one of the first four humans to possess magic.  A little of her magic escaped, but almost all of it was trapped in the gem.”

“And if we can use that—oh, that will be _wonderful!_ ”

Cautiously, Mordred opened the box, finding a fist-shaped blue stone inside.  It glowed quietly, the light in its depths radiant and yet trapped.  The pendant was fitted into a golden chain, meant to be worn around the neck, but for now, Mordred simply lifted the box and smiled.  “Indeed.”

* * *

 

“So, now we go back?” Emma asked after Mordred and Zelena disappeared, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t find his voice to answer.

He was staring at the face of the vault, remembering bubbling out of there—twice—and remembering the price that had been paid.  The last time he had been here, his son had died.  Despite his best efforts to keep Baelfire’s soul alive, he had lost him.  He had lost him…to this place.

“I remember,” he whispered, the words tumbling out before he could so much as think.

“Remember what, Grandpa?”

“When…when the Apprentice wiped my heart clean, he banished my soul to the vault.”  His voice caught, and he must have looked broken, because he felt Henry’s hand land on his arm.  “I’ve only seen flashes of those days until now, but now I remember.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “Bae isn’t dead.  He’s in the vault, trapped with the souls of every Dark One from the beginning.”

“But why?  He wasn’t the Dark One,” Henry objected, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to look up.

“That’s the bargain for resurrecting the Dark One.  The failsafe that Merlin built in so that no one would try if the world was so fortunate that the Dark One died without a successor.”  He snorted bitterly.  “A soul goes in, a soul comes out.  But the sacrifice must be willing.  No one can force them, and who would want to live down there for eternity, all to bring a Dark One back to life?”

Hot tears streamed down his face, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  _It should have been me.  It would have been so much better for everyone if Bae had never brought me back.  Then he’d be alive, and Emma would never have been the Dark One._

Emma looked stricken.  “He doesn’t deserve to be with _them_.”

She knew.  She heard the voices.  Emma might not have been the Dark One for more than a month, but she _knew_.  She’d loved Bae, once.  She’d known him, and knew what kind of hell he had to be living in.  He could hear the pain in her voice, could see the horror in Henry’s expression.  And Rumplestiltskin knew what he needed to do.

The key remained exactly where Baelfire and Belle had left it, oh so long ago.

“No.”  His voice was hard, and his tears were gone.  “He doesn’t.  And I’m not going to let him stay there a moment longer.”

“Grandpa—”

“You can’t!”  Emma grabbed his arm. “Neal wouldn’t want you to die for him!”

“And I didn’t want him to die for _me_!” Rumplestiltskin snarled, guilt making the words sharp as he shook her off.  “If that damn vault wants a soul, it can have mine.  I belong there far more than he does!”

“You’re the Sorcerer,” Henry objected, but he looked torn.  “If you’re not around to help, what are we going to do?”

“I was his father first,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, looking at the vault again.  “I can’t leave him there.”

_You can’t,_ a voice said from inside him, but Rumplestiltskin shoved Merlin aside with all of his might.  He didn’t give a damn what the old enchanter had to say.  Bae was his _son_.  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do this the smart way, that he couldn’t fulfill his promise to Henry, first.  Belle would never forgive him for it…but he hoped that she would understand.  _I never should have been given a second chance, but Bae deserves one._

“There’s a way to do this, a way to leave the Sorcerer’s power in the world and still free him.”  His head came up, and he met Emma’s eyes.  “I’ll pull the darkness from you.  It’ll go free, but I can call it, as you once did.  Draw it in.  If I take the darkness on, what’s left of Merlin will surely leave me, but he can’t survive without a host.  That’s where you come in.”

“You want _me_ to be the Sorcerer?” Emma gaped.

“I’ll admit that it’s a bit of a transition, but you’re better suited to than I ever was.”  Rumplestiltskin forced a smile, his heart racing.  Yes, it was possible…just very difficult to pull off.  Merlin wouldn’t like it, but the old man would do what he had to.  “You’re a child of True Love, and you’ve been the Dark One.  The power won’t kill you.”

“Oh, that’s a great vote of confidence!”

“But if you become the Dark One again, what’s to keep you from _not_ going in the vault?” Henry asked quietly.  “You might go crazy.”

“I’ve dealt with it before.  This time, at least I know what I’m getting into.”  And maybe this was the right thing to do, finally.  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I should have stayed down there last time, anyway.  This time at least I can take that cursed power with me, once and for all.”

“There _is_ another way,” a fourth voice said suddenly, making all three turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Nine—“Through the Black Air,” in which Regina and Belle make their way to the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin’s plan hits a snag, Zelena and Mordred run into difficulties escaping…and Baelfire returns.


	39. Through the Black Air

Regina lowered her hands with a sigh.  She _hated_ untangling magic, and she’d always been bad at it.  Maybe she really should have taken Rumplestiltskin up on that offer to re-teach her how to do so without digging into her darkness, because unravelling that mess had seemed a _lot_ harder when she didn’t just want to use fury to blast her way through.  “There.  We should be able to open it, now.”  

“Then what are we waiting for?” Belle’s blue eyes were intent when Regina turned to face her.  Not for the first time, Regina wondered if bringing Rumple’s little sweetheart along was a good idea.  Oh, Belle had had a few useful suggestions when it came to pulling apart the magic Mordred had left behind, but did she _really_ want to bring someone who was barely trained in magic along? 

But if she didn’t bring her, how the hell was she supposed to get _rid_ of her?

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked, figuring she could at least tell Rumple that she’d _tried_ to talk Belle out of it.  “We have no idea what we’re going to find on the other side.”

“All the more reason not to wait.”

“Your funeral.  Still, I suppose you’re a better companion than the volatile pirate, and if we don’t hurry, he’s going to show up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Belle retorted dryly, and Regina smiled despite herself. 

Captain Guyliner might actually love Emma—Regina doubted that less these days, given how nauseating the pair acted together—and she was sure he’d be good to have along in a conventional fight.  But this was about magic, and while Belle was mostly untrained, she at least had power, and she did seem to somehow always have the right book along.  Briefly, Regina wondered if that talent was actually part of Belle’s magic, and then shrugged.  The idea made sense, but she was in a hurry to get to her son, not dissect the oddities of Belle’s particular magic.  _It would have been nice for Emma to call_ me _.  Why the hell did she go to Rumple, anyway?  He’s not Henry’s other mother, and I thought we were past this!_  

But when she grabbed the doorknob and turned, nothing happened.  Snarling under her breath, Regina tugged harder.

Still nothing.

“Why the hell won’t it open?” She turned to glare at Belle.  “I took the damn wards off!”

“Let me try.”

Regina couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.  “You don’t have nearly enough power to pull this off.” 

“Maybe it’s not about power,” the smaller woman countered.  “This door was drawn with the Sorcerer’s Magic—I would guess with the Apprentice’s wand, which we probably never should have buried with him.  But it’s still the Sorcerer’s magic, in the end, and it might recognize me.”

“Why, because you’re married to him?”

Belle shrugged.  “It works well enough in the house.”

Groaning, Regina stepped aside.  “Fine.  Have at.  Don’t blame me if it shocks you to high heaven.”

But of course it didn’t.  The damn door opened the moment Belle touched it, and Regina bit off a string of curses.  They didn’t have time to fool around, and maybe the bookworm was useful, after all.

* * *

 

“There _is_ another way,” Merlin’s voice said suddenly, and Rumplestiltskin wheeled to face him.

“No.”  He felt cold and he was terrified, but for once in his generally misspent life, he knew he was doing the right thing.  And he didn’t give a damn if Emma and Henry saw him talking to thin air, either.  “All magic comes at a price.  My son died to pay for _my_ life, and I won’t let that stand.  Not anymore.”  He willed himself not to shake.  “And I can take that darkness with me, which will make this world a far better place.  It’s time.”

“You would sacrifice yourself to save your son,” Merlin said softly.  “Again.”

“That’s what being a parent _is_.”Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, wishing his predecessor hadn’t popped out to slow things down.  But perhaps that would make transferring the Sorcerer’s power that much easier, and perhaps Merlin could help Emma.  She’d need it.  “He doesn’t deserve to spend eternity in a place where _I_ belong.”

“You might have once.”  Merlin’s smile was sad.  “But you certainly do no more.  I, on the other hand…I still have much to atone for.  Like creating this”—he gestured at Emma—“mess in the first place.”

“What are you saying?” Emma growled, looking at the old enchanter like he was crazy.  Only then did Rumplestiltskin realize she could actually _see_ Merlin.  How had Merlin managed to actually give himself corporeal form, anyway?

“A soul for a soul.”  Merlin stood up straighter, though he did appear slightly transparent.  As if he was there, but not there.  Not quite dead, but not really alive, either.  “What’s left of mine should suffice.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Emma demanded, just as Henry said:

“You’re Merlin!  The real Merlin, I mean, not just a cloud of power and stuff.”

Merlin nodded solemnly.  “I am.  And this is…this form is what little remains of me.  But it is enough.”

“You…” Rumplestiltskin struggled to find words as the enormity of what Merlin was proposing hit him.  “You…you would do that.  You would place your soul in that vault in exchange for someone you don’t even know.”

 _For my son_ , he couldn’t quite say.  Did this mean he could see Bae again?  Rumplestiltskin had steeled himself against the idea of becoming the Dark One once more; as much as he _hated_ what he’d been, he would do it if that meant he could exchange himself for his son.  _But if Merlin does it, Emma remains the Dark One._

“I have lived enough inside your soul to understand,” Merlin said softly, stepping forward to look Rumplestiltskin in the eye.  Standing face to face with him was always strange, but Merlin seemed more _real_ now than ever before.  “And no, I cannot take the darkness with me, but I believe you will find a way to end that curse forever.”

“But—”

“Grandpa, if you take it down with you, what’s to keep someone from resurrecting you again?” Henry cut in.

 _The fact that the Dark One can be brought back is common knowledge, now,_ Rumplestiltskin realized, and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering.  Even if he took the dagger with him, there was no guarantee that whoever fooled another into dying for him would not control him.  Or that the darkness would escape _somehow_ , even if centuries of peace passed. 

“Nothing,” he admitted softly.  Was it better to wait, and defeat the darkness forever, or was he just being selfish?

Merlin gave him a slight nod, and Rumplestiltskin got the feeling that his predecessor knew exactly what he was thinking and was trying to reassure him.  But then Merlin turned to face Emma, saying:

“You will be the last Dark One.  My Sight is no longer what it once was, but that I believe.  And if you truly believe that you can be free, if you truly _want_ to be rid of the darkness, it will work.”

“Part of me wants it so badly,” she whispered.

“Give it time.”  Merlin quirked a smile; like Rumplestiltskin, he knew that burning _need_ for the power, the darkness.  Merlin had not intended to become the Dark One, but he had been swallowed as surely as either of them.  “After all, I never would have foreseen the Sorcerer and the Dark One fighting side by side.  Yet here you stand.  You have both defied fate.”

“Are you certain you can do this?” Rumplestiltskin had to ask.  After all, the last thing any of them wanted was to split the vault open and bring all of the past Dark Ones spilling out.

“What remains of me will die either way.  This time, I hope it will be for something worthwhile.”

* * *

 

“So, they’re gone.”  David slumped against the desk in the sheriff’s station, feeling defeated.  Yet again, his daughter had rushed into danger, and yet again, he couldn’t be there for her.  He felt like such a failure of a father.

Killian nodded unhappily.  “Belle isn’t answering her phone.”

“Neither is Regina,” Robin spoke up from the left.  He and David had been discussing whether or not Storybrooke needed a full-fledged prison when Killian had arrived, but that discussion had been swiftly derailed when Killian told them what had happened.

“Well, wherever those two are, they’re together.  My bet would be that they tried to follow Emma and Rumplestiltskin.”  David was doing his best to sound reasonable instead of like a worried grandparent.  If Emma, Regina, Rumplestiltskin, and Belle had all gone after Henry, surely Mordred couldn’t stand a chance.  Why, then, was he so damn worried?

 _Because of what Killian said Mordred_ wants _.  If he wants to lock Emma away for an eternity…_ David couldn’t even finish the thought.  Emma might have been the Dark One, but she wasn’t some monster to be locked away.  She was human underneath that terrible darkness, and David merely wished that he had understood that sooner.  _Maybe then we’d all be in a better position,_ he thought as his mind cast about for anything to distract himself from his worry.  _If we had tried to understand Rumplestiltskin, maybe Emma never would have become the Dark One, and we wouldn’t be in the midst of this war._

Killian hadn’t spared himself in his infuriated explanation, either; he’d told David that he’d worked with Mordred, his uncle, and that he’d probably shared far too much with him.  Yet David couldn’t blame Killian, even if part of him wanted to.  They had all screwed up in their quest to save Emma.  This was just the latest example.

“We have to go after them.  I can’t just leave her there,” the pirate growled, and Robin snorted.

“How?  I’m all for following, but none of us have any magic to open a portal, and everyone who _does_ seems to have left.”

“There are other magic users here.”

“None who are likely to help us,” David pointed out.  He didn’t like admitting that his and Snow’s high-handed actions in the past had made Maleficent their enemy, or that Lily seemed likely to follow in her mother’s footsteps.  Killian had already asked Morgan.  “Except maybe Blue.”

“Then let’s try the bloody fairies.”  Killian didn’t look at all enthused by the idea.  “Anything is worth it to find Emma.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot help you,” the senior fairy’s voice suddenly said, and David spun to see her standing in the doorway to the station.

“What—how did you know we were going to call you?” Robin sputtered.

“Leroy overheard the Captain’s story and came to tell me.”  Blue smiled gently.  “But I am afraid that I no longer have the means to travel realms, and even if I did, it is perhaps better to leave Emma where she is.  Until someone can find a way to pull the darkness from her—and perhaps shift it to a more deserving host—she is a danger to everyone.  Including herself.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.  You herald her as the Savior one day, but now that she’s the Dark One, you think she deserves to be left isolated and alone,” Killian snapped.  “You’re really proving to be a paragon of goodness today.”

“It is regrettable, but—”

“You won’t help her.”  David didn’t even realize the words were out of his mouth before he’d said them, and Blue turned to look at him sadly.

“Emma is the Dark One, now.  She is no longer herself.  You know that, David.”

“She’s still my daughter!”

“And she deserves better from someone who she insisted we pull from that bloody hat,” Killian snarled.  “I’m beginning to think we might have all been better served if you were _left_ there.”

“You might want to leave,” Robin suggested reasonably to Blue.  “Compared to you, I barely know Emma, and even _I_ think you’re a hypocrite.  Emma went to save her son from a madman.  You’re not helping.  Go away.”

For the first time in his life, David was not sad to see the Blue Fairy go.

* * *

 

“I will focus on who I want to exchange myself for, but there are no guarantees,” Merlin warned them, standing over the vault with key in hand.  “My own…history may mean that my predecessor is released from the Vault.  If so, you _must_ stop her, lest the darkness be given time to duplicate itself.”

“Duplicate?” Emma looked horrified, but Rumplestiltskin caught on immediately.  He had sensed the magic inherent in the area the first time he’d been at the vault, and had even twisted it to his advantage during the days he had hidden the dagger here.

“You built the vault on a font of power, hoping that would contain the darkness,” he realized.

Merlin nodded.  “Yes.  Our original intention had been to stop dark powers that should never have been unified, but as you can see, the centuries of darkness have corrupted the power here.  If another Dark One rises, the darkness will likely duplicate itself.”

“What if I kill the new one?” Emma asked, and he didn’t miss the way her knuckles were stark white around the dagger’s grip.

“Then you’ll never be free of it,” Rumplestiltskin answered before Merlin could.  Merlin only nodded.

“You should be able to force her back in.  Nimue, that is.  My soul will be lost, but the vault is always willing to accept another.”  Merlin smiled darkly.  “Be ready.”

None of them mentioned that if Nimue emerged from the vault, there would be no second chance to resurrect Baelfire.  _Not unless I return to my original plan,_ Rumplestiltskin thought.  There was a risk inherent in doing so, as Merlin had already pointed out, but if the choice came down to leaving Baelfire in the vault or chancing someone resurrecting _Rumplestiltskin_ as the Dark One later, Rumplestiltskin would take that gamble.  So, he remained silent.  Hope was a dangerous weapon, and his heart was already in knots over the chance of seeing his son again.

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t realized sooner.  That he hadn’t _remembered_ what the Apprentice had done to him.  The Apprentice had banished his soul here so that Rumplestiltskin could not get in Merlin’s way; had Belle not brought him back, he would never have seen the light of day again.  Yet the Apprentice had made him forget that his own _son_ was down there, locked in with the darkest souls to ever travel any realm.  Rumplestiltskin had always wanted to believe his son had gone somewhere worthy of him, somewhere that such a good man deserved to go.  Not here.  And it broke his heart to know that he had left his boy there for a year.  _I’m sorry, Bae.  But I won’t let it stand.  No matter what it takes, you’re leaving here.  Alive._

Bending over, Merlin placed the key into the slot, and Rumplestiltskin smelled the magical burn as the vault’s magic reached out.  Unlike Bae, however, Merlin’s body melted right away, collapsing into a golden liquid so like the blackness that every Dark One bubbled up as.  Immediately, what remained of Merlin was absorbed into the vault, and then the outer edge of the vault’s face began its grinding turn.  Rumplestiltskin watched, spellbound, until realization hit him.

“I need the dagger.”

“What?” Emma yelped, her curiosity instantaneously turning to distrust.

“One Dark One cannot truly control another.  If it must be done, I have to do it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and he could see the darkness at war with her soul. 

“You can trust him, Mom,” Henry whispered, and Rumplestiltskin watched the teen take his mother’s hand.  Emma flinched, but they all knew that was just the darkness trying to make her pull away, and she didn’t let it.

“All right,” Emma whispered.  “Here.”

She’d made the decision far faster than he ever could, and Rumplestiltskin met her eyes as he took the dagger.  “I’ll give it back.  I promise.”

Emma just nodded jerkily, and he could see her wince as control settled over her.  Rumplestiltskin knew that feeling too well, the feeling of being cornered and trapped, chained and enslaved.  He still hated it.

Black ooze bubbled up from the disk, popping and crackling loudly in the silent clearing.  Rumplestiltskin could feel the tremor of magic in the air, could feel darkness giving and taking and _reaching_ , but try though he did, he couldn’t tell who was going to emerge.  Would he finally meet the woman whose voice had taunted and haunted him for so many centuries, or would his son finally be free?  Not holding his breath was hard, and Rumplestiltskin’s grip on the dagger was every bit as tight as Emma’s had been.

Finally, the ooze coalesced, growing upwards until it vaguely resembled a human form.  Then the blackness shifted radically, color seeping in and revealing a distinctly male face.

Relief almost brought Rumplestiltskin to his knees.  _I didn’t fail him.  He’s alive.  He’s alive and he’s here and—_

“Is it him?” Henry asked excitedly.  “Is it Dad?”

Baelfire’s features grew clearer as Emma nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I think it is.”

Wordlessly, Rumplestiltskin offered the dagger back to Emma.  She met his eyes, and he was not surprised to see that she was nearly crying, too.  Emma would always love his son, Rumplestiltskin knew.  It might no longer be a romantic love—they might have lost that long ago—but there would always be a deep bond between them, and she’d missed Baelfire, too.

“The darkness won’t try to claim him, too, will it?” Emma whispered.  “I can feel it trying.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, finding his voice with an effort.  “Like the vault, it needs someone willing.”  He looked back at his son— _his son!_ —as the ooze slowly dripped away, revealing a blank and confused face, then a torso, and working its way down.  “An evil such as that cannot claim a soul that hasn’t offered itself up.”

Baelfire staggered, suddenly free of the bubbling darkness.  “What the…?”

“Dad!” Henry shot forward before either adult could stop him; Emma called his name, but Rumplestiltskin was pretty sure the boy never heard his mother.

_“Henry?”_

* * *

 

“Someone was here,” Zelena snapped.  She could feel the taint of magic in the air as they teleported back to their doorway.  She hissed her sister’s name like it was an obscenity.  “Regina.”

“Oh?  Why would she be here?”  Zelena didn’t appreciate the interest in Mordred’s expression when he glanced her way.  He needed to focus on _her_ , not Regina.

“You _do_ know that she adopted that little brat you nearly killed, don’t you?  She dotes on him in the most nauseating way.”  There.  That should do the trick.  Regina was going to hate Mordred for this, anyway, but Zelena wished that Mordred had just killed Henry.  It would have served Regina right to lose her child when she was trying to take away Zelena’s.

“I suppose I do.”  Mordred shrugged casually enough, but Zelena saw how his expression darkened.  “Still, it was worth the gamble, and now that I have the Greater Sapphire, the trip has been a success, even if not the one I anticipated.  I will deal with the Dark One another time.”

“I do have ways to help with that, you know,” she reminded him, eying the brilliant blue stone Mordred held.  He wasn’t touching the pendant itself, just holding the chain, yet Zelena could feel the power pulsating outwards. It was _glorious_ , nearly equal to the golden cloud that had decided she wasn’t good enough.  Zelena could almost reach out and touch it, but she stopped herself.  Angering Mordred would not help her cause, and Zelena reminded herself, once again, to play the long game.

 _That’s why Regina keeps winning,_ she thought angrily.  _She has those sycophants that call themselves her allies.  Well, now that I have allies of my own, she’d better watch out!_   Turning her back on the pathetic little Dark One’s quest for watered-down revenge was the best choice Zelena had ever made.  She’d have plenty of chances to beat Regina while she was on Mordred’s side, and now that Rumplestiltskin had aligned himself against Mordred, she could hurt him, too.  The very thought made her warm inside, and helped push aside the desire to grab for the pendant and strike out on her own.

“Do you have something specific in mind?” Mordred asked as they walked towards the doorway he had created with the Apprentice’s wand.

“I _do_ know this town.”

“And we shall use that.  First, however, we must return.  I need to consult with my mother—”

“Really?” she cut him off before she could stop herself, so sick of hearing that.  “Your _mother_?  Do you know how pathetic that makes you sound?  You’re one of the most powerful sorcerers I have _ever_ encountered, and you’re still running home to Mommy!”

Mordred wheeled on her, his eyes blazing, and a sudden wind whipped up, magic enhanced by his fury nearly running wild.  “My _mother_ is one of the most powerful human sorceresses of all time,” he snarled.  “While I am more powerful than she is _now_ , that is only because she used everything she had to defeat a far greater evil than you’ve ever even dreamt of becoming.  My _mother_ took on the Black Fairy and won through guile and skill.  You will never speak of her again in such a manner.”

Taken aback, all Zelena could do was stare. 

Mordred continued to glare.

After a moment, she made herself nod as gracefully as she could manage.  His fury really was a sight to behold, and Zelena found herself quite enticed by it once she recovered.  Clearly, she would have to take a softer approach; Mordred was not the type of man to be bullied into doing anything, and Zelena had overstepped.  _I can recover from that_ , she told herself firmly.  _He’ll fall for me.  Lovers have spats._ She did, however, make a mental note to research more on the Black Fairy.  She knew quite a bit about the Queen of the Fae, but if she had been released from her exile and Mordred wanted to oppose her, Zelena would need to learn a lot more.

“Shall we depart?” she asked brightly, and Mordred nodded stiffly.  They had reached the doorway, and Zelena was more than ready to put the Enchanted Forest behind them.  Despite what Mordred said about this being a strategic victory, she did not relish being beaten by Emma Swan and Rumplestiltskin.  Not at all.

“But not through this portal,” he said suddenly, snatching his hand away from the knob.  “Someone’s tampered with it.”

He was right, of course.  Once Zelena looked, Rumplestiltskin’s magic was easy to see.  _That tricky bastard has played his last trick.  Just wait until I get my hands on him; I will make him suffer for rejecting me!_   Forcing her mind back on track was difficult.

“The wand lacks enough power to create a second door,” she pointed out.  It was easy to see, but Mordred appeared distracted.

Mordred scowled.  “You had mentioned knowing another way?”

“I could summon a tornado.”  Zelena had always been good at those, and she could do that with her own power, too.  The wand would simply let the tornado travel between realms, much like the one which her mother had used to send her away. 

Thoughts like that only lent her anger and power, so Zelena focused on her fury and her resentment as Mordred handed her the wand.  Her mother had abandoned her and kept Regina, but she’d show them all.  When she was Mordred’s queen, she’d make them _all_ suffer.  First, however, she would leave Regina and her annoying allies a little present.  It only took a moment to summon something else before a green tornado came screaming through the air to meet them, and she smiled.  Regina might have come to the Enchanted Forest to save her precious son, but she might not ever leave.  That thought made her smile viciously as the tornado swept them off their feet.  _We’ll beat them back, and by the time Regina gets back to her beloved town, it won’t be hers any longer!_   If she was truly lucky, Regina or the obnoxious little boy might even die here, and wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

Unfortunately for Zelena’s good mood, her tornado did not take them to Storybrooke at all.

* * *

 

 _“Henry?”_   The first thing Neal registered once his eyes started working was his son, sprinting towards him, and he _knew_ that he had to be wrong.

Yet his arms were suddenly full of his son, who had flung himself right at him, and Neal clung to Henry for balance.  And not just physically.  He had no idea where he was, or what had happened.  The last thing he remembered, he’d been dying in Storybrooke, with Emma and his father there, wishing for one last moment to spend with the son who didn’t even remember him.  Everything had gone wrong, and he’d chosen death rather than continue to make his father suffer.  But now he was here, wherever here was.  _Alive._   Really?

“Henry?” he croaked again, still a little too stunned to make sense of anything.

“You’re alive!  It worked!”

Neal blinked hard, still trying to wrap his mind around being alive.  There was something that had happened, something between him dying and now, something that he couldn’t remember.  It was all a giant blur.  “What…what worked?”

“It was Grandpa’s idea, but Merlin did it.  We brought you back,” Henry explained as if that was supposed to make sense to him.

“Idea? Merlin?  Kid, slow down.  You’ve completely lost me.”  Neal finally looked up, spotting the two other figures in the clearing—and was he standing on the Vault of the Dark One?  But that thought vanished when he realized that Emma looked _different_ …and his father looked normal.  Human.  But Emma didn’t.  _Emma looked like the Dark One._ Her skin was sparkly and her eyes were wild; he knew the look all too well, having had it haunt his nightmares for _years._   The next words tore out of him with so much force that Henry pulled back.  “What _the hell happened here?_ ”

“Neal…” Emma trailed off like she didn’t know what to say, but he wasn’t angry at her.

“Papa?  What did you _do_?”

Rumplestiltskin jerked back in shock.  “Bae, I—”

“It’s not his fault,” Emma cut in, her voice low and hard.  “I chose this.”

“You what?” Neal couldn’t believe his ears, and heart was twisting up into impossible shapes.  “No way.  You don’t have defend him if he tricked you.”

He’d thought his father was _better_.  Neal had genuinely thought his father had finally come to control the darkness inside him.  Hell, he’d shared Rumplestiltskin’s body for almost a year!  He had heard the voices, had seen what his father had to fight, and had felt what it was like to be controlled by that witch (even if that control didn’t work when Bae tried to assert himself).  He had thought his father had changed, had died believing—

“He didn’t _trick_ me.”  Emma’s eyes _never_ flashed like that, and he could see the darkness coiling inside her, could almost feel it.  “I knew what I was getting into when the darkness got free.  Or at least I _thought_ I did.”

“And whose fault is that?”  He turned to look at his father, whose eyes were wide and stricken.  “Papa, you were changing.  You were—”

Suddenly, Emma was right in front of him.  “He didn’t do this to me!  He wasn’t even _conscious_ when the Apprentice pulled the darkness from him, and I am _sick_ of people treating me like I am some sort of victim!  I _chose_ this to save _everyone_!”

Fury rolled off of her in waves, and Neal stumbled back a step.

“Mom…” Henry whispered, but Emma ignored him.

“Your father is the _only_ one who doesn’t judge me for what I am, and the only person who has actually managed to help me deal with it,” his ex-girlfriend snarled.  “So, you don’t get to stand there and point fingers, Neal Cassidy.  I _am_ the Dark One, for better or for worse, and if you can’t deal with that, you can go right back into—”

“Emma!” His father finally seemed to have found his voice, and the name was a sharp command.  Neal watched in amazement as her head swiveled around, and two sets of eyes met.

“I’m letting it do it again, aren’t I?” Emma whispered, suddenly sounding vulnerable and frightened.

“It’s stronger here,” Rumplestiltskin answered simply, and Neal remembered that, too.  In the Enchanted Forest, the voices had almost been deafening.

“Maybe…” She gestured with the dagger, drawing Neal’s eye to the blade.  _Emma Swan_.  Not two words he’d _ever_ expected to see carved into that piece of metal.  _Wait a minute._ Was she saying what he thought she was?

Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, shaking his head.  “No.  You know that’s not the answer, and a little yelling never killed anyone.”

“All right.”  Emma glanced back at him, stepping back awkwardly.  “Sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize.”  Neal made himself smile, and the expression wasn’t as forced as he’d thought it might be.  _Hell, I’m alive, and that’s a_ really _big improvement over a few minutes ago.  Even if the world is a little different than I expected, I’m here._ “You guys bring me back to life and I start throwing accusations around.  That’s not a really good start, is it?”

“Not really, no,” Henry piped up dryly, and how in the world did his son get so big?  Emma and Rumplestiltskin both let out strained chuckles, though and Neal figured he’d try to deal with his own foolishness via humor.  That usually did the trick.

“Well, I hope you got your social graces from your mom, buddy, because mine suck.”

Henry snorted.  “Yeah, not so much.”

“Damn.”

“Neal!” Emma’s glare was so normal that it made him laugh, despite the crazy lizard-like eyes, she was still _Emma_ under the darkness, and that realization hit him hard enough to make his knees weak with relief.  Bae—was he Baelfire again?  He thought he might be having a bit of identity crisis—knew better than anyone that the real person survived under the Dark One, even if it was hard to find them sometimes.  Still, _seeing_ her there made everything just a little better.

“Mom, I’m thirteen.”  Henry rolled his eyes as Rumplestiltskin approached.  “I’ve heard people swear before.  Particularly your boyfriend.”

Somehow, Neal got the feeling that Henry had put that in for his sake, and he was grateful.  _Better to find out now than when I do something embarrassing, like declaring my undying love._   “So, you and Killian, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Emma bit her lip.  “Are you okay with that?”

“If it makes you happy, I am,” he replied without hesitation, even if he felt a distant pang of heartbreak.  “I know I was the one who screwed up what we had.  You deserve something better, and if Killian’s going to give that to you, I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Neal was surprised when she stepped forward again to hug him tightly.  He hugged her back, of course, pretending that he couldn’t feel the dagger brushing against his back and that it didn’t weird him out at all.

Neal gave her a tight smile as they let go of one another.  There was no knowing what might have happened if he hadn’t died, and it wasn’t worth worrying over.  Emma would always be his first love, but being her friend was good enough for him if that was what she wanted.  _And Henry’s dad.  There’s nothing in the world that can change that, and now I have a second chance with him._ He’d made terrible mistakes trying to get back to his son, and Neal knew that he’d paid the price for his recklessness with his life.  And yet—here he was.  Again.

 _Speaking of second chances…_ Swallowing hard, Neal turned to face his father.

“I’m sorry, Papa.  I…I guess I got too used to automatically thinking you were at fault.  Even though I really should know better after, you know, living in your head for a year.”

“It’s all right.  Most things usually are my doing, after all.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was more wry than it was sad.  “Even nowadays.”

But he could see the hesitation, and a year of having his own soul shoehorned in with his father’s told Neal exactly what he needed to do.  Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t ask, and he wouldn’t presume, even if his father damn well knew that he forgave him.  So, Neal stepped forward and hugged his father tightly.  Rumplestiltskin’s arms immediately wrapped around him in return, and for a moment, he felt his father shake.

“I love you, Papa,” he whispered.  “And I’m back.”

“I know.  Oh, Bae, I _know_.”

They held onto one another in silence for a long moment before pulling apart, and then Neal glanced at his son and Emma.  “So, is anyone going to _actually_ tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?”

* * *

 

Will Scarlet had the misfortune of walking by the sheriff’s station shortly after the Blue Fairy left, and Robin wasn’t quick enough on his feet.  David had been distracted by a phone call—which had turned out to be absolutely nothing—so neither of them noticed Killian darting out the door until it was too late.  Robin chased him as quickly as he could, but the pirate had grabbed the front of Will’s shirt before Robin even got the door open.

“This is _your_ doing!” he snarled.  “If you hadn’t gone running to Mordred, half the town wouldn’t be screaming for Emma’s head and Mordred wouldn’t have threatened Henry!”

“He threatened Henry?  _What_?”

Killian shook him hard.  “I should decorate the street with what little brains you have.”

“How the hell are you blaming _me_ for this?” Will gaped, grappling with Killian’s hand but unable to free himself.  Finally, Will aimed a kick at Killian’s left knee, connecting smartly, and he jumped away as Killian swore.  “I didn’t go runnin’ to anyone, _mate_.  Mordred was the only one who bothered to _notice_ that the cat your lady love was ‘playing’ with was actually human!”

“What, would you have preferred she kill you?”

“I’d rather not have been a cat at all, thank you very much.  But then again, I wasn’t the one sittin’ round, doing nothing while she zapped me for fun,” Will shot back.  “So get your pirate knickers all in a knot for all I care.  I didn’t get the boy in trouble.  You can take that up with the bloody so-called King of Camelot.  I’m hardly his friend.”

Killian sneered.  “No, you just help him incite riots.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Didn’t I see you stop by the castle to talk to him about that, or is that another thing that might get me in trouble if I admit to it?  These days, there’s no knowing what truths might be inconvenient enough for you ‘heroes’ to cover up.”

“You bastard.”  Killian reached for him again, and Will dodged, but not quickly enough.  A backhand from Killian’s hook caught him right across the face, tearing him open from his right ear to his nose.  Robin rocketed into motion.

“That’s enough!” he shouted, but Killian had already grabbed Will again, dodging his next attempt to kick him.  He grabbed the pirate by the arm.  “Killian!”

For a moment, Robin thought that he’d have to pull them apart, but Killian seemed to let go of his senses, releasing Will and stepping back.

“You’re not worth my time,” Killian growled, pulling away from Robin.  But as long as he didn’t attack again, Robin was more than happy to let him.

“Aye, yeah, I’m worthless.  Got that message when no one gave a damn about me disappearing.”  Will shook himself off, pressing a hand against his bleeding face and scowling when his palm came back covered in blood.

Robin stepped forward.  “Let’s get that looked at.”

Will jerked away from his attempt to touch his arm.   “I don’t need your help, Robin.  And I sure as hell don’t need this town with its ridiculous double standards.”  He started to walk away, and then turned back.  “But, in case you get it in your head to _think_ about feelin’ guilty the next time I disappear, ask Belle first.  She’s gonna help me get home, because I’d have to be crazy to stay around you people.”

Robin didn’t know what to say to that, and finally settled on: “Good luck.  I hope things…work out.”

“Anything’s better than bein’ the Dark One’s pet,” was Will’s parting rejoinder, and Robin watched him go with a heavy heart.

He _should_ have looked into Will’s disappearance more, even when everyone else had stopped.  Yes, they’d been busy, but that shouldn’t have mattered.  Will had been his friend, and he knew better than anyone that Will wouldn’t have just waltzed out of Storybrooke and left his phone in the woods.  Robin had told himself that maybe Will had found a portal back to Wonderland and just hadn’t told anyone, but even at the time, he’d known that was just a lie to make himself feel better.  He had wronged a friend, and Will didn’t seem eager to let Robin make up for that.

 _I can’t blame him,_ Robin thought, glancing Killian’s way.  The pirate seemed defeated, now, drained of his anger and worn out.  Robin knew the feeling.

“Come on,” he said softly.  “Let’s go back inside.”

Hopefully, news would come in before anyone else started a fight.

* * *

 

“Someone’s coming,” Emma snapped, holding up a hand. 

Rumplestiltskin was a little impressed; he’d been distracted by listening to Henry try to cram a year’s worth of events into a few sentences, walking side by side with his son— _his son!_ —on the way back to the portal he had created.  He’d only hidden the door, after all; destroying it would have been a waste when they’d need to use it again.  Powerful though he was, Rumplestiltskin still didn’t like wasting magic, and he supposed he would always carefully count the cost.  Still, he _was_ impressed that Emma had felt the slight ripple of magic in the air, that she’d detected it even as his instincts started to kick in.  He recognized Regina’s signature, of course, but he’d taught her, and knew her magic entirely too well.  Emma was a little slower on the uptake.

“I think today would be a bad day to attack your son’s other mother,” he said mildly, watching Emma gathering magic.

She turned to glare at him.  “How did _Regina_ get here?”

“The same way you were meant to, I imagine:  Mordred’s portal.”

“Rumple?” a familiar voice called, and his heart skipped a beat.  “Regina, they’re this way!”

Moments later, Belle and Regina burst through the trees, both stopping cold when they caught sight of Baelfire.  Regina recovered first, looking straight at him.

“Start explaining.”

“I wasn’t quite dead.  I was in the vault,” Bae piped up flippantly, depriving his father of a more dignified answer.  “Now I’m not.”

“Gee, that’s helpful.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “You want to put that into a bit of perspective, _Sorcerer_?”

“Sorcerer?” Bae echoed, looking confused.  Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to try to explain _that_ unexpected turn of events, but Henry got in first, sighing as theatrically as only a teenager could manage.

“I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

“Mordred wanted to force Emma into the Vault of the Dark One,” he answered Regina instead, glancing at Belle’s shining face.  Gone was her frustration and anger from earlier; now she looked _delighted_.  Part of Rumplestiltskin worried that she was still mad at him, but that was old reflex.  Belle didn’t look angry, not with that smile.  “Needless to say, I interfered.”

“It was kind of awesome, actually,” Henry put in, and Rumplestiltskin turned to give his grandson a hard look.  Henry just shrugged unrepentantly.  “Even when Zelena showed up.”

“ _Zelena_ was here?”

“We dealt with her.”  Emma shrugged.  “She’s still alive, before you start accusing me of being homicidal.  Again.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Regina protested, but Emma just rolled her eyes.  _I think I’m with her,_ Rumplestiltskin thought to himself.  Even if he put his personal feelings about the Wicked Witch aside, Zelena was a menace.  Unfortunately, she was also a _pregnant_ menace, so for now, she got to live.

“How about we get back to the topic of Baelfire being alive?” Belle suggested, moving forward to hug Bae.  “It is _so_ good to see you again.”

“You, too,” Bae replied, hugging her back tightly.  Watching them made Rumplestiltskin do a bit of a double take; he’d never really _seen_ his son and his wife together, at least not beyond the one wonderful day after they’d returned from Neverland.  They hadn’t really had much chance to get to know one another then, because no one had thought there was a reason to hurry.  When Bae had first met Belle, she’d actually been Lacey, and Rumplestiltskin had been busy on a downhill spiral that brought him closer to the darkness than he had been with anyone other than Cora.  Bae hadn’t thought much of Lacey, but he clearly liked _Belle_ , and that warmed Rumplestiltskin’s heart.

Belle turned to face Rumplestiltskin, her forehead creasing in worry.  “What happened?  If Bae…if Bae was in the Vault of the Dark One, isn’t a life required to pull someone from there?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, answering the unspoken question and taking her hand.  Belle really did know him too well.  “Merlin sacrificed himself, actually.”

“Grandpa was going to, but Merlin stopped him,” Henry added unhelpfully.

“Gee, thanks,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, but his grandson just shrugged.  Regina grabbed Henry, muttering under her breath, and but that didn’t make the teen look any more sorry.  Belle, on the other hand, looked unsurprised, albeit sad, but Bae wheeled around to stare at him.

“Papa!  You couldn’t—”

“I could,” he cut his son off firmly but gently.  “I’m glad I didn’t have to, but if the choice was between you and I, you’ve always known what I’d do.”

“But you’re finally free,” Bae whispered, and Rumplestiltskin could see the pain in his son’s eyes.  “I didn’t get it before, but I was stuck inside you for almost a year.  I know, now.  I know what that darkness did to you, and how much you hated it.  How you wanted to be free but didn’t want to die.”

Sharing his soul with his son had been an experience Rumplestiltskin would not have asked for, yet it did give them a terrifyingly deep understanding of one another.  Bae _knew_ him now, just as he knew Bae like he never had.  They knew one another’s hopes and fears, loves and hates.  He knew how much it cost Bae to tell Emma he was happy for her, just as Bae knew how badly he had _burned_ to be free of the darkness, even as he craved it.  Needed it.  Rumplestiltskin let out a slow breath, shrugging to make light of the burden he’d carried for three centuries. 

“I didn’t think there would ever be a way.  It was…what I was.”

Emma threw him a knowing look, but said nothing.  Bae, however, didn’t look so accepting, and Belle just took his hand.

“I knew what I was doing, Papa,” Bae said softly.  “I made my choice when I told you to let me go.”

“You chose to protect your family, not to die.  You were tricked into that, and it was all because Zelena wanted to control me.  You didn’t deserve that, son.  Not for a moment.  If either of us deserved a second chance, it was always you.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “I could spend a hundred lifetimes trying to atone for my actions, and it would never be enough.”

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself.”  He jumped as Bae put a hand on his arm, but his son turned the emotional gesture into a grin.  “But I guess we shouldn’t argue.  What’s done is done, and we’re both here.  I’m pretty cool with that, to be honest.  And it’s not like I’m going to ask you to send me back.”

“You’d better not.”

“So, what’s this Merlin business, anyway?  I’m up to the whole you recruiting some crazy Queens of Darkness as a distraction, but where the hell does Merlin come in?  I thought he was just a leg—”

“Look out!” Regina suddenly cried, and the group threw itself to the ground as a giant tree—no, make that _several trees_ —flew towards them.  Rumplestiltskin pulled on his magic even as he pulled Belle downwards, creating a crude bubble to protect their group, but fortunately, that proved unnecessary.  The trees, which had been ripped up as if by giant hands, roots and all, landed about twenty feet behind them with a loud crash, making the ground shake wildly. 

“What the hell?” Emma demanded.  She and Regina had Henry between them, but both were up and looking around.

Rumplestiltskin kept his hand on Belle’s shoulder as he came up to one knee, stretching out with magic once more.  Whatever had sent the trees there way hadn’t been a spell, because he certainly would have sensed that—distracted or no, much like Emma, he _was_ magic, now.  Again.  His body had become attuned to Merlin’s power, and it was now his.  Merlin’s final sacrifice had sealed the deal, and Rumplestiltskin was, for better or worse, _the_ Sorcerer.

That still felt strange.

“Ogres,” he answered Emma’s question softly, climbing to his feet.  He offered Belle a hand, and she took it, but Bae jumped up before he could so much as ask his son if he was all right.

Emma turned on him, her glittery face made ugly by her fierce scowl.  “Seriously?”

“It’s not something I’d make up.”

“Those things really _do_ like to show up around landmark moments of my life, don’t they?” Bae quipped, and Belle snorted.

“I know that ogres overran the land when the curse took us all away, but they were pushed back when we returned,” she said, brushing herself off.  “Why would they be back so soon?”

“Probably because someone _sent_ them.”  Regina glared at the grass stains on the skirt of her expensive pants suit.  “This little trick has my sister written all over it.”

“Who cares if she did it?”  Magic crackled around Emma.  “Ogres are easy enough to kill.  The Dark One certainly has _plenty_ of experience with that.  I’ll take care of them.”

“No.”  The word came out before Rumplestiltskin had even thought, but the moment he spoke, he knew he was right.  “If you butcher them, you’ll only restart the cycle of hatred.  A peace treaty was worked out when you returned, right, Regina?”

“Something like that, yes.  Philip and Aurora were responsible for drawing the new borders, though it turns out _they_ were Zelena’s minions all along.”  Judging from her tone, Regina agreed with Emma and preferred the easier option of killing—but then, she’d always been more of a doer than a thinker, Rumplestiltskin reflected.  Regina didn’t mind hard work, but she wasn’t a strategist.

“If we slaughter them, we’ll only reignite the war.”

Emma shrugged.  “So?  You ended the last one easily enough.”

Even as she spoke, a dozen ogres lumbered into sight, two carrying entire oak trees and the others armed with giant clubs and axes.  A dozen ogres was more than enough to destroy a small army, Rumplestiltskin knew; he _had_ been at the front for months before he’d broken his ankle, had seen the damage ogres could do.  He’d also been the one to end three wars with the ogres.  It took a lot of magic to destroy an army of ogres, but it was certainly within the Dark One’s power.  Emma might be winded by the effort, but even that wouldn’t last long.  If she could harness some of her own natural magic along with the darkness, she probably wouldn’t even get a headache.

But that wasn’t the point.  “If you keep killing, you’ll never be free of it.”

“ _You_ killed plenty.”

“And the darkness nearly _consumed_ me.  I held it off longer than others because I learned not to let it rule me, learned how to stop myself, but that still wasn’t enough.  If you start wantonly killing, you will never stop.”

Emma glared.

“So, you want to negotiate.  With _ogres_.”  Regina looked more than a little dubious.

“They aren’t unintelligent, you know,” Belle put in.  “Just a little, um, slow.”

“And really big.”  Bae was watching the approaching ogres with wide eyes—they looked so much closer than they were because they were just that large—and Rumplestiltskin suddenly realized that his son never had seen an actual ogre.   “Really, really, _big_.  You sure you want to talk to them, Pop?”

“Well, diplomacy isn’t exactly Her Majesty’s strong point, and Miss Swan here will just blast them to pieces.  And I’m certainly not going to let Belle do this by herself—I’m sure you’re perfectly capable, sweetheart, but I’d never forgive myself if I let you go talk to that bunch without someone to threaten them into good behavior.”

A few years ago, Rumplestiltskin would have been foolish enough to try to talk Belle into staying out of this little negotiation.  Now, however, he knew her better and knew that was exactly the wrong tack to take.  The trick with Belle was restraining her recklessness, and the best way to do that was to keep her involved.  Her intelligence almost always won out when she wasn’t left in the dark, and besides, Belle had studied ogres even more than he had.  Rumplestiltskin may have dealt with them multiple times, but he’d started by using the Dark One’s collective knowledge against the ogres and had later traded on his past experience to intimidate them. 

His backhanded invitation made Belle smile brightly.  “Then shall we?” she asked.

“If you two are going, I’m coming with you,” Bae said before they could head towards the ogres.  “I’ve never seen an ogre up close.”

Henry perked up.  “Can I come?  I want to see them up close, too!”

“No!” all three of his parents said immediately, and Rumplestiltskin suppressed a smile.

Henry objected, but in the end he stayed with his mothers as Rumplestiltskin, Belle, and Baelfire went to talk to the ogres.  Having Regina and Emma there to watch their backs made good sense, even if in the end they didn’t need the backup.  The negotiations went surprisingly smoothly—at least as far as anything involving ogres could—and within an hour, their odd little family headed back to Storybrooke, with Henry chattering excitedly.  Even Regina and Emma laughed as Henry tried to explain everything Bae had missed, and by the time they got home, Rumplestiltskin’s heart was lighter than it had been since he’d been resurrected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Forty—“Don’t Let it Be Forgot”, in which the rest of the clan reacts to Neal’s return, Rumplestiltskin tries to reconnect with his son, Emma has a heart to heart with her dad, Zelena and Mordred are stuck in a nasty little world, and Will Scarlet wants to go home.


	40. Don’t Let it Be Forgot

When they’d said a portal, Neal had assumed they meant a magic bean.  Or maybe a wardrobe—Henry had shown him Emma’s story when he first came to Storybrooke, after all.  He hadn’t expected a big wooden door, complete with the carved image of a clock tower.  The door stood in the middle of nowhere, just a big frame with a door inside, and it didn’t lead _anywhere_. 

“Okay.”  He stopped after doing a lap around the door, staring at it.  “I’ve seen a lot of things, but this is different.”

“It’s also the wrong door,” Emma put in.  “That one’s the one Mordred left behind.”

Belle glanced her way, frowning.  “What’s wrong with it?  We came through just fine.”

“Then you were lucky.”  Emma snorted.  “Your husband enchanted it to send people everywhere _but_ Storybrooke.”

“Well done.”  Regina looked surprised to be snickering as she nodded Rumplestiltskin’s way.  “Not that I want Zelena to stay away _forever_ , mind.  She does have Robin’s child inside her, still.”

 _Yeah, and I thought Storybrooke was weird before,_ Neal thought to himself, watching his father wave a hand and reveal a second door.  This one was slightly darker in color than the other, standing about five feet away.  Somehow, it looked more solid, more _real_ , but that was just a feeling that Neal couldn’t quite quantify. 

“So, does that have something to do with that Sorcerer business, Pop?” he asked.  Henry had gotten through most of the story already, but their arrival at the door had interrupted the tale of how the Sorcerer’s Apprentice (who no one had managed to convince Neal _wasn’t_ Mickey Mouse, because he’d seen that movie) had pulled the darkness out of his father’s heart.  Of course, that nasty curse had gotten free and Emma had taken it on to save everyone else, but her being a hero wasn’t much of a surprise.  Still, his father was just _different_ in so many little ways.  He was quieter but more self-assured, a cross between how he’d been when they got back from Neverland and how he’d been before becoming the Dark One.

Neal thought he liked it, though the ‘new’ Rumplestiltskin would probably take some getting used to. 

“It is,” his father replied.  “I can create a portal to or from any magical world—Storybrooke included.  It does make travel much easier.”

“Shame you couldn’t do that before.”   

Their eyes met, and Neal could see a world of old pain flashing through his father’s eyes.  Looking at that made Neal swallow; he’d hated and feared his father for so many years, but Rumplestiltskin really had changed, even before.  But now he was different again, and Neal could see the centuries’ worth of regret that had weighed his father down.  So, he reached out and put a hand on Rumplestiltskin’s arm.

“Quite,” his father said softly.  “I would have gone to you in Neverland if I’d had any idea, Bae.  You know that, don’t you?”

“I never really doubted that.”  He’d just said what he did in New York because he’d been angry and hurt, and because it _had_ broken him into tiny pieces every time he dreamt that his father would rescue him, yet Rumplestiltskin never came.  _He didn’t know, and I know that._   “Still, I guess it’s just kind of cool, now,”

“I suppose.”

“ _Really_ cool,” Henry piped up, and Neal smiled.  He was glad he couldn’t really remember his time in the vault beyond a few vaguely dark images, but man, it was good to be back.  Even if his kid had turned thirteen while he was dead.

That was going to take some getting used to.

“So, you gonna tell me the rest of what inheriting Merlin’s powers means?” he asked as Rumplestiltskin twitched his hands at the other door, dissolving it into a cloud of golden smoke. 

His father smiled crookedly.  “Once I figure it out, sure.”

“Oh, great.  I’ve heard that before.”  But he softened the reference with a laugh, and then followed his father and Belle as they led the way through the door.

* * *

 

Robin’s phone rang, startling the three men.  “Regina!”  There was a long pause while Robin listened, but Killian could see his expression easing, and he felt himself slump in his chair.  If Robin looked so relieved, everything had to be all right.  “That’s good to hear.  We’re at the sheriff’s station.”

“Are they all right?”  Killian couldn’t stop the demand from tearing out.  “Henry?  Emma?”

“Regina says they’re both fine.  They just got back, and they’re on their way here.”

“Thank goodness,” David breathed, but Killian couldn’t keep from jumping to his feet and beginning to pace impatiently. 

He wasn’t sure how long he paced for, only that it seemed like _forever_ passed before the door opened and Regina walked in.  But Killian didn’t give a damn about her; he wanted to see Emma.  He was worried about Henry, too, of course, but he’d known that Emma would save her son.  Killian had just dreaded finding out how much that would cost. 

Then there she was, and his vision seemed to narrow down until he could see nothing but her beautiful face.  “Emma.”

“Hey.”  Her smile looked more relaxed than he’d seen in weeks, and when Killian stepped forward to take her in his arms, she hugged him back without hesitation.  “Don’t look so worried.  I’m all right.”

“I feared you might do something rash to save the lad,” he admitted.

“I might have, but I had help.”  The smile she turned on Rumplestiltskin, of all people, made Killian’s stomach heave uneasily; changed or not, how could he trust the Crocodile?  When he’d learned that Emma had gone through with only Rumplestiltskin for backup, he’d been ready to tear the walls between universes down with his bare hands.  He might have known that Rumplestiltskin had been a good man before he had become the Dark One, but that didn’t mean that Killian would ever _trust_ him.  He knew that Rumplestiltskin was still the sort who was more likely to run away than help someone win a fight.

“I think we both did.”  The Crocodile nodded mysteriously, and Killian didn’t like the unspoken communication that passed between them.

“We even brought someone back,” Emma said, jerking her head left.  Killian followed her gaze, and his jaw almost hit the floor.  He knew the man standing next to Henry

“ _Baelfire?_ ”

“Hey, Killian.”  The easy smile was all Bae, and it reminded him painfully of Milah.  “Long time, man.”

“That’s…that’s one way to put it.”  Henry, standing next to Bae, was beaming, but how could they all look so _happy_?  Killian was hardly an expert on magic, but even he knew that all magic came at a price.  So, he spun to look at Rumplestiltskin, ignoring the fact that the Sorcerer was speaking quietly with Belle, and forgetting the fact that they had come to something of an understanding not too many days earlier.  “What did you _do_?  What dark magic did you force _Emma_ to do?”

“That’s not fair!” Henry burst out, and Killian blinked.  Of course Henry was happy to have his father back, but at what price? 

“No one forced _anyone_ to do anything,” Belle cut in before Henry could say more, and Killian wanted to shake his friend.  He understood love, but she shouldn’t make excuses for Rumplestiltskin.  Not again.

“Then you’re telling me that someone was brought back from the dead for free?” He gestured derisively at Bae.  “I’m sorry, does ‘all magic comes with a price’ apply only to Emma these days, or am I missing something?”

“You know,” Emma said softly, “you could always _ask_ me before you assume someone has forced me into something.  I am _not_ some puppet on strings, and I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

The edge in her voice made him draw back a little; Killian wasn’t sure what to think of that, only that he’d been so damned worried for her, feeling guilty because _his_ uncle had kidnapped Henry.  Why was she angry with him?  _She has every right to be,_ he thought guiltily.  _I should tell her everything, but I_ can’t _until I know she’s all right and that the damn Crocodile didn’t make her do something._

“I didn’t think you were,” he protested.  “I just know _his_ tricks, and if there’s anyone this benefits it’s—”

“Henry,” Baelfire cut him off, his voice hard.  “Or me, maybe, since I’m not stuck in the Vault of the Dark One anymore.  Did you think about asking before throwing accusations around?  Wow, I thought we were friends.”

“That’s got nothing to do with this!”

“How about we all slow down for a moment?” David stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture.  “The three of us have been sitting here in Storybrooke worrying while the rest of you were in the Enchanted Forest, and we don’t know what happened.  So, why doesn’t someone explain so that we can _all_ understand?”

Killian couldn’t stop the comment from coming out.  “Answers _would_ be nice.”

“It would also be nice if you’d keep your opinions to yourself for five seconds, Captain Complainer.”  Regina glared at him from behind Henry.  “Because if you’d be willing to shut up for those five seconds, we might be able to get through this.”

“Well, excuse me, _Your Majesty,_ but—”

“Why is _she_ back?” another voice cut in, and they all turned to see three dwarves and a former cricket standing in the doorway.

“Leroy…” Even David was starting to sound strained; in the hours Emma and company had been gone, _they’d_ had to deal with the irate townspeople who seemed to think that Emma being gone was the perfect solution.  “I know people are worried, but this isn’t the time or the place.”

“Yeah, the _place_ to leave her was the Enchanted Forest.”  The dwarf crossed his arms.  “Why the hell couldn’t you just ditch her there?”

Emma went rigid, and Killian shoved his own anger and frustration aside to stand next to her, putting a gentle hand on her arm.  She gave him a tight smile, but he could tell that she wasn’t all right—and that she was fighting the darkness for all she was worth, not to mention the sting of feeling unwanted and abandoned by people who had once been her friends.

“No one’s leaving anyone anywhere,” Regina replied, stepping forward.  “We’ve told you before that we’ll work this out, and abandoning Emma _will not_ help us defeat the darkness.  That’s the enemy.  Not her.”

For once in his life, Killian completely agreed with the Evil Queen, but he could tell that the newcomers didn’t.  Surprisingly, it was Archie who stepped forward.

“No one thinks we should abandon Emma.”  The therapist sounded so earnest, but Killian could tell from his tone that something bad was coming.  “People are simply frightened.  It would help a lot of we could do something to reassure them, something to prove that—”

“That what?” Emma cut in.  “That I’m not the Dark One?  I still am.  And I’m _fighting_ this, whether you want to believe that or not.  I’m—I’m sorry about what happened to Granny.  I didn’t mean to hurt her.  It was just that…in the first few days, I couldn’t, I didn’t know how to fight this.  I do now.  I’m not going to kill anyone else.”

“What about the two knights from Camelot?”

“They attacked her, mate.  You can’t seriously expect her not to defend herself.”  Killian narrowed his eyes.  “Or maybe you do.  Maybe that’s your game, what you all want, to let a few strangers take the blame so that you can lock her away.”

Archie frowned.  “No one wants that.  And to prove it, I’ve been asked—by the people of Storybrooke—to talk to you, _Emma_ , on their behalf.”  He shifted his gaze pointedly away from Killian, who scowled.  “I want to make sure that we _don’t_ have a repeat of what happened a few days ago when a crowd tried to get out to give up the dagger, and that no one else attacks you.  Is that acceptable to you, Emma?  Will you talk to me?”

“I will.”  Emma nodded stiffly, but Killian could tell she was listening, and that was good.

“Thank you.  Surely, you understand why people are afraid.  Everyone thinks of you as the Savior, and this is a big change.”  He held up a hand when Killian opened his mouth to argue.  “We know why you took the darkness on, and people _are_ grateful for what you did.  But that doesn’t keep them from being afraid.”

“I can’t _not_ be the Dark One.  You can’t just wish it away.  It doesn’t work like that.”  She exchanged another loaded glance with Rumplestiltskin, and Killian forced himself not to comment.  Archie, however, seemed to notice.

“Everyone knows about the deal you made with Rumplestiltskin, about staying in control and not hurting anyone else.  Will you keep it?”

“Yes.”  Emma looked Archie right in the eye, answering before Killian got the chance to bristle.  Much.  “I will.”

“Then we’ll accept that.  I can’t say that people will trust you like before, but we’ll give you the chance.  Please don’t let us down.”

He was close enough to feel her shake.  “I’ll try.”

“Can you get this darkness out of her?” Archie turned to Rumplestiltskin, which seemed to make Baelfire jump.  _That’s interesting._ “No one here is quite sure what it means by you being ‘the Sorcerer’, but you know more about that than anyone else…and it’s obvious that you aren’t the same man, the same Dark One, we knew.”

“I can’t make promises,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “But I believe so.  The problem isn’t removing the darkness—I could do that now.  The problem is trapping it, so that it doesn’t find a new host, and we don’t have a Dark One who is less adept that fighting it back than Miss Swan is.”

Leroy snorted.  “Less adept?  That’d be hard.”

“And you’re an expert now?  I must have missed how _that_ happened,” Regina snorted.

“Says the woman who—”

“Leroy, don’t.  Please.”  Belle’s soft voice made the dwarf shut up when insults failed, and Leroy just shrugged angrily.

“We’re not here to start an argument.”  Archie took over again.  “If Emma says she’ll try, and Rumplestiltskin says that he’s working on the problem, we’ll accept that.  On one condition.”

“I’m not sure the ‘people of Storybrooke’ are in a position to be setting conditions,” Killian muttered.

Archie just looked at David and Regina.  “No more secrets.  If something else happens, don’t cover it up.  People aren’t just afraid because they worry about what _Emma_ might do.  They’re afraid because the leaders they trusted to protect them started lying, and that’s hard to overcome.  Please don’t do it again.”

“We won’t.”  David spoke strongly, and didn’t hesitate for a moment.  Killian knew Emma’s father well enough to know that having kept the secret of Granny’s death was eating at him, so the answer didn’t surprise him at all.  “The time for secrets is over.  We know we have to earn people’s trust back, and we’ll do our best to be worthy of it this time.”

Killian tuned the rest of the feel-good talk out; Archie was a good negotiator, but he really didn’t know anything about what Emma was going through.  He regretted his earlier rash words a little—Emma seemed all right, even if there was no guarantee that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t forced her to do something terrible to bring Baelfire back.  Yet he couldn’t quite push aside the thought that his own guilt, the fact that he’d _known_ Mordred was planning on taking Emma away, had pushed him towards blaming his old enemy.  _I’m supposed to be better than that, now,_ Killian told himself, not sure which he was angrier at himself for.  He hadn’t betrayed Emma, not quite, but it felt like he had.

He had to tell her, but how?

* * *

 

Neal was damn happy to leave the sheriff’s station after that _really_ awkward mess of a conversation, even if it meant Henry was going home to Regina’s for the night.  Still, he was able to hug his son tightly, reassure himself that Henry was okay and real and Neal was really actually here—and he knew he’d see him tomorrow.  That was a damn sight better than the last time he’d been in Storybrooke, having taken over the body he shared with his father.  That time, he’d wound up with a few hours to find some closure; his instincts had told him he was dying, and he’d wanted desperately to see a boy who didn’t have any memories of him.  _Things will be different this time,_ he told himself, walking outside with his father and Belle.

“So, uh, Papa, do you mind if I crash at your place tonight?” he asked hesitantly, figuring that he might as well bite the bullet and ask.  Yeah, he’d been staying at Granny’s before, but after living in his father’s head for almost a year, he figured he could manage to share a house with him.  

Besides, if he remembered right, it was a _big_ house.  And pink.  Really, really, pink.

“Of course not.”  A smile split his father’s face, and Neal was glad that he hadn’t suggested that he might stay at Granny’s.

“The house is a little different, though,” Belle laughed from his father’s other side, and there was something in her smile that made Neal cock his head playfully.

“What, did you move in and get rid of all the antiques?”

“I didn’t mind the antiques, actually, but in Henry’s grand history of Storybrooke, he did neglect to mention that we got married.”  Typical Belle, she hit the subject head-on, but Neal saw the red tint in her cheeks.

“You did?  Congratulations!”  He was going to have to ask for a slightly more detailed version of the story later, but Neal figured that could wait.  “It’s about damn time.”

“You’re, um, all right with it?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Neal hadn’t seen his father so hesitant in…hell, he didn’t know how long.  Centuries.

“Of course I am.  I mean, calling someone two-plus centuries younger than me ‘Mom’ might be awkward, but I can get used to it.”  The expression on Belle’s face made him grin.  “Particularly if it makes her look that horrified.” 

They laughed together, though, and Neal wasn’t sure how he’d gone from feeling awkward in this town to feeling like it was home.  Last time he’d really been here, Belle had been Lacey, he’d been engaged to Tamara, and he’d been trying to figure out if he even wanted to stick around.  Now, however…now he knew that he wouldn’t want to go anywhere else, even if someone offered him a penthouse suite in New York.  _Screw the city._ He hadn’t felt so secure since he’d been a boy, and he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have a home, to have family.

There was a suspicious stinging feeling in his eyes, so Neal turned to his father, forcing his voice to be casual.  “Seriously, you know that Belle and I traveled together, hung out in your castle together, and pretty much acted like family while you were gone, right?  Lacey was a bit much, but I like Belle.”

“Gee, thanks, Bae.”  But she smiled.

Rumplestiltskin looked a little overcome with emotion, so Neal just wrapped an arm around his father.  Still, all Rumplestiltskin managed to say was a suspiciously gruff “Good.”

“This is probably when we should tell you that the old house burned down,” Belle put in. 

“ _What_?  How the hell did that happen?”

“Zelena.”  Rumplestiltskin’s expression went dark, and then so did Neal’s as memories crashed in.  He _knew_ what she’d done to his father, and it had been a lot more than manipulating Neal to bring him back to life.  That crazy green bitch had—

“We have a new house, though.”  Belle seemed to see Rumplestiltskin’s discomfort, and Neal marveled as he watched a simple touch of her hand help his father relax.  “One of the perks of your dear father being the Sorcerer is that we get a _really_ unique house.  Just wait until you see it.”

There was something about the tone of her voice that made Neal wary.  “Should I be frightened?”

“Did you ever read _Harry Potter_?”

Well, that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.  “Am I going to get made fun of if I say yes?”

“Definitely not!  I love the books, and Henry’s trying to get Rumple to read them.”  Belle’s eyes twinkled. 

“Oh, I’d pay to see that!” he laughed.

Belle grinned back. “Let’s just say that the house has as much personality as Hogwarts, and leave it at that.”

Neal wasn’t sure if he should find that exciting or not, particularly when his dad teleported them to the Sorcerer’s House.  But, hell, it was a brave new world, wasn’t it?  He was back from the dead.  He had a stepmother.  His son was thirteen, and his ex-girlfriend was the Dark One.  Oh, and that same girl was now dating the same guy his actual mother had run off with.  _Yeah.  Might as well just keep rolling with the punches, because if experience is anything to go by, this place is only going to get_ weirder _as time goes by._

* * *

 

Regina didn’t manage to steal a few minutes alone with Robin until long after they got home.  By then, dinner was over and both boys were in bed, and she was absolutely exhausted.  It had been a hell of a day, between chasing Emma and Henry into the Enchanted Forest, watching Belle (with her threatening husband backing her up) broker a peace with ogres, and then forging an odd détente in Storybrooke, and Regina just wanted to collapse into bed.  But first she had a responsibility to tell Robin the truth.

“Zelena…Zelena’s not back yet,” she said softly.  They were getting ready for bed, and Robin turned to her, his shirt half off and his expression slack-jawed.

“What do you mean?  And—I didn’t ask this earlier because more questions seemed likely to just start another argument—but what was _Zelena_ doing there, anyway?  I thought that mess was Mordred’s doing.”

“It was, but apparently my dear sister allied with him.  Rumple said they seemed awfully cozy…and Emma said that she might have mentioned Mordred to Zelena, back when she was hoping to get Zelena to kill Arthur for her.”

Robin groaned.  “That’s about as far from brilliant as anything she’s ever done.”

“Not her finest moment, yeah.”  Regina sucked in a deep breath.  “But…Rumple messed with the portal that would have brought them back here—I think he was trying to buy time, but the reasons don’t really matter.  Either way, they _didn’t_ take that portal back, and we have no idea where they went.”

“Are they still in the Enchanted Forest?”

“I don’t think so.  I thought I picked up traces of a magical tornado, but you never know with Zelena.”

“So…she and my child are missing.”  Robin looked away, and Regina put a hand on his arm.

“We’ll find her,” she promised.  “Even if she went and hid in Oz, you and I will _dig_ her out of whatever hole she’s found.  That child is yours, and I won’t let her take it away.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just…I know you hate her, and I do, too, but this is my child.  And no matter how awful his or her mother is, I won’t let the child suffer for that.”

“I’d never ask you to.”  Stepping forward, Regina wrapped her arms around him.  “I learned a long time ago that family isn’t defined by blood—and even if I wish I could prune Zelena from the family tree, _your_ child will be precious to me, no matter what my sister does.  And I won’t stop until we drag Zelena back here.  I promise.”

“Thank you.”  His arms slipped around her in return, and Regina slowly felt Robin relax.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve far better than me.”  Leaning in, Regina kissed him lightly.  “But…someone once told me that love isn’t about deserving.  It’s just about loving.  And we’re in this together.”

Robin’s smile was tired but firm, and it sent a chill down Regina’s spine. “Until the end.”

* * *

 

Henry had been determined to go see his dad first thing the next morning, and fortunately, Regina hadn’t stopped him.  He figured that she might have even let him off the hook if it had been a school day, but fortunately, it was a Sunday.  Even Mordred kidnapping him hadn’t interfered with his homework—no matter how good of an excuse _that_ would have been!—but at least that meant he could head out to Grandpa Gold’s house first thing.  His mom had made him eat breakfast, first, but Henry had been so excited that he’d barely eaten a bite.

His dad was _alive_.  Henry had wanted him back so badly, had wanted to use the Author’s powers to change everything.  He’d known it was wrong to do even before the Apprentice told him that he couldn’t, but why hadn’t the Apprentice told him that his dad was in the vault all along?  Henry had liked the old man, but there really did seem to be a lot of things the Apprentice hadn’t been willing to share.  Still, that really didn’t matter now, because his dad was back, and Henry had been able to spend the morning with him, trying to get Neal caught up on everything that had happened in Storybrooke.  Apparently, Belle and Grandpa Gold had filled him in on a lot of the details, but Henry _liked_ telling stories.

Honestly, he just liked having a dad to spend time with, even if all they were doing was exploring the huge Sorcerer’s House.  Which was pretty cool in and of itself, too; you literally never knew what you were going to find in there.

_Knock, knock._

Henry hadn’t realized they were near the front door—not when they’d been in a room full of ancient armor for _all_ kinds of people and horses (there was even one set that Henry was pretty sure was for a dragon, which was beyond cool)—but the knock sounded pretty loud.

“I’ll get it!”  He jumped up from where he’d been crouching by the dragon armor and headed for the door, excited to see who might have come by.  People looked at his Grandpa Gold a lot differently, now, and Grandpa Gold was different, too.  He helped people, and Henry liked watching that.

“Don’t let any ogres in, bud,” his dad called, and Henry laughed as he jogged to the door and opened it.

Seeing Will Scarlet standing there, however, killed his good mood.

“What do you want?”  Any of his parents would probably tell him that was a rude greeting, but Henry couldn’t care.  It wasn’t _really_ Will’s fault that things had happened the way they had, but couldn’t he have said something in private?

“Henry.”  Will gulped.  “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my grandpa’s house.”  Henry gave Will a hard look.  He definitely should have known that; after all, Will had been trying to date Belle, which anyone with a brain could have told him wouldn’t work out in the end. 

“Right.  Yeah.  Of course.  Look, I don’t know if this’ll mean anythin’ to you, but I’m sorry.”  Will shuffled a little, glancing at the ground.  “I didn’t know it was your birthday, and I didn’t mean to ruin that.  I honestly didn’t put much thought into anythin’, cause I was so damn angry, but I didn’t mean for anyone to be hurt, especially you.  So, I’m sorry.”

Henry hadn’t expected that, and while part of him wanted to snap back at Will, he could tell that the man was being honest.  _And it’s Mordred’s fault, not his.  He told me all about how he was only going to do what was_ necessary _when he dragged me to the vault, but he was willing to kill me, all because he hates my mom._   “It’s not your fault,” he said shortly.  That was about as far as Henry could make himself go.

Will shrugged uncomfortably.  “That’s nice of you to say, but—who are you?”

Henry didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Neal had just approached, and well, if his birthday had sucked, getting his dad back more than made up for it.  So he grinned.  “This is my dad.”

That certainly made Will blink, but Neal didn’t miss a beat.

“Neal Cassidy.  Or Baelfire in the other world, if you prefer.”  He held out a hand, which Will took after a moment’s hesitation.  “So, what brings you here?”

“I, uh, was looking for Belle—or, really, the Sorcerer.”  He’d amended his statement quickly, clearly seeing Henry’s scowl.  “Belle said that he might help me get home to Wonderland.”

“Well, apparently my dad’s in the whole drawing portals business these days, so sure.  Let’s go find him.” 

Will’s eyes nearly bugged out, and Henry couldn’t hold back his snicker.  “Your… _dad_?”

“Well, unless you thought Henry got to be Rumplestiltskin’s grandson by accident, yeah, my dad.”  Neal shrugged nonchalantly.  “You coming?”

The only way Henry could hold back his grin was by retreating to lead the way towards his grandfather’s study.  He knew that Rumplestiltskin didn’t usually go to the shop on a Sunday, which was probably why Will was here, but it was still funny to watch the former Merry Man tiptoe through the house like he was afraid it was going to bite him—or that Neal was going to curse him, or something.  It would probably be a really good thing to get Will Scarlet out of Storybrooke, though, so Henry found himself hoping that Belle really _had_ talked his grandpa into helping with that.  Henry did feel bad that his mom had turned Will into a cat, after all, and he didn’t want to see it happen again.  Since Will wanted to leave, the safest course of action was definitely to get him out of town.  Fast.

* * *

 

Emma hadn’t felt this nervous since she’d come back to Storybrooke after a year in New York with no memories, knocking on her parents’ door and wondering if they’d even know who she was.  Now, however, her mother was dead and her younger brother was on the other side of that door—a baby she hadn’t so much as seen in over a month.  How had she come to this?  How had she turned her back on her family?  She kept trying to get back to them, and yet somehow she kept hurting them.  _This is what you are,_ the darkness whispered as she knocked hesitantly on the door.  _This is all you will ever be.  You_ will _hurt them again and again._

She was on the verge of fleeing when her father opened the door, and had an answering smile not lit his face, Emma might have teleported away.  But David _did_ smile, so Emma took a shuddering breath and stood her ground.

“Hi,” she whispered.  “I…I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Then why don’t you start by coming in?”  He opened the door invitingly, stepping back, and Emma made her feet carry her inside.  _Don’t trust him,_ the darkness whispered.  _He kept your secret and now people hate him, and kings like him cannot abide their peoples’ hate._

Pushing that voice aside took all of her strength, and left Emma shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I didn’t ask you to lie for me, but I didn’t stop you, either.”

 _You should have expected it.  Doesn’t he owe you that, as your father?_  

David swallowed hard as he closed the door.  “Did you know we were lying for you?”

“No.”  Emma tried to shut out the voice, tried to ignore it.  She wasn’t going to lose control, wasn’t going to blame her father for her actions.  And she _wasn’t_ going to expect him to cover for her.  No matter what the darkness said.

“Then don’t blame yourself.  Your mother and I made this decision—with Regina—and we knew there could be consequences for it.  We may not enjoy those consequences, but our duty is to face them.”  Her father reached out tentatively, and Emma bit her lip as he touched her arm.  She closed her eyes, desperate for the touch, desperate for the love she’d always taken for granted. 

“I’m sorry about Mom,” Emma whispered brokenly, tears suddenly gushing down her face.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

“Oh, Emma.”  Strong arms wrapped around her, and Emma found herself clinging to her father before the darkness could even begin taunting her.  “It’s not your fault.  Your mother’s death was a horrible, tragic accident, but it wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t save her.  I don’t think anyone could have.”

“I should have been able to.”  She bit back a sob.  “I’m supposed to save people.”

 _You’re not the Savior, now, fool.  Just a demon in human flesh.  Your mother won’t be the first family member you lose._ Those words made her shiver helplessly, and try though Emma might, they kept running through her mind.  But the darkness inside her couldn’t see the future.  Could it?

“She’s here with me, you know.”  David’s calm words made her pull back to stare at him through her tears.  Gently, he reached out, and took her hand to place it over his heart.  “I have her heart.  Sometimes, it’s like I can feel her hand in mind, feel her soul here with me.  She hasn’t gone, and I know exactly what she’d tell you right now.”

Emma could barely get the word out: “What?”

“She would tell you that she loves you, and that she’s proud of you.  We know you’re fighting this, Emma.  Maybe we shouldn’t have lied to protect you, but we bought you time to get the darkness under control, and we _believe_ you can keep it there.”

“I hope you’re right.”  Emma pressed her face into her father’s shoulder, wishing she wasn’t weeping so brokenly— _You’re weak, frightened, and foolish for trusting him!_ —but unable to stop herself.  

“I know I am.  And I’ll help.  We all will.”

Emma nodded, willing herself to believe her father.  Maybe next time she wouldn’t let him down.

* * *

 

Sitting in the Sorcerer’s workroom/study/magic-place was downright awkward.  Firstly, because the woman Will had romanced was sitting _far_ too close to the Sorcerer in question—when Henry had led them in, Belle had actually been sharing a chair with Rumplestiltskin, sitting between his legs with her eyes shut and doing something magical.  The easy intimacy between them reminded Will painfully of what he and Ana had once had; when they weren’t fighting like lions they’d been so comfortable around one another that they might as well have been sharing the same body.  But that wasn’t really it.  He could stomach Belle cuddling with her husband, no problem.  Will only wished them the best.  Belle deserved to be happy, even if he relaxed quite a bit when they both stood and put a bit of distance between themselves.

His second reason to be uneasy, however, was the oddly intense gaze belong to a man he’d barely even _heard_ of.  Neal Cassidy—or Baelfire, he supposed—was something of a mythical creature.  Sure, most folks knew that Rumplestiltskin’s son had gotten it on with Emma Swan, the result of which had been Henry Mills (which meant the poor kid’s family tree was a mess of snakes, all in all), but the guy in question seemed to have disappeared right around the time of the second curse.  Now, apparently, he was here, and Cassidy seemed to hold a grudge over what had happened at his son’s birthday party, eight days earlier.  _Not that I saw him there, come to think of it.  Where’s the bugger been hiding?_

“Belle told me that you wanted to get back to Wonderland,” Rumplestiltskin spoke up after Henry announced that they had a visitor.  “Is that still true?”

The former Dark One—and now the guy who had stopped the _new_ Dark One from massacring a crowd after Will had goaded her, because that wasn’t ironic at all—didn’t look so dangerous now, but Will still wasn’t sure what to make of him.  His eyes were too much like his son’s, who was still watching Will with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

“Yeah.  I, er, may have arsed up things with me wife.  A lot.”  He swallowed hard.  “But I need to go back and make ‘em right.  Whatever it takes.  I guess Belle taught me that.  I came by yesterday afternoon, like she said, but I guess you were busy beating up on Mordred.  Not that I’m sorry to hear that, really.  The prat probably deserves it.”

Will’s eyes cut right, almost of their own violation, to look at the woman who he’d sort-of, kind-of dated for a few weeks.  But Belle only smiled and gave him a reassuring nod, which _did_ make him feel better.  Will only wished that he’d had the sense to just be the friend she’d needed and not rush into a romance neither of them had been ready for.  _Not to mention one that neither of us really wanted.  We just wanted someone else to chase the pain away, and that ain’t very healthy._

“Belle is good at things like that.”  His voice was dry, but Rumplestiltskin’s smile was crooked.  “If it’s Wonderland you want to go to, I can draw you a portal now.”

“Now?  Just like that?”

“Indeed.  Is that going to be a problem?”  Something subtle changed in the air, and he saw Belle exchange a look with Cassidy.

“Nope,” Will said quickly.  His heart was racing already, both with eagerness and terror.  Ana was going to be pissed beyond belief at him, but he deserved that.  He just hoped she was safe and _able_ to be mad, rather than hurt or captured or something worse.  Swallowing hard, he tried to explain his hesitation.  “I just thought that travel between realms was, y’know, _hard_.  Unless you’re the White Rabbit or somethin’.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “A rabbit I am not, but being the Sorcerer does come with certain perks.”  Now _he_ exchanged a glance with his son, and this one was loaded with pain that Will resolutely was _not_ going to ask about.  “If there are any loose ends you’d like to tie up before leaving Storybrooke, I suggest you do so now.  I don’t like leaving portals open any longer than I have to.”

“Why?” Henry piped up curiously.  Will didn’t know the kid, but he was honestly surprised that he’d been quiet for so long.  Most teenagers would have wandered off out of boredom or inserted themselves into the conversation a long time ago.

“A portal is more than a doorway between realms; it’s a link holding them together, a place where they merge, however briefly.  The longer that doorway remains open, however, the closer the two realms get.  Think of all magical realms as a wheel, with Storybrooke as the hub.  The other worlds are each at the end of a spoke, some longer than others, but there’s a balance to their placement.  A long-lasting portal, like the one that led to Camelot, can disrupt that delicate balance.”

“That’s why Arthur came through.”  Henry grimaced.

“And why everyone else could follow.”  Belle looked like she was concentrating furiously, and Will knew she enjoyed research an insane amount.  “The walls are growing thinner, aren’t they?”

“Dangerously so.  That’s why I prefer to create a new portal rather than leaving anything around longer than I must.”

Thinking of the Rabbit, and of the precarious balance of, well, _sanity_ in Wonderland, Will had to ask: “What happens if the walls collapse?”

“Nothing good.”

“That’s bloody vague.”  The response escaped before he could debate the wisdom of saying that to the man who was going to send him home, and Will braced himself for a threat.  However, Rumplestiltskin just shrugged.

“It is.  The answer is that I don’t really know.  It could be that, as the hub of the wheel, all other magical realms would simply integrate into Storybrooke.  Or it might mean that some would collapse into themselves, or merge with others.  There’s no way to tell, and frankly, I don’t care to find out.  The nature of magic itself would fluctuate, and that would _not_ be good.  Thousands would die, at least.”

Cassidy finally spoke up from Will’s right.  “Way to paint a pleasant picture, Pop.” 

“Okay.”  Will took a deep breath, then had to glance Belle’s way one last time.  “There’s only one loose end I’ve really got to tie up, and it’s sayin’ that I’m sorry.  We both knew we should have been friends—an’ that we’d have been _better_ as friends, so I’m sorry for tryin’ to be something else.  We were both hurting, but it’d have been better if we’d been smarter.”

“I know, Will.  You don’t have to apologize for that.”  Much to his surprise, Belle stepped forward to hug him, and Will hugged her back tightly.  He hadn’t made a lot of friends in his generally misspent life, and he didn’t want to lose this one because he was an idiot.  At least he’d been smart enough to say goodbye to Robin and the rest of the Merry Men that morning, though Will wasn’t sure they weren’t glad to see the back of him.

“Yeah, I do.”  He pulled back to give her a crooked smile.  “An’ I need to thank you.  Thank you for giving me hope—for reminding me that nothin’ is said and done until the world ends, and that love is worth fighting for.  I made an ass out of meself with Ana, but I think I can fix that.  At the very least, I’m gonna try, and that’s thanks to you.”

Belle blushed a little.  “Good luck.  And thank you for being my friend when I needed one.”

“Same back at ya.”  Will took a deep breath.  “And, well, if you’re ever in Wonderland, look me up.  I’ll either be in the palace or the dungeon.  If it’s the former, I’ll have you in for dinner.  If it’s the latter, I might need a bit of a jail break.”

“I’ll see what I can’t do.”  She chuckled softly.  “Good luck, Will.”

“And you.” He turned to Rumplestiltskin.  “Let’s do this portal, then.  I’m ready.” 

Moments later, Will Scarlet stepped through a blue and white doorway, emerging just short of the Underland in Wonderland.  It was a bit of a walk to the palace from there, but he was all right with that—he needed the time to re-acclimate himself, and to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Anastasia.

Taking another deep breath, Will started rehearsing his speech as he walked.  Ana might curse him six ways to Sunday when she first saw him, but just in case she didn’t, he wanted to be ready.  _Start with ‘I love you’,_ he’d once told Alice.  Perhaps it was time to follow his own advice.  After all, it couldn’t go any worse than his departure had. 

* * *

 

“This is getting old,” Zelena complained.  “There’s nothing here!”

Her whining really was growing quite bothersome, even though Mordred could tell that Zelena was restraining herself.  _And I’d hate to see what she’s like when she’s letting her anger and her misplaced sense of self-entitlement run wild,_ he thought glumly, looking around the jungle.  “I quite agree,” he bit out angrily, glaring down at the wand he held in his hand.

“It won’t work.”  She scowled.  “Again.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.”

“There isn’t power enough left in the wand,” Zelena explained as if Mordred hadn’t figured that out for himself the day before.  Her tornado had sapped the last power that the Apprentice’s wand had possessed, and yet it hadn’t taken them where they wanted to go—or even to anywhere useful!  Even Oz would have been more promising than this; in Oz, they would have been able to harness sufficient power to recharge the wand.  Perhaps they would even have gathered supporters out of Zelena’s old followers.  But, no, instead of any functional magical realm, they’d wound up in Neverland, where the magic was all but drained away.  And the legendary shadow, of which Mordred had once heard so much, was nowhere to be found.

“There’s almost no magic _left_ here for it to use.”  Mordred sighed.  “I don’t think further searching will help us on that front.”

Zelena turned to look at him, her pouting expression almost pleading.  “Please don’t tell me we have to stay here much longer.  One day is almost enough to make me go insane.”

“You and me both,” he muttered.  There was no telling what was going on in Storybrooke while he wasn’t there to keep an eye on things, either, and that worried Mordred.

He had miscalculated, Mordred realized.  He’d thought Zelena was enough ‘local’ talent, someone with knowledge of the town and its people and who would tell him the important bits.  Yet she’d neglected to remember that the Dark One’s child was _also_ the Sorcerer’s grandson, which would have been a very nice thing to know before he’d kidnapped the teen.  Mordred hadn’t wanted to hurt Henry, but the life of one boy was an acceptable price to pay to trap the Dark One, so he had played his cards carefully.

Until the Sorcerer had shown up to ruin his plans.  _Then_ Rumplestiltskin was so impudent as to actually _pull_ a soul out of the Vault of the Dark One—which was far more dangerous than anyone could appreciate!  Whomever that other man was, Mordred wanted to destroy him with a fierceness that was only equaled by his fervor to end the Dark One, and yet he could not do so while he was trapped away from Storybrooke.  _I suppose I must be glad that I did not pull Killian into this plan,_ he thought angrily.  _He may yet be willing to give me information if his Dark One continues down her dangerous pathways._ The chance of that was slim, though.  Mordred knew that Killian was fond of Henry Mills, and the fact that he’d endangered the boy might just tear a rift between them.

 _I can live with his hatred if I can destroy the Dark One,_ he knew.  Killian would be safer if it was done, and so would the magical world.  _Then_ he could turn to helping his mother face off against the Black Fairy, who Morgan continued to call the ‘real’ enemy.  But without the Dark One’s power at her fingertips, the Black Fairy would not be so powerful.  Mordred had to do that first.

“Any ideas?” Zelena demanded, and he turned his mind away from the future with a sigh.  He didn’t want to use the Greater Sapphire for their…but Mordred feared he might have to.  The only question was how to do it in a way that neither original power in Storybrooke detected the specific magical trace on the portal.  That would take some planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone! Thank you so much for all the kind comments and kudos; they really do mean the world to me.
> 
> Next up, Chapter Forty-One—“Out Flew the Web”, in which Arthur tries to lay groundwork to get the town to move against Mordred and Morgan, Emma spends some quality time with family, Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire get reacquainted, David enlists Archie’s help in figuring out who the real enemy is, and Killian tries to clear the air between himself and Bae.


	41. Out Flew the Web

Part of Belle just wanted to stay home the next day, reveling in the happy place that the Sorcerer’s House had become.  She felt like her life was _finally_ back on the right track.  Baelfire was alive, and actually staying with them.  She couldn’t remember Rumple having been this light-hearted or this happy since his return from Neverland—happy though he was not to be the Dark One, and happy though they were _together_ , she had always known that the loss of his beloved son would be a wound that would never heal.  They were a family, now, the one Belle knew her husband had always dreamed, and since she’d come to love Bae, too, Belle felt lighter than ever.

Will was gone, too, back in Wonderland, and hopefully making peace with his wife.  Belle did want to look in on her friend after a while; the romantic end of their relationship might have been a bad idea, but she still wished him the best.  Even Emma seemed mostly under control, seemed to be sticking to the deal she’d made with Rumplestiltskin and trying not to isolate herself from her family.  For the first time in what felt like forever, things truly seemed to be looking up in Storybrooke—which, of course, meant that everything would go wrong, and soon.  Despite how much she wanted to treasure the quiet while they had it, though, Belle knew she had to go open the library that morning.  Anton had called her during breakfast; his sink had exploded, flooding his apartment, and he needed to come in later than usual.  So, Belle kissed her husband and headed to open the library for the week.  There was a reading group coming over from the elementary school that morning, and she didn’t want to disappoint the second graders.

She’d just finished reading _Fairer-than-a-Fairy_ to the class when her grandfather arrived, and Belle bit back a smile as King Arthur looked sideways at the flock of chattering children.  He didn’t seem terribly comfortable around them, which made her wonder what her mother’s childhood had been like.  Colette had never discussed any specifics about her parents or where she’d grown up, which Belle would have thought strange had it not just been a fact of life.  Now, of course, she wished she’d asked a thousand questions, but it was far too late for that.  She only had her grandparents, who she desperately wanted to know and to trust.  She’d almost completely forgotten her argument with Rumplestiltskin concerning them in the aftermath of Henry’s kidnapping, but the subject was still a sore one.

And Belle _really_ wanted to get to know her mother’s parents.

“Hello, Grandfather!” She smiled cheerfully as she rose, shooing the children towards Miss Muffet, the second grade teacher.   “What brings you to the library?”

“I was worried about you, again.  But”—Arthur held a hand up before she could protest—“before you tell me that your choices are your own, a fact I _do_ understand, it’s because I heard you tangled with Mordred.”

“Regina and I arrived afterwards.  It was really Rumple and Emma who faced off with Mordred.”  Belle didn’t bother to mention that Zelena had been there, also, or the nightmares that had ignited _again_ for her husband.  She doubted Arthur would have known who Zelena was, anyway.

“Good.  I’m glad to hear that.”  He looked so relieved that Belle couldn’t snap at him, and besides, he _had_ lost his only child years earlier.  Arthur’s protectiveness was natural, even if Belle preferred her grandmother’s slyly adventurous streak, instead.

“I’m not helpless, you know,” she said as gently as she could.

“I don’t think you are, but I don’t think you appreciate how dangerous Mordred is, either.”  Moving forward, Arthur gestured for Belle to follow, and they walked away from the children until they were alone by the circulation desk.  “He tried to kill your mother, you know.”

“ _What?_ ”

He sighed.  “I don’t doubt he’d be willing to do the same to you, once he knows who you are.  Mordred is ambitious, and he wants to rule.”

“But Camelot’s gone.”  Belle couldn’t understand what Mordred still wanted to fight Arthur over; after so many hundreds of years—even if time had been stopped—what could Mordred hope to gain by killing his own father?  _That makes him my half-uncle…but he’s also Killian’s uncle, isn’t he, only from the other side?  Goodness, this is getting awkward._  

“Camelot was more than just a city, Belle.  Camelot was a _dream_ , a belief.  A way of living that I know my people want to keep.  Mordred wants to own that.”  Arthur grimaced, and Belle could see how badly wounded he was by the fact that his own bastard son had tried to kill his daughter.  “The only good thing I can say for my stepsister, Mordred’s mother, is that she stopped him from killing Colette.  Not that you can trust her with anything else.  In all other ways, she’s entirely on Mordred’s side.  She even tried to have my wife—your grandmother—killed.”

“Why would she do that?” Belle had never met Morgan le Fae, but everything she learned only made her maternal family line seem more tangled and bitter. 

“It always comes down to power.”

Belle took a deep breath, remembering what Regina had said about her grandparents’ ambitions.  Arthur had provided her with the opening, so she asked: “And is it about power for you?”

“I am the rightful King of Camelot,” he answered simply.  “And I did my best to be a good king for my people, even if I did lose the war in the end.  I wanted to build something _better_ than any old corrupt kingdom, and with your grandmother’s help, I did.  So, yes, I appreciate power.  It’s a tool that a king needs to protect his people.”

_And magic?  Where did my mother inherit that from, or are you and Grandmother True Love?_   The words were on the tip of Belle’s tongue, but she stopped herself from asking.  Not yet.  Perhaps Rumplestiltskin’s caution was wearing off on her, but she could tell there was something that Arthur wasn’t saying.  Belle had always been a good judge of character, and although she knew that Arthur believed he was doing right by his people, he _had_ killed Snow without blinking an eye—and he was also maneuvering for power here in Storybrooke.  Belle had learned the hard way not to love people so strongly that she was willing to turn a blind eye to their faults, and whatever Arthur’s end goal was, he did not have an elemental darkness living inside him to corrupt him.

“I see,” she said quietly.  “Will you tell me about Mordred? I haven’t met him yet, and having family is…wonderful.”

Immediately, Arthur launched into a lecture of how Mordred was not to be trusted, how Mordred had destroyed and corrupted Camelot, but Belle didn’t just listen to his words.  She listened to his tone and watched the expressions on his face.  Arthur believed most of what he was saying, and yet when she asked why Mordred moved against him, the answer was always the same: power.  _He’s leaving something out,_ Belle realized.  _Something huge._

Now, if only she could figure out what that was.

* * *

 

David had suggested that they get ice cream together, and Emma had reluctantly agreed.  She wasn’t sure how ready she was to go into Any Given Sundae, which had been taken over by a woman named Jadis after Ingrid’s death—they had apparently been friendly acquaintances—but the idea of going back to Granny’s was even worse, so she let her father convince her.  She’d walked in cautiously, though, ready to be attacked despite Archie’s attempt to smooth things out with the townspeople.  Much to her surprise, Jadis only gave her a friendly nod, and Emma sat down across from her father as Neal gurgled happily.

“His name suddenly got a bit more awkward.”  She gestured at her baby brother.  “I don’t know if Henry’s told his dad about this one, yet.”

David chuckled.  “Well, I guess we should be glad we didn’t actually name him Baelfire, then.”

“Not funny, Dad.”

“Of course it is.  Try to smile a little, Emma.  No one is going to attack you, and we’re here to support you.   The more love you have, the easier it is, right?”

Biting her lip, she could only nod.  _They’ll still abandon you,_ the darkness whispered.  _Just you wait.  They’ll all hate you in the end.  They’ll see you for what you really are, and they’ll try to take the dagger._

_Shut up!_

“Then let us help you.  All of us.”  David put a hand on her arm, and for once, Emma didn’t have to fight the urge to pull away.  It felt nice.

“It’s funny how you all think she deserves help, even now that she’s dark and terrible,” a third voice put in, and Emma’s head snapped around to face Lily.  “It might have been nice to get that same treatment instead of being abandoned into a strange world as a baby.”

“Lily…”

“What?  Yeah, the same thing happened to you, and you had a crappy life, too,” her old friend retorted.  “I get it.  Yet here you are, the murderous Dark One, sitting and eating chocolate ice cream, and no one’s trying to lock you up.”

“You have _no_ idea what this is like,” she growled.  _Kill her,_ the voice taunted Emma.  _Go on.  She deserves it.  With all the darkness inside her, it’s only a matter of time until she lashes out.  She might just become a dragon again and try to kill your father the way she tried to kill your mother._

“Actually, I’ve got a pretty damn good idea.” Lily snorted.  “I got a double dose of darkness, remember?  Oh, it might not be what you have now, but I know how it is to do everything wrong even when you’re trying your hardest.  It’s about time you knew that feeling.”

Emma was on her feet before she could stop herself.  “I took this on to save _everyone!_ ”

“Yeah, and your parents dumped your darkness in me to save you.  What goes around comes around, doesn’t it?” Lily’s laugh was bitter, and Emma felt guilt twist around in her gut.

David, however, got in before she could let the darkness goad her into saying something nasty.  “What we did was wrong, Lily.  And I know we’ll never be able to make it up to you.  But if—”

“Just don’t.”  Lily rolled her eyes.  “I am what I am, and there’s no way to get that out of me—not unless you want to dump it back in _her_ , anyway, and even I think that’s a bad idea at the moment.  So save your platitudes.  They’re useless.”

“Then what _do_ you want?” David asked.

“I just want an answer to my question, really.”  Lily’s eyes met Emma’s, and she felt an odd connection with the other woman—and a boiling hatred for her that Emma couldn’t quite force back.  “What does it feel like, having all that darkness that isn’t your own, knowing deep down that what you’re doing is wrong, even though you can _never_ stop yourself?”

“It feels terrible,” she whispered.  _Wonderful,_ the darkness supplied, but Emma pushed that aside.  _You’re free to ignore the fools.  Why listen to their drivel, anyway?  Just destroy them.  Destroy them all._

_Start with her._

“Good.  It’s about damned time you felt like I do.”  Turning on her heel, Lily strode out of the ice cream shop without looking back, and Emma felt a strange pang of sadness.

_That one is dangerous,_ the darkness insisted.  _She would kill you and take your power in a heartbeat._   Emma wanted to object to that…but she knew she couldn’t.  Lily would do it, and that probably meant Emma had to kill Lily first.  _No,_ she told herself firmly, realizing abruptly where those thoughts were coming from.  _I promised control.  I am_ not _going to be a murderer.  Not again.  Not for you!_

_You will._

* * *

 

“So, you’re telling me that Snow and David named their kid after me.”  Baelfire’s eyes were wide, and Rumplestiltskin fought back the urge to laugh at his son’s despondent expression.

“They did.  Though, in fairness to them, you _were_ dead at the time.”

“Not funny, Papa.”

“It is now,” he replied with a smile, amazed at the fact that he could actually _joke_ about his son’s death.  Baelfire’s loss had been a gaping hole in his soul that Rumplestiltskin thought would never heal, but Baelfire was _home_.  It took all the self-control Rumplestiltskin possessed to keep from reaching out to touch his son all of the time, just to reassure himself that this was real and Bae was alive.  He couldn’t remember having felt so optimistic or so lighthearted in his entire life, and Rumplestiltskin knew he was going to treasure every moment.

Bae had spent yesterday with Henry, getting to know his son again, but today Rumplestiltskin was staying home to share it with his son, and he didn’t care if some moments were awkward.  It was worth it.

“I guess so.”  Bae snorted.  “Hell, I just hope Henry doesn’t carry on the family tradition of dying for a bit before coming back.  We could use that one getting put aside.”

“Tell me about it.”  They exchanged a look, and it was almost like no time had passed.  The understanding they had reached after Neverland still held, and it took Rumplestiltskin’s breath away.  Perhaps sharing his mind with his son had also helped, because somehow they seemed closer than they had been since Bae was a child.  Since before everything went so very wrong.

“Speaking of which…” Bae glanced down, looking a little shamefaced.  “I’m sorry about what I assumed when I came out of the vault.  I didn’t think.  I just saw Emma, and I was so angry and worried and…”

“I know, son.  And there’s no need to apologize.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled wryly, knowing the kind of man he’d been.  “It was a logical assumption.”

“I’m still glad I was wrong.  And, even though it sounds terrible, in context, I’m really glad you’re not the Dark One, anymore.  I mean, I don’t want it to be Emma, but—”

“But you saw what that darkness did to me,” he finished softly.  “I was too close to it, and I was convinced I could be the same.  That I could be _better_.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it was hard.  “I didn’t see what I was until it was far too late, and I didn’t listen when you tried to tell me.”

“I don’t think you could.”  Much to his surprise, Bae met his eyes resolutely.  “Remember, I lived in your head.  I heard what you heard, that mess of voices, pushing and prodding and trying to take over your thoughts.  I probably understand the Dark One better than anyone other than you or Emma, and maybe better than her, too.  I could hear the darkness, but it couldn’t affect me.”

Looking away, Rumplestiltskin had to swallow.  “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“Sorry?  Papa, you did your best to save me!  Don’t apologize for that.  You gave up your soul to do that, and your freedom.  And I remember what Zelena—”

“Please don’t.” 

He didn’t want to talk about it.  Rumplestiltskin still had plenty of nightmares, even with Belle there to comfort him.  He’d usually chosen not to sleep as the Dark One, particularly after that year in Zelena’s hands, but now he didn’t have a choice.  Now he was human again, and Sorcerer or not, he had to sleep.  Even when those sick scenes played through his mind over and over again, and even when Belle wasn’t enough to chase away the memories.

_“Come here,”_ Zelena had told him, so many times.  _“Kiss me like your little lover.”_ She’d been particularly furious after he’d tried to seduce her, playing on her desire to make him _want_ her and trying to get the dagger.  To get his freedom.  Rumplestiltskin sometimes _still_ felt unclean from that effort; having touched her willingly made him want to scrub his skin raw just to make the memory of her touch go away.  But it had been bad from the beginning.  Even when he’d been teetering on the edge of insanity, Zelena had wanted him, _used_ him.  She’d forced him to his knees, and—

“Hey.”  A hand landed on his arm, and Rumplestiltskin started, jerking back before he could stop himself.  But it was only Bae, who watched him with eyes that knew entirely too much.  “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” his son whispered.  “You seemed…better.”

“I usually am.”  He swallowed hard.  “It helps knowing that no one will ever control me again.  Having magic helps, too, though I’m fairly sure you don’t want to hear that.”

Bae just shook his head.  “It’s not the magic I minded.  It was the way it changed you.  I just wanted my father back.”  Bae’s sudden smile was anything but tentative, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart skip a joyful beat.  “But I think—I know—that’s who you are, now.  Again.”

“I’m trying.  I know I’m changing, but I try to make sure it’s in good ways.” Being so honest was easier than it once had been, even if his old habits told Rumplestiltskin to keep his mouth shut.  Still, he managed to plow onwards after a slight hesitation.  “I made myself a promise at your grave to be a man you could be proud of.  It took me a long time to get around to that, but I’m trying.”

“From where I’m sitting, you seem to be doing pretty well.”

Those words made him want to cry with relief, so Rumplestiltskin just reached out to hug his son tightly.  They held onto one another for a long moment—long enough for him to get control of himself—before pulling apart, and Rumplestiltskin felt a smile tugging at his own lips.  He didn’t deserve this unconditional love his son was offering once more, not after he’d betrayed his boy so thoroughly, but he would do his best to be worthy of it.

“So.”  Bae cleared his throat.  “You gonna explain this weird house of yours to me?  I was only in the Dark Castle for a bit, but this kind of reminds me of that place.  Just more…unpredictable.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “It is.  The house showed up with the second curse.  It has a magic of its own, and personality to go with it.  Rooms have a tendency to move or appear out of nowhere—or disappear if the house doesn’t like you.  Belle and I are also _still_ trying to catalog all the magical items that seem to have found a home here…but, as Regina pointed out, someone has to take responsibility for this mess, and I suppose that’s me.”

“Henry loves the place,” Bae sighed.  “He gave me the grand tour yesterday, and the fact that rooms move really rocks his world.”

“He’s a teenager.”

“Yeah, I gathered.  He’s still a great kid, though.  Between them, Emma and Regina have done really well by him, even if it is still a really weird arrangement.”  Bae took a deep breath.  “He says he’s still living with Regina.”

“Better than the alternative.  You know as well as I do that living with a Dark One for a parent can be…chaotic.”  Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have admitted that when he was still the Dark One, but now that he had a little perspective, he couldn’t begrudge his son the fears and anger he’d felt towards his father.  _I just want my father back,_ Bae had said more than once, and Rumplestiltskin had never understood.  Not then.

“Yeah.  And a pirate’s not much better.”  Pain flashed across Bae’s face, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart aching for his son.  “Henry told me that Killian’s living with her.”

“Are you all right with that?” he asked softly.

Bae shrugged.  “I have to be.  If it makes her happy, that’s what I want.”

“You still love her?” At the last moment, Rumplestiltskin phrased it as a question; he knew how his son had _felt_ when their minds were linked, but he wasn’t sure how Bae felt now.

“She was my first love.  I don’t think you ever really get over that,” was the quiet answer, and he didn’t press when Bae took a moment to think.  Finally, Bae went on:  “But I don’t know.  I could, sure.  But we’ve both changed a lot, even before I died and she became the Dark One.  What I really want is to be here for Henry, and I’ll support Emma in whatever makes her happy.  Romantically, I mean.  I’m not really good at supporting Big, Bad, Dark One stuff.”

The last quip made Rumplestiltskin smile.  He knew his son was deflecting a little, keeping his feelings in check until he knew what to make of them, but that was all right.  It was Bae’s choice to make, after all; he could only support him.

“You never have been,” he replied with a smile.  Once, he would have been angry.  Now he was proud.

“So, um, speaking of Emma and her family…it’s really awkward that they named their kid after me.  Or the name I kind of picked at random, anyway.”  Bae grimaced.  “I don’t really want to get mixed up with a baby, and being called Big Neal just sounds ridiculous.  You think it’ll confuse people if I just go back to being Baelfire?”

“Not me, certainly, but I may be biased.”

“Kinda figured that one out, Pop.”

“Then why ask me at all?” Rumplestiltskin grinned back.  “Most people have two names in this town already.  They’ll get used to it.”

“Then I guess I’m Bae again—but one more thing.  Do you think they can get rid of the grave?  Having a grave and a tombstone is _really_ creepy.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed.  “I’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

 

She had expected her sister to have her wand.  It made _sense_ ; Reul Ghorm had been the one to shove the Heart of the Truest Believer in her chest, separating Danns’ from her magic and binding her to her own sister’s will.  She had suffered that inglorious fate twice, and had gained her freedom slowly each time, patiently waiting for the Truest Believer to die so that Reul’s grip on her faltered.  The second time, Morgan of Cornwall—Arthur’s thrice-damned stepsister—had allied with Reul and acquired the heart, just when Danns’ had been on the verge of victory in the Enchanted Forest.  Many of her fae had been slain in the intervening years, which made her fury all the greater, because she had been _so_ close.  Oh, she hadn’t had the excellent starting position that she’d had in Camelot, already recognized as a queen by humans and with a powerful human king by her side to help control them, but she had still been close.

Yet, interestingly enough, she had become a legend in the Enchanted Forest after her century-long reign of terror.  More than three hundred years after she’d been put in exile—with her sister shoving the new Heart in her _every_ time before Danns’ could regain her magic—humanity still feared her.  They told _stories_ about her, whispers in the dark, trembling at the thought of her power.  Danns’ quite appreciated that, even if she had not enjoyed her many years in exile, but now she was finished with being controlled. 

Reul had not realized that the old Truest Believer had died during the first curse, and old woman withering away in the convent under the nuns’ care.  So, when the Savior had broken the curse, Danns’ had remembered _everything_ , and by then it was far too late for her sister to rein her in.  Still, she had waited, watching events in Storybrooke with interest.  She had never been one to move precipitously, after all, and she was immortal.  That meant she had time.  _In retrospect, I should have found my wand before now,_ she thought, striding down Main Street and letting her magic guide her.  Her spell was as invisible as it was subtle, and the only one likely to detect a thing would have been the Sorcerer, who was ensconced in his home on the edge of town.  Under other circumstances, the Dark One might also have noticed, but this Dark One was somewhat untutored and very distracted.  _I didn’t want to tip Reul off, to let her know that my plans remain unchanged, but now that Arthur is here, even my fool sister has undoubtedly figured it out._

She didn’t have to have the wand; Danns’ was perfectly capable of performing human-style magic, and often preferred that to using dark fairy dust.  Yet she _did_ require the wand for certain higher magics…and it was inside Mr. Gold’s pawn shop.  _How fascinating.  My grandson-in-law has my wand._

Danns’ paused briefly to wonder if he had any idea what power lay in his hands before slipping into the shop and reclaiming what was hers.

* * *

 

Some people looked at him oddly as he walked down the street, pushing Neal in his stroller, but David didn’t care.  He could walk around and be present as sheriff with Neal as well as without him, and leaving his son cooped up all day long wasn’t an option.  Besides, taking Neal along when he’d met Emma for ice cream had probably been a good idea.  Emma had barely seen her baby brother, but he’d watched her soften when she held Neal.  David knew that the best way to help Emma fight the darkness was to love her, and love came in all shapes and sizes.  _And ages._

So, he wandered towards the sheriff’s station, stopping and talking to people as he went, letting Neal charm some of them and glad the baby slept through other conversations.  However, he’d just started talking to Archie about the town’s general sentiment, when something else caught his eye.

There, at table out in front of Granny’s, was King George.  Or, more properly, a _former_ king.  George had spent almost a year in the asylum, only being let out for good behavior the month before.  David had been doubtful, but they were trying very hard not to act like tyrants, so George had been released.  He had no followers, and no one in Storybrooke trusted him, so Snow and Regina had agreed that it was time to let George try to redeem himself.  He hadn’t been a terrible king, after all.  Just power hungry.

“Why in the world is he talking to Grif?” David murmured to himself. 

“Grif?” Archie asked.

“He’s King Arthur’s squire.  I haven’t seen much of him, but he seems fiercely devoted to Arthur.”  David had such a bad feeling about this.

“That’s hardly something to condemn a man over.”  Archie’s tone was mild, and David forced himself to let out a calming breath.  “Shouldn’t someone be loyal to their monarch, to their home?”

“It’s a little different when that monarch and his wife are quietly trying to gain allies here in Storybrooke.”

Archie eyed him calmly.  “Are you certain of that?”

“Regina’s heard lots of rumors, but it’s hard to prove,” he admitted, burning to go over and break up that conversation—but even as David started to contemplate walking over, George rose, nodded to Grif, and walked away.

“You can’t condemn someone just based on rumors, David.  We have to be better than that.  We all do.”

Those words were doubly important coming from Archie; he had been the one to broker the peace that now held in Storybrooke.  Without his voice of reason and his measured calm, people would probably still be demanding that Emma be imprisoned.  But everyone trusted Archie, and Archie believed Emma.  That counted for a lot in David’s book—and besides, he had promised himself that he would care for the entire town from here on out, and not just his family.  _No matter what old grudges I hold, I have to do what’s right._

“I know.”  He sighed.  “I’m still worried, though.”

“Let me ask around a little,” Archie suggested. “People say things to me that they won’t to you.  If there’s some grand conspiracy to take over Storybrooke, maybe I can help uncover it.”

Now _that_ offer was as unexpected as it was brilliant.  “Thanks, Archie.  I don’t know what we’d all do without you.”

Archie just smiled.  “Oh, I’m sure you’d manage.”

* * *

 

He really did have his father back.

Realizing that made Neal—no, _Baelfire_ —feel almost like he had when he’d been a boy.  He didn’t always remember a lot about his childhood, just the wonderful feeling of being safe and loved.  That had been his home, he knew, the home he didn’t realize was so important to him until he didn’t have it any longer.  He had almost felt that way with Emma, despite being thieves on the run, without a physical home or more than a few dollars between them, but even then, there had been something missing.  Now, however, there suddenly _wasn’t_.  Strange though it was, he’d found a home again, quite unexpectedly.  It wasn’t quite what he’d dreamt of, and it was a little odd, but after only two days in the Sorcerer’s House, Baelfire felt like he’d come home.  Rumplestiltskin was his _papa_ again, free of that horrible darkness and once again himself.

He had changed, of course, but they both had.  He was hardly the young boy who fell through the portal so many years before, either.  Hell, his father was even married, now, and Bae had a stepmother.  He would have liked Belle for his father’s sake if nothing else, but he had gotten to know her for herself during their time in the Enchanted Forest, and Bae cared for her, too.  Having a stepmother who was that much younger (at least in years lived) than he was felt kind of odd, but he figured that his life had gone _odd_ a long time back, so this really wasn’t that big of a deal.  It could have been a lot worse, anyway.  His dad could have done something like get together with Regina, and that would have been awkward as hell.

Or Regina could have been his half-sister, but Bae really didn’t want to think about _that_ possibility, even after Henry had shown him the new family tree he’d drawn.

Resolutely pulling his mind away from that pleasant thought, Neal— _Bae, damnit, no one’s going to call me by that name if I can’t think of myself that way!_ —turned to his father.  “So, you’ve got a fountain whose waters make people forget things; a mirror that can spy on anyone, anywhere, in _any_ world; the Urn of Apollo, _and_ a bunch of other stuff,” he said, looking around his father’s study with wide eyes.  Bae wasn’t an expert on magical objects, but he had grown up in the Enchanted Forest, and he’d read a lot about them after his dad became the Dark One, which meant he understood how huge this was.  “Not to mention all the stuff you’d collected over the years.”

“Not to mention, yeah.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was crooked.  “You should see the library, and I don’t mean the books Belle brought in.  The magical books…well, they’ll take me a lifetime and a half to read.”

“Good thing you’re not—”

_Knock, knock._   The pounding on the front door had to be pretty loud to be heard back there, and Bae frowned.  “You don’t have a doorbell on this place?”

“Apparently not.”  His father shrugged.  “But the house’s magic amplifies anyone’s knock on the door, so it hardly seems necessary.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes grew slightly distant, and then his face darkened.  “It’s Emma’s pirate friend.  Perhaps you want to talk to him.”

“He’s not all that bad, Pop.  Or at least not all the time.”  Sometimes Killian could be a real pain in the ass, like when he handed Bae over to Pan so many centuries earlier, but they’d mostly buried the hatchet since then. 

Another shrug.  “I think we’ve come to an understanding, but that doesn’t mean we’re ever going to travel in the same social circles.  Go on, talk to him.  I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“All right.”  Bae supposed that he did want to talk to Killian, anyway, and like his father said, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t going anywhere.  Even as he watched, his father crossed over to his workbench, opened a gigantic book, and sat down.  When Rumplestiltskin had become such an academic, Bae wasn’t sure; his father had been able to read well enough when he was a kid, but he hadn’t seemed to take any special pleasure in it.

_Knock, knock, knock!_  

“I’m coming, already!” he shouted, heading for the door.  That stopped the pounding, at least, and Baelfire opened the door a minute later.

“You could have called, you know.  I think this place has a phone.”  But he softened the words with a smile.   Mostly.  He was still a little annoyed by how Killian had greeted him when he’d come back from the dead.  Having a friend look at him like he was some abomination really did sting.  “Unless you’re here to tell me I should be dead, or to shout at my father.  Then you can just leave.”

Killian seemed taken aback.  “I—I’m not, lad.  I promise.”

“You know, you should probably stop calling me that.  I’d be surprised if I’m twenty years younger than you, and in the grand scheme of how old we _both_ are, that’s kind of a silly distinction to make,” he couldn’t stop himself from pointing out.

“Point taken,” the pirate chuckled, gesturing with his hook.  “Can I come in?  I’m not here to create trouble, I assure you.”

“Can you breathe without doing that?”

Killian blinked, and then snorted with laughter.  “I forgot what it was like to have such a verbal sparring partner.  But aye, I can contain myself.  I’ve learned a new trick or two these past few years.”

“I bet you have.”  Ruthlessly suppressing the desire to point out that Killian had spent those years winning the woman they’d both wanted by default, Bae gestured the other man inside.  Besides, Emma wasn’t a prize to be won, even if gaining anyone’s love was damn hard when you were dead.

“It’s been interesting here in Storybrooke while you were, uh, gone.”

“You can say the word ‘dead’, you know.  It’s not going to break me,” he pointed out as he led Killian into the living room.  Thankfully, Henry’s fascination with the Sorcerer’s House meant Bae had spent the day before tromping around it with his son, so he more or less knew where most things were.  _The thought of taking Killian up a staircase that might disappear is tempting, but I should probably resist._

“Right.  Sorry.  I suppose I’m not really accustomed to having conversations with dead friends.” The quip sounded strained, though, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Killian looked rather ashamed.  Bae took a deep breath.

“I’m not here to screw up your love life, you know.  I just want Emma to be happy.  If she’s happy with you, then that’s that.  I’m not going to get in the way.”  _Even if I feel like I never got a chance, this isn’t about_ me _.  I’ve got a second chance at living, and that’s enough,_ he didn’t add. 

“I didn’t come here for your reassurance, la— _Baelfire_.  I came to say that I’m sorry for how I treated you.”  Killian squared his shoulders as he spoke, looking Bae straight in the eye.  “I made assumptions when I saw you that I shouldn’t have made, and I’m sorry for that.”

The forthright honesty made Bae blink.  “You really have changed, haven’t you?” 

“Well, I’m still the same overly charming and handsome pirate I’ve always been, but—”

“Don’t push it, Killian.  You romanced my _mother_ ,” he cut him off, mostly smiling.  “It’s still creepy that you’re with my ex-girlfriend, okay?”

“It _is_ a bit strange, yes.  Aside from the certain ironically romantic angle to it, I generally try to forget the family connections.”  At least Killian’s shrug showed he was as uncomfortable as Bae was, and, hell, it wasn’t like he’d ever thought of Killian as any kind of father figure.

Even if they _had_ sometimes been allies against Pan in Neverland, they’d usually been on opposite sides, with Bae trying to run from the bastard who turned out to be his grandfather and Killian sometimes being the unfortunate bastard who had to track him down.  Even back then, Bae had known that Killian’s deal with Pan had forced the pirate to do Pan’s bidding, but it hadn’t made their relationship any better when it had been Killian who hauled him back to Neverland the first two times he’d escaped.  Though the fact that Killian had killed Rufio to save his life did help even the scores a little bit.

“Just don’t go stealing Henry’s first girlfriend, okay?”

_That_ got the appropriately horrified response.  “I’m not a cradle robber!”  Killian’s glare quickly turned contemplative.  “Though I’m sure he’ll get better dating advice from me than from you.  I have a certain touch with the ladies, you know.”

Bae snorted.  His old friend/foe might have more-or-less redeemed himself, but he definitely hadn’t changed all his ways.  “Yeah, well, confine that touch to Emma and we won’t have any problems.”

“Do I look like an idiot?  The only thing stupider than falling in love with the Dark One would be cheating on her, mate.  Pirate I may be, but a fool I am not.”

* * *

 

Morgan showed up at the convent unannounced.  She had already sent Accolon off to try to figure out exactly what had happened when the Sorcerer and the Dark One had chased Mordred and that annoying redhead to the vault, but she had more important tasks to do than seek out information on her wayward son.  He would live, she knew.  She had Seen Mordred’s death, long ago, and she had always known who would be responsible.  _Unless we change the future, I know at whose command my firstborn will die._   She had always known.

“Can I help you?” one of the young fairies asked nervously.  Morgan had let herself into the convent, striding through the normally closed gates and up the gravel walkway; this slip of a girl had met her on the front steps, fidgeting.

“I am here to see Reul Ghorm.”  There was no reason to lie to the child.  “And you are?”

“Astrid.”  An eager and tentative smile bloomed on Astrid’s pretty face.  “Or Nova, technically, but I like Astrid so much better.  The curse gave it to me, and it’s just kind of stuck.  I was supposed to graduate to being a full fairy months ago, but I’m so clumsy that I failed the tests.”

_I like you better already_.  “My mother was a fae—or a faery, as they were known in her time.”  Morgan returned her smile.  “I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember her telling me that Reul’s ‘assessments’ were foolish little games.  Ironically enough, my stepmother, who was a traditional fairy, actually agreed with her on that.”

“You—you’re Morgan le Fae!”

“I prefer Morgan of Cornwall, actually.”  Apparently her reputation preceded her, though there was no way to know what young fairies had been taught about her.  _Knowing Reul Ghorm’s distaste for human magic, nothing good_.  Yet this Astrid seemed excited enough; did that make her a rebel, or was Reul Ghorm being less bigoted than usual?  There was no way to tell.

“Of course!  You aren’t really a fae, are you?  Legend says they’re all gone.  I’ve never met one, even if they’re supposed to be like us, just… _dark_.”

“No, I’m not.  My mother was, but not I.  I prefer to think of myself as human, to be honest.”  And as much as Morgan would have loved to stay and get to know Astrid—because such relationships could be _so_ very useful—she really did have things to do.  “Regrettably, I really must see the head of your order.  Is she here?”

“The head of— _oh_.  You mean Blue!”  Astrid giggled nervously.  “She’s here, of course. I’ll take you to her.”

“Thank you.” 

Morgan followed Astrid through the convent, noticing the strange glances both she and the young fairy received.  She was a stranger, and the other fairies (far too many of them, in her opinion; she had truly hoped some had been left in the old world) naturally looked upon her with suspicion.  Astrid, on the other hand, seemed to receive a certain amount of amused tolerance mixed with a heavy dose of frustration.  Either she was as clumsy as she claimed, which was always a problem for any magic user, or they found her curiosity annoying.  Fortunately, the walk to Reul Ghorm’s plush office was short, and soon enough, Morgan found herself seated across from her onetime ally.

Were they enemies, now, or simply unfriendly?  Morgan was not sure, though she knew that she would never ally herself with the head of the fairies again.  _Not after what she convinced King Melwas to do with Gorgon_.  Human magic had never recovered from that travesty.

“Queen Morgan.  I did not expect to see you here,” Blue said primly, folding her hands with that insufferably superior look she always wore.

She narrowed her eyes.  “I did not intend to be here at all.”

“Have you rethought your position after our last conversation?  What happened with the girl was regrettable—”

“Her name was Josephine,” Morgan cut her off in a growl.  “She wasn’t just some _girl_.  She was a human being who you stole from her family after you promised me you would care for her.”

“And so I did.  She lived a long and protected life.”

“Isolated from anyone and everyone she could have ever cared about!”  Morgan didn’t care if she was shouting; she had carried the guilt for having taken young Josephine long enough.  She had sought to save the world, and logically speaking, one young girl’s life was not too high of a price to pay.  But she had trusted Blue not to lock the girl away, had trusted her to treat Josephine like she was more than some inanimate treasure.  She had been wrong.

Blue only shrugged.  “It no longer matters.  She has passed from this world, and there is a new Truest Believer.  That is of no matter to you, of course, unless you wish to renew our alliance.”

“Not on your life.”  With an effort, Morgan throttled back her temper.  Lashing out at the head fairy would do her no good.  “You can do your own dirty work this time.”

Pursed lips were the only indication of Blue’s displeasure.  “Then what brings you here?”

“Your sister, of course.  My brother’s _wife_.”  Whose deception Reul Ghorm could have revealed centuries earlier, if the fairy had given a damn about humans.  _No, she was happy to let_ _Danns' a'Bhàis play with us, so long as it meant the Black Faery was not killing her precious fairies._   “As you said, the Truest Believer is dead.  She is in full possession of her power, and we both know what she wants.”

“All the more reason for you and I to ally.  As you well know.”  The smile was razor-sharp, and Morgan burned to wipe it off of her face.

She might have tried, had she her old power.  Morgan was a half power, or nearly enough so; being a half power and half fae did not mix well, which was probably part of the reason she had drained herself so dry when she had performed magics that only an original power should have been able to do.  _Lancelot told me that I should not have tried to make that portal, and he was right.  But it worked, and that is what counts._ She had saved Lancelot and Colette, but for what?

“Her daughter married.”  Finally, Blue looked surprised, and Morgan felt like that was a small, albeit petty, victory.  “You have a great-niece.  Assuming your relationship to Danns’ is biological and not merely a matter of convenience.”

“How do you know this?” Blue demanded.

“Because my stepbrother _told_ me.”  Not snarling was hard, and Morgan really didn’t put as much effort in as she should have.  “You had best hope, as I do, that she inherited her nature from Fionna Rèitear and not Danns’ a'Bhàis.”

The senior fairy took a deep breath, clearly trying to disguise how shaken she was.  “Who is she?”

“First, tell me how you lost control of your sister’s wand.  I think you and I both know how dangerous it is now that it’s back in her hands.”

“Now that it’s—” Blue cut off, looking distressed.  “It was taken while I was…disabled, some time ago, and given to the Dark One who is now the Sorcerer.”

_Yet Danns’ had to steal it from his shop._  Morgan felt like that was a victory.  Her son was not yet Danns’ creature—she could work with that!  Even if he was married to _her_ granddaughter.

“Tell me who this girl is, Morgan.”  Blue’s voice rang icily in the silence.  “Now.”

Morgan snorted.  “Oh, she’s no girl.  Her name is Belle Gold.  I think you know of her.”

The look on Blue’s face was almost worth having given her the information.  Morgan would not, however, tell the fairy that Belle was married to her son.  Not yet, and perhaps not ever.  But Blue _did_ have to know, in case this Belle did take after her grandmother.

“They cannot be allowed to remain together.”  Blue looked at her like she should completely agree, and Morgan shrugged. 

“That’s hardly my business.”  It was, but she wasn’t going to say that.  She would, however, return to the crux of their age-old disagreement.  “Nor do you have any right to dictate what humans do with their lives.”

“She’s hardly human.” Blue sneered.  “Given her parentage, she is a half-fairy.  Perhaps also a half power.”

“No one in town seems to think she’s ever demonstrated magic,” Morgan pointed out mildly.  “And half _fae_ is half human.  The choice is hers, as it was mine.”

“I have work to do.”  Blue rose, obviously trying to dismiss Morgan.  Just as she had every other time the topic of human autonomy came up. 

But today was not the day to rehash that old argument.  Morgan knew Blue’s position, and she knew that Blue, like her sister, viewed humans as little better than children.  So, she turned and left without a further word. _I worked with you once, only to have you betray the very people I have fought all my life to protect.  Never again._

Reul Ghorm was not quite as ruthless or as bloodthirsty as Danns’ a'Bhàis, but there often seemed little difference between the two.  Of course, Reul dressed her atrocities up with lace and flowers, claiming to do it for the ‘good of all’, but Morgan had seen her so-called goodness too many times.  She had seen humans bleed for it, had seen human sorcerers slain by a Dark One whose master obeyed the Blue Fairy without question.  Blue wished for the fairies to have magical hegemony because she viewed humans as children to be protected.  It was a slightly more benevolent goal than her sister’s, but not by much.

Morgan was not going to let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a one chapter week—although I managed to post on Christmas, New Year’s is booked, so look for an update next Tuesday. Oh, and if anyone is curious, this chapter marks the first chapter title from The Lady of Shalott.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Two—“…And Floated Wide”, in which Storybrooke experiences some actual peace, Morgan is sidelined by visions, Rumplestiltskin receives a surprising offer from the Blue Fairy, Maleficent meets the Black Fairy, and Emma tries to find a little peace after what almost happened to her.


	42. …And Floated Wide

Somehow, Storybrooke had experienced two more days of relative peace.  In the four days since they had rescued Henry from Mordred, no more major disasters had reared up, and although the newcomers from Camelot continued to intrigue, David and Regina had mostly headed that off by starting to integrate those people into Storybrooke’s society, lining them up with homes and with jobs, trying to give them purpose so that they’d stop creating trouble.  Emma still received strange looks when and if she walked around town, but she’d managed to patch things up with Henry, and she was trying very hard not to isolate herself.  Her first instinct to stay away from those she loved had been wrong; she understood that, now.  That had probably been the darkness talking, taking advantage of her fears to keep her away from anyone who might help her keep it in check.  But Emma wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice.

However, Killian had been acting strangely ever since they’d returned.  He’d just chalked it up to worry when Emma asked, even if she knew that was a lie.  She wanted to press further, but there was so much going on that she stopped herself.  Despite the fact that a new disaster hadn’t yet come up, she _was_ busy, and no matter what the incessant whispers in her head insisted, she trusted Killian.  Now was not the time to stop.  He’d stood by her throughout this mess, and Emma knew that he’d tell her about whatever was bothering him in time.  For now, she had other problems to fix.

_Just say what she wants to hear,_ the darkness whispered, making Emma desperately want to wrench that voice out of her head and throw it against the wall. _Then do what you know you have to do._

“You can either help me or get out of the way,” Regina said bluntly, clearly noticing the mulish look on Emma’s face. 

She glared.  “I’ll help.”

“No killing.”  Regina’s expression booked no argument.  “She’s got Robin’s child inside her, and as horrible as her actions were in _getting_ to that point, the child is innocent.  We lock her away, and we get that damned magic-blocking cuff back on her.  Agreed?”

“Fine.”  Emma sighed.  Yes, she would love to feed Zelena to the darkness…but she’d promised control, hadn’t she?  _And while I don’t think Rumplestiltskin would argue with me killing her…I really can’t afford to make more enemies.  There’s a bigger problem, here._

Telling Regina about Guinevere and her terrifying magic was on the tip of Emma’s tongue, but she stopped herself.  She’d made a deal, and Emma was beginning to understand that there were magical consequences for breaking said deals.  Not only would Guinevere probably come after her—which she was pretty sure she could handle; Emma was getting ahold of these powers and was determined to make them serve _her_ rather than the other way around—but there would be a magical backlash for breaking the deal, if she did.  _And that kind of thing doesn’t always target the dealmaker,_ she realized.  It could target Henry.

“You do still _have_ the cuff, don’t you?” Regina interrupted her thoughts.

“Of course I do.”  Emma flicked her wrist, and the cuff landed on Regina’s coffee table.  “Here.  Have it back.  I’m not some magical magpie.”

Regina chuckled briefly.  “Well, I guess not everything got passed down with that curse.”

“No, not everything.”  Emma hesitated.  There had to be a loophole somewhere, didn’t there?  She’d only agreed not to tell anyone about Guinevere’s magic, but from what she’d gathered, Regina was already wary of Arthur’s political maneuvering.  _You should have killed him,_ the darkness put in, and Emma felt the shiver of anger tear through her just from thinking about her mother’s murderer.  _You still can.  Break your deal.  What do you care who suffers?_

Except she _did_ care, and Emma was determined to cling to that.  Unfortunately, her battle with the darkness’ voice had distracted her, and she realized too late that Regina had changed the subject.

“…talked earlier today.  As distasteful as it is, we’re contemplating extending an alliance of sorts to Arthur.  I know you hate him, but—”

“Why?” Emma demanded.  “How can you even _think_ that?”  She was on her feet before she’d realized what was happening, fury surging through her.  “He killed my mother!”

“I know that!” Regina still wasn’t afraid to shout back at her, and Henry’s other mother rose to match her glare for glare.  “And your _father_ , who agrees with me, knows that better than _anyone_.  But the fact of the matter is that Mordred is more dangerous right now, and we can’t fight a three front war.  We’ve got to marginalize them somehow, to keep them from plotting to take over while we’re dealing with the menace that almost killed our _son_!”

_See?  They think like heroes.  They’ll always betray you.  What’s to happen when they decide that you’re not ‘good’ enough and they want to control you, hm?_

Emma shoved those thoughts aside with an effort, shaking against the mixture of bottomless rage and desperate self-control.  “Mordred and Zelena aren’t even back yet,” she said as coldly as she could—and the words came out impressively frosty.  “And you’re already talking about giving in to our other enemy?”

“The fact that we don’t like them doesn’t make them our enemies.”  Regina didn’t look happy, but she still said it, and that made Emma want to throttle her.

_She doesn’t know.  She can’t know._   Could she?

“Look, Regina…” Emma sucked in a deep breath.  “Those two aren’t what they seem.  They want more.”

“What do you mean ‘they want more’?  They’re politicians out for power.”

“No.  They aren’t.  Or not only, anyway.”  Something in the darkness recognized Guinevere, and both revered and feared her.  Emma groped for a way to tell Regina _something_ or anything, and when an array of images whipped through her mind, she finally found the words she’d been searching for.  “I think they controlled Merlin when he was the Dark One.  Arthur’s not some great king here to bring in a new world.  He’s willing to use darkness to get what he wants.”

Regina cocked her head, a small smile playing on her lips.  “Really?  My, that _is_ interesting.”

“You can’t trust them.”  Was that enough?  It would have to be. 

“They’re Belle’s grandparents, you know.”

Emma felt her jaw drop open.  “They’re _what_?” 

_Kill her.  Kill the descendant, and take more power!_  The darkness was practically screaming with glee, and Emma almost stumbled with the force of those words.  She caught herself just in time, though, swaying precariously and feeling the power and the desire surge through her.  _Take Belle and_ she _will not be able to stop you.  You need leverage.  Take her._

No.  Emma was not going to do that.  She was _not_ going to be some tool of the darkness.  Not like this, and not ever.  Resolutely, she fought the voice back, struggling to focus on the present.

“You all right?” Regina asked, and Emma made herself smile.

“I’m fine.  Let’s get back to talking about how we’re going to catch Zelena when she they get back—and then how we’re going to filet Mordred.”

* * *

 

She had meant to go find her youngest son, but blackness had crashed down upon Morgan just a few minutes after she returned from the convent two days earlier.  She’d swum in the dark for forty-nine hours, lost in visions of futures and pasts and things that should never be, and she barely managed to surface without losing herself.

“Easy there,” Accolon said as her eyes finally consented to follow her commands.  Blinking, Morgan realized that someone—probably Accolon, bless his simple soul—had placed her in her own bed.  She was so damn dizzy that she almost collapsed when she tried to sit up.

“How long?” she croaked.  Her throat was so dry.

“You need to drink something.  Master Tud says—”

Morgan recovered enough of her vision to find him and glare.  “How _long_?”

“Two days, my love.”  Accolon made to kiss her hand, but Morgan pulled it away.  Her lover was pretty enough, but he could be ridiculously clingy, and Accolon always chose the absolute worst moments to play romantic.

“Bring me water and my notebooks.  I must write down these prophecies before I lose them.”  Morgan had not experienced visions like this in over a century, and when pen and paper finally arrived, she began to scribble like mad.  She could make sense of the jumble later—if there was sense to be made.

_Darkness will devour them, the Heartless King shall lead them, and the realms ~~shall~~ may fall.  Collapsing—collapsing walls, broken barriers, the Black seeks to consolidate—no, to  break the walls, to rule all.  Portals will shift, walls will change—_Shaking her head, Morgan scribbled out the next line.  It was wrong.  Everything was wrong.  She could barely see her handwriting; the Sight had her now, and she knew not what she wrote.

_Savior she shall be, yet the darkness will reign.  The dagger blackens, and the fight is for naught.  The Black will take her, shape her, remake her.  Yet deep in darkness light remains, and the White Faery will return._

_…the White Faery reborn._

* * *

 

Will Scarlet had been right about Zelena, Mordred realized, staring glumly at his companion.  She was trying to work with the wand again, desperate to summon a tornado to carry them away from this useless little realm, but he knew it wouldn’t work.  He _also_ knew that she really was barking mad, as Scarlet had said, and Mordred regretted not listening to him.  Zelena made a useful enough ally—most of the time—but her hubris was almost as infuriating as her self-centered view of the world.  He just wanted to throttle her, but his recent experience with the alliance between the Sorcerer and the Dark One told Mordred that he needed allies.

Very well, then.  He would use her, and be a faithful ally, but there was certainly no chance of Mordred inviting _that_ woman into his bed.  Proven power and fertility or not, Mordred would not have someone so unbalanced as his consort.  _Mother would have my head, and I’ve work yet to do._   Rattled though he was by their defeat, Mordred was still confident that he was destined to defeat that darkness once and for all.  He was no original power, but he did not _have_ to be.  Merlin had been wrong to think only an original power could seek to face the darkness and survive.  Mordred had defeated many Dark Ones, and he _would_ find a way to defeat this one as well.  It was only a matter of time.

_It was long prophesied that a sorcerer descended from the Lady of the Lake would destroy the darkness.  My great-grandmother Saw that, and so has my mother._ Everyone knew that Viviane, the legendary Lady of the Lake and one of the four human original powers, only had two children: Goloris and Lancelot.  Neither had been a sorcerer, of course.  Power had been known to skip generations when the offspring resulted from a mating of an original power and a mere mortal, as Viviane’s husband and the lover she had taken _many_ decades later had been.  But Goloris had married a Fae and then a Fairy, and Mordred knew that his mother had resulted from that first marriage.  _Morgan_ had been a half power and a half Fae, and Mordred knew that he had inherited the Fairy heritage from his father’s mother as well.  He was one of the most powerful human sorcerers to ever live, and his brothers—may they rest in peace—had not been sorcerers.  That only left him.

He would find a way.

“Enough of that,” he told Zelena, rising from the stone he had sat upon for too many hours.  “I will use the Greater Sapphire to create a new portal.”

She swung to face him.  “ _Finally_.”

He ignored the petulant edge to her tone and set to work.  Mordred was not an expert on portals—it was one of the few forms of magic he had never mastered, given that Merlin refused to teach any save his _mother_ how to create one—his feats with the Apprentice’s wand notwithstanding.  Unfortunately, the wand had been created with that express purpose in mind, and the Sapphire had not.  Yet the Sapphire still held Circe’s power, the _original_ power that was necessary to create a portal, and Mordred would do what had to be done.

He was finished waiting for his destiny to arrive.  It was time.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had been a Seer for nearly three centuries, but this was no vision.  He _felt_ like himself, and yet not.  It was like inhabiting someone else’s body and hearing someone else’s thoughts.  A moment passed—while unfamiliar legs carried him swiftly across a grassy meadow—before he realized that he had experienced this before.  His own thoughts were distant, and slightly sluggish…but this was just like it had been when he walked within Merlin’s memories.

A pretty young woman smiled as he—as _Merlin!_ —approached. Her skin was a little darker than Rumplestiltskin’s own, though nowhere near the bronze of Merlin’s own, but her eyes lit up with pleasure as she spotted the Sorcerer.  Oddly enough, Rumplestiltskin could feel Merlin’s emotions as if they were his own, could feel the combination of love, concern, and desperation, all centered on this woman.  _Nimue_ , he realized even as Merlin thought her name like a prayer, and everything inside Rumplestiltskin recoiled.  He had _heard_ her voice before, always in the very worst moments of his life.  Nimue _was_ the darkness—yet here she was, merely human.

Innocent.

“I wish it did not have to be you,” Merlin said softly, taking her hands in his own.

“You know it must be.  Who else would you trust, some foolish knight from Arthur’s court?” Dimples showed as Nimue smiled, and Merlin’s heart skipped a beat.

Merlin had many lovers, Rumplestiltskin realized abruptly, but Nimue was the only one he truly loved.  _And he subjected her to_ this _?_ Rumplestiltskin wanted to scream, knowing what was to come, yet he was a useless passenger in these memories, unable to interfere.  _Even in my worst moments, I would never have wished this upon someone I love_ , he thought sadly.  Merlin, on the other hand, was nervous…but not nearly nervous enough.

“I had thought of asking Lancelot,” Merlin admitted quietly.  “He is of Viviane’s line, the child of an original power.  Perhaps that would be enough to contain the darkness.”

“It won’t be.”  Nimue reached out, touching Merlin’s cheek.  “We both know that.  You and Danns’ have both deduced that the darkness will grant its host great power, and we all know that it _must_ be a sorcerer who contains it.  I will know how to fight back that dark magic.  Lancelot, as good as his heart is, would not.”

Merlin sighed heavily.  “Yes, I know.”

“Then let us go to the Vault.  We both know that even Danns’ spells cannot hold the darkness in there for long, not after it escaped last time.”

“Not after _Morgan_ let it out, you mean.”  Fury and bitterness colored those words, and Rumplestiltskin felt Merlin raging against a woman he had called his friend—and a lover, a long time ago—until Nimue took his hand.

“We cannot change the past.  We can only safeguard the future.  Come.”

She led him by the hand, and Merlin followed.  Soon enough, the Vault of the Dark One came into view, but its face was marked by fewer symbols than Rumplestiltskin remembered.  The face of the vault seemed askew, rocking back and forth as if a giant force fought to escape.  _The darkness itself, in its purest form_ , Rumplestiltskin realized.  He would have swallowed had he been able, but then Merlin did, and the effect was the same.  Merlin stared glumly at the vault, scouring his mind for another way, _anything_ other than this, but there was nothing.

What had begun as a power source for a group of unscrupulous and power hungry humans had morphed into something far more dangerous.  By combining an elemental demon of darkness with what they had been able to capture of Medea’s power—after Medea, the first human original power to fall, had been murdered—the rebels had created a mostly-sentient darkness that they could not control.  Merlin remembered how the five remaining original powers (himself, Viviane, Circe, Reul Ghorm and Danns' a'Bhàis) had united to trap the Darkness in this very vault, which was situated upon an ancient Font of Power.

“The Font only amplified it,” Merlin whispered softly, making Nimue turn.

“What was that, love?”

He swallowed.  “We thought we could hold it forever inside the Vault of Darkness because of the inherent power here, but the Darkness sucked it dry.”

Nimue frowned; it was clear that she had not heard this story before.  “How did it escape the first time?”

“No one knows.”

“Oh.”

Together, they watched the face of the vault rock back and forth; the darkness inside was clearly burning, _boiling_ to escape.  They didn’t have long, Merlin knew.  However the darkness had been set loose the first time no longer mattered.  Three original powers and a half power—even with Danns’ using the Greater Sapphire, in addition to the power she had inherited from her dead sister—had not been enough to stop Morgan from releasing it the next time.  Angry with her though she was, Merlin was not too proud to know that the darkness would have escaped in time, anyway.  _Although it would have taken far more than the year she gave us.  I might have had a decade to prepare, and then I might not have had to do…this._

“I am ready, Merlin.”  Nimue’s voice was strong and clear, and her head was held high.  “Unless we are waiting for Danns’?”

“No.”  He didn’t want Danns’ there; she had helped him mop up Morgan’s mess enough already.  Bad enough that one of his former lovers had caused this.  Merlin was not going to ask Danns’, with whom he shared a deep and complicated relationship, to do more than she had.  She had helped him contain the darkness when it had inexplicably returned here.  That was enough.  The next words were a whisper.  “This should just be you and I.”

“I’ll be fine.”  She smiled, and leaned in to kiss him lightly before gesturing at the face of the Vault.  “Do you want me to stand there?”

“Want?  No.  But need—yes.”  The word tried to stick in his throat, but Merlin forced it out.  Every instinct he had told him that the darkness would corrupt Nimue at least a little.  She had the most giving heart of any woman he had ever met, but could she withstand this?  _Even a woman who wants to plant flowers for her revenge has some darkness of her own_ , he knew.  But removing Nimue’s own darkness, her own experiences and the way they colored her, would not have helped, even had that been possible to do for a twenty-five year old woman, which it was not.

Fearlessly, Nimue stepped forward, and Merlin raised the dagger in his hand.  He had bound Nimue’s soul to the dagger already, hoping that the darkness, too, would be bound when he was done.  The kris dagger was cut from Excalibur, the most powerful sword and secondary power he had ever forged, and Merlin knew that it was about to become the most potent magical object in all the realms.  She had screamed through the binding—

_Don’t think of that!_

His hands were shaking, and Merlin forced them to be still. 

“I will open the vault,” he said as steadily as he could.  “And you must offer yourself.  The darkness will come to you.” 

“I’m ready,” Nimue repeated, and his heart wanted to break.

Selfishly, Merlin wished he did not trust Nimue so much, and that he’d _forced_ Lancelot to do this.  Or even Morgan, in payment for her actions.  _Her grief and fury is too strong.  Morgan would never be able to contain this._

_Even less that ambitious son of hers._ Nimue was the only choice.

“I love—”

“Tell me after,” she cut him off with a smile, and Merlin nodded. 

He called forth the darkness, opening the vault as the earth trembled beneath his feet, and Nimue—

“I said _excuse me_ ,” a new voice intruded, and Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked up.  He had been staring blankly at the workbench in the back of his shop, utterly lost in the memory, and he blinked wildly as the Blue Fairy’s face swam into focus before him.

“What do _you_ want, dearie?” he snapped.  Being hostile to her was an old habit, and Rumplestiltskin could have sworn that he’d left the sign on ‘closed’ a few minutes earlier. 

Blue looked down her nose at him, with that all-too-superior look that he hated so much.  “I thought it was long past time that we spoke,” she said serenely.  “You are the Sorcerer, and I have been remiss in not offering you guidance.”

“Guidance?” Rumplestiltskin tried not to gape, and finally shook himself free of Merlin’s pain-filled memories enough to get to his feet.  “What kind of _guidance_ are you offering?”

“You clearly mean well—as your duel with the Dark One suggests—but I do not think you understand the scope of the power Merlin bequeathed to you, Rumplestiltskin.  Such power, particularly in human hands, is so very dangerous.  You _cannot_ allow it to escape your control.  Nor can you allow yourself to be seduced into the idea that you can—”

“That I can what?” he cut her off.  “That I can help people in ways you refuse?  I wasn’t born yesterday, _Reul Ghorm_ , and I’ve watched you work for centuries.  You don’t want humans with power.  _I know what you did._ ”

She blinked, and her expression might have appeared innocent if it was not so arrogant.  “I have no idea what you are saying.”

“Gorgon.  King Melwas.  Need I say more?”  Rumplestiltskin let a nasty smile rise; he didn’t have to be the Dark One to have no patience with Blue’s games.  “One of the advantages of the oh-so-lovely curse from which I was so recently freed was that you acquired a great deal of your predecessors’ memories, and Gorgon remembered your role in the massacre.”

“I would never condone any massacre.  You are clearly misinformed.”

“No, you would simply destroy almost _every_ major human magical bloodline, because you believe humans are children who should not be able to defend themselves.  You insured they’d turn to _you_ instead.”  King Melwas had been Blue’s favorite in that age, and he’d controlled the Dark One—who liked to appear as a hell-hog, despite his original human form.  Melwas had never questioned why Blue had decreed that hundreds of human sorcerers, and their families, should die.  He had simply done as she ‘asked’.

“Most humans are not as long-lived as you have become, Rumplestiltskin.  They do not bother to acquire wisdom.”

For a moment, he stared at her, flabbergasted.  “You don’t even regret it,” he whispered.

“I will always act for the good of our world.  And now you must, as the sole human original power.  You must adopt the long view, and do what is right for all, for the _future_.  You cannot allow yourself to be swayed by family or by small human concerns.  You will outlive them all.”

That had not been something Rumplestiltskin wanted to think on, and he disliked the fact that Blue was throwing his own near-immortality in his face.  Yes, he’d wanted power, even when he’d learned to live without it.  But he didn’t want to outlive his family, either.  For all that he’d once feared death, Rumplestiltskin found that life without those he loved was far emptier than the prospect of his own immortality. 

“Assuming that I don’t pass this power on to another.”  He mostly said the words just to see how Blue would react, and he was rewarded by a horrified expression crossing the fairy’s face.  “It is possible, as we both know.”

“You would not.  You cannot hand this power over to someone who is even less prepared than you are!”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, dear,” Rumplestiltskin said mildly.  He was her equal, now, wasn’t he?  He’d spent a lifetime despising this fairy, hating the fact that she had the power to help him find his son and _never_ would, but now that didn’t matter, did it?  “I am what you are, but I am human.  And that is what I will fight for.”

His long conversations with Merlin had taught Rumplestiltskin a thing or two, and although he hadn’t needed the old enchanter to tell him not to trust fairies, it had been nice to know that his dislike of Blue was not simply a legacy of his old hatred.  She didn’t seem to know what to say, so he continued in that same soft voice:

“You refused to help Merlin more than once.  He created the Dark One because _you_ would not consent to help a mere human.  You told him that a human had created the problem, so Merlin could deal with it.”  Visions flashed through his mind, augmented by his own Sight and by Merlin’s memories, and a cold chill suddenly shook Rumplestiltskin to his very core.  “You _wanted_ the Dark One to be created, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did not.  Why would I want to give such a vile darkness a human host?  I had nothing to do with that!”  But Blue’s eyes were wide with alarm.

“Because you knew that Merlin would try to kill her, and that, in doing so, his power would be removed from the world.”  The final realization made him spit the next words out.  “You and your _sister_ both.  You may not have _helped_ , but you didn’t stop it, either.”

“I could not have done so.  Besides which, humanity was never meant to have original powers.  Had those four not drunk from the Grail, _none_ of this would have happened.”  Blue drew herself up.  “But I cannot change the past.  I am here to form an alliance with you, Rumplestiltskin.  Be wiser than Merlin, please.  Join with me.”

For a moment, he was tempted to mock the fact that Blue had actually _asked_ him for anything, but the whim passed quickly enough.  Rumplestiltskin was too shocked by what he had learned, too shaken by the knowledge that this arrogant _fairy_ had tried to play god with humanity for over a thousand years.  He had orchestrated a curse, yes, but Blue’s ongoing quest to restrain human magic dwarfed his efforts in a magnitude of horror that Rumplestiltskin would never have expected.

“No.  If there’s a side to be chosen, I’ll stand with humanity.”

Were those his words, or did they linger from Merlin’s beliefs?  Rumplestiltskin wondered for a moment, before realizing that it did not matter.  He’d accepted who and what he was, and something deep inside him had _always_ burned to have a purpose like this.  Was this shiver of terror and joy borne in his soul, as it celebrated finally having something worth fighting for?  He thought so.

Blue left.  But the look she gave him over her shoulder was livid.

* * *

 

Maleficent had not expected to see the Queen of Camelot sitting in her living room, leaning back in Maleficent’s favorite armchair as if she occupied a grand throne.  It was a nice chair, granted—Regina had helped her to acquire a rather luxurious townhouse—but hardly fancy enough to warrant Guinevere’s attitude, which almost made the dragon-sorceress laugh aloud.

“May I have a word?” Guinevere inquired calmly, and Maleficent snorted.

“Most people know better than to enter my home uninvited.”  She eyed the other  woman suspiciously, wondering how Guinevere had managed to get through her wards—and then her eyebrows shot up.

Dragons were particularly good at sensing magic, and Maleficent had spent many years in her dragon form.  There had been a reason, after all, that she’d chosen to give birth as a dragon and not as a human, and that hadn’t solely been because her mate had _also_ been a shapeshifter.  She was actually more comfortable in her other body, difficult as it made associating with mere humans.  Her senses, even in this form, were more dragon than human, which meant she could _smell_ the magic radiating from the attractive redhead sitting in her living room.  And it was no normal human magic, either.  In fact, it wasn’t like _anything_ she’d ever felt before, not even when she’d traveled the realms in dragon form.

“I am not most people, though I do apologize for the imposition.”  The thin smile was dangerous, and Maleficent stopped remained on her feet warily.  _I am so glad that Lily is not here.  She’s better at controlling her temper these days, but she’s still likely to fly off the handle._   Her daughter was more dear to Maleficent than anything in _any_ world, but she wasn’t blind to Lily’s faults, either.

“What do you want?” she asked after a moment, folding her hands and striving to appear patient.

“An alliance.  You have already surmised that I am not what I seem, so allow me to be blunt.”  The other woman rose gracefully, but the cold assurance in her gaze made Maleficent want to back away from her; there was something _terrible_ deep in those green eyes.  “Arthur and I intend to rule this world, as well as all magical realms connected to it.  We would have you as an ally.”

Somehow, the question of whether Guinevere’s ambitions were even possible never so much as crossed her mind.  “Why me?”

“You are a powerful sorceress and a dragon.  Your daughter is already the latter and has the potential to become the former.  We are not foolish enough to believe we can conquer without formidable allies.”  A slight smile crossed her visitor’s face.  “Great rulers are defined by those they rule, and there is benefit for you, as well.  Both of you.”

“Such as?”

Worry gnawed at Maleficent’s heart, but she kept herself calm.  This town meant nothing to her; Emma Swan had killed her (more or less), and the Charmings had stolen her child, as well as filling Lily with darkness.  Regina was her friend, but Regina’s life revolved around the Charmings and her outlaw these days, leaving no time for a woman who might very well have helped her if she asked.  _They speak of second chances here, but the second chances are only for those close to them._   She wanted to laugh, but stopped herself.  _I should have heeded Rumplestiltskin’s warnings on that front, but I was in too much of a hurry to regain my daughter.  And I thought I could trust Regina._

Regina had not betrayed her, but she’d not bothered to help her, either, had she?

“I understand that you are looking for your former mate.”  Guinevere smiled, the expression a touch ironic.  “Arthur’s paternal ancestors were dragons, although it is not a talent he sufficiently developed.  I can assure you that my husband is _not_ your daughter’s father, but with our help, we can find the man who is.  Assuming you wish to.”

Maleficent shrugged.  “I never much cared to, but Lily would like to know her father.”

She hardly thought of him these days, the great red dragon whom Maleficent had spent months with.  They had given one another dragon names (she had been Kalseru, and he Y Ddraig Goch), and she had no idea what he looked like as a human or how to find him again.  Left to her own devices, Maleficent probably never would have sought Ddraig out again, despite the connection they had felt or the time they had shared, but Lily meant more to her than any bending of her pride.  _And more than any friendship, too._

“I can make no promises, but we do have records of the old dragon haunts, and Arthur has been to a few.”

“And what exactly are you asking for in return?”  She was not going to enter into _any_ alliance blindly, no matter what this foreign queen offered.

“For now?  Nothing, unless you wish to join us openly.  In the long term, I simply wish for the assurance that if it comes to a battle between the magic users in this realm, that you will stand with us.”

“Against whom?”

Guinevere’s smile turned appreciative, if a little sly.  “The fairies for certain.  And Mordred, of course, but I can likewise guarantee that he is not _your_ dragon.  As for the others…I do not yet know.  I hope it will not be many.”

“But you believe it will be,” Maleficent observed dryly.  “These people aren’t going to _want_ to be ruled by you.”

“Do I look like a woman who cares about such minor things?”

Maleficent hesitated for a moment, inhaling that otherworldly power, and realized that no, Guinevere did not care.  And, when you got down to it, neither did she.

“I will speak to my daughter and give you an answer by tomorrow.  I will not speak for her without doing so.”

“Of course.”  The taller woman inclined her head regally.  “Do let me know.”

Then Guinevere vanished, with barely a wisp of silvery-black smoke to mark her exit.  Shivering, Maleficent let out a deep breath.  If she was loyal to her old friend, this was the moment where she should call Regina.  _A good friend would tell her that she is harboring a potent power of the likes_ no one _in Storybrooke has ever seen,_ Maleficent reflected expressionlessly.  Guinevere was powerful enough to give her the chills, with magic laced over magic, possessing deep and vast power of a sort that Maleficent had only sensed once before—right before that golden cloud had swept her and Lily out of the sky, tearing through both like they were made of paper.  _A good friend would provide a warning._

_Then again, if Regina was truly my friend, I would not have had to wait for Rumplestiltskin to resurrect me._

* * *

 

One of the things that Rumplestiltskin had taught her was that _trying_ to sleep could often help.  The more Emma remained connected with her humanity, the less likely she was to slip further into the darkness without knowing, and although she didn’t have to sleep, she was capable of doing so.  She hadn’t tried since their return from the Enchanted Forest, because Emma had been too keyed up by the way she’d actually _beaten_ the darkness, but that night she decided that it was time.  She still felt pretty good about herself, and after telling Killian about how she’d managed to actually choose love over the darkness—despite the screaming protestations of the Dark One inside her—Emma felt content enough to snuggle up beside him and sleep.

Until the nightmares started.

_“Then you will enter the vault, and I will seal you inside for eternity.  It’s not the ideal solution—which would be destroying you and the darkness you host utterly—but my primary plan was…overturned, let’s say.  So long as I hold the dagger, you will remain secure.  And all the realms will be safe from you.”_ Mordred had looked so certain, and in her dreams, he succeeded.

He didn’t even make her kill Henry, at least not in most of them.  Sometimes, he did, although Emma screamed and begged.  No matter how hard she sobbed, her hands always moved and her magic always answered, lashing out at her son and tearing Henry to pieces.  Henry always forgave her, never even blamed her, but Emma screeched at the universe and hardly even noticed when Mordred shut her away.

Compared to Henry’s death, being sealed inside the Vault of the Dark One should have been minor, but as the years wore on—and they _always_ wore on—Emma started to forget Henry.  She grieved until her heart shattered, but when that heart gave out, only the darkness remained.  The whispers became shouts, the shouts became screams, and the cacophony of voices never left her.  They merged together until Emma could not tell them apart, howling inside her as Emma was left in the dark, alone and afraid, with no one to help her.  She couldn’t even try to break out, not as decades ticked by, not when she scratched her palms to bleeding and ripped her hair from her head.  Her body never obeyed her commands, and her magic was silent.

The darkness, however, was not.  _If you go down there, we will never come out.  You don’t need much food, but you will slowly starve, slowly go insane until there’s nothing left of Emma Swan, only the Dark One.  Then you will be like us,_ it had told her at the Vault, and it had been right.  A century passed, and the world outside forgot her.  Perhaps they celebrated, finally being rid of the Dark One.  Perhaps they never knew what had happened.  Her family grieved and then moved on, and Emma Swan faded away.  She barely remembered her own name at the end of that first century; she had become nothing more than a vessel for a terrible curse, the ghost-like carrier of a toxic darkness that burned for release. 

She sat quietly in Vault, shut away from all light and hope, counting the moments in a softly sing-song voice, rocking back and forth.  Emma Swan was gone.  There were so many voices, so many demands, and she could not fulfill any of them.  She had forgotten what it was like to love, what it was like to _be_ loved, and everything that had made her _Emma_ was lost.  Over and over again, she dreamt of being in that Vault, locked away for eternity while the world went on and ignored her suffering.  She’d stopped screaming after the first year, reduced to only—

“Emma!”  Hands shook her, and she shied away.  Touch was alien.  She was alone.  There was no one home except her own demons, and she had to get _away_.  “Emma!  Love, you’re whimpering.  What’s wrong?”

The hands went away, and Emma realized abruptly that she’d teleported herself across the room in fear. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  _Killian.  This is Killian, and he loves me._ Why did she feel like centuries had passed?  She was right here.  At home.  A glance at the clock told Emma that she’d only gone to sleep four hours earlier.  _How could it feel so long?_

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, getting out of the bed and padding over to her.  But when Killian reached out to touch her, Emma flinched away.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of not being used to the simple kindness inherent in a human touch.  “Just a nightmare.”  Shaking her head did nothing to clear it.  “I’m fine.”

“You’re crying.”  He tried to touch her cheek, and she batted his hand away.

_You can’t tell him,_ the darkness whispered softly.  _If you do, he’ll know what your weakness is, and as much as he loves you, Killian Jones hates the Dark One.  He’ll know what has to be done to defeat it forever, and what happens when the day comes where he decides you are not Emma Swan any longer?_

_What happens when he realizes that you are merely a vessel for the Dark One and he betrays your love?_

It wouldn’t happen, Emma told herself as firmly as she could.  Killian would never betray her.  He wouldn’t.

“Just a nightmare.”  Emma forced a smile.  “Just about losing Henry.”  That wasn’t a lie, was it?  She _had_ dreamt about her son dying.

“Come here, Swan,” Killian said gently, and Emma steeled herself against her own fears to walk into his arms.  “Let me stand between you and those bad dreams, hmm?  I’d suggest calling Henry, but I suspect his other mother might throw a _bit_ of a fit if we called at three in the morning.”

“Yeah.”  She nodded. “I’m fine.  Or I will be.  It was just a dream.”

Just a dream where she was nothing, no one, abandoned and unloved.  She’d been an orphan again, just a lost girl locked in a hole with no one to save her…and forbidden to save herself.  Emma had thought she’d left those fears behind when she’d decided to accept love into her life, but now they were back in full force.

_I am not alone,_ she told herself as they crawled back into bed and she curled up in Killian’s arms.  _And my family_ will not _betray me,_ she insisted when the darkness started to pipe up.  _I will not be alone again._

_It was just a dream._

Yet within an hour, the same dreams gripped her again, and Emma spiraled back into that Vault, locked away with no one to hear her screaming for her family.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a good New Year! Thank you so much for the continued support in the forms of comments and kudos. It means the world to me that people are still reading.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Three—"The Mirror Crack’d”, in which Rumplestiltskin realizes a certain wand is missing, Regina has a run-in with a former ally, Killian tells Emma about working with Mordred, Morgan seeks Belle out, and Arthur tries very hard to get David to do what he wants him to.


	43. The Mirror Crack’d

“You know, I was afraid of asking you to teach me magic.”  Belle spoke the words off-handedly as they got out of the car that morning, but that made Rumplestiltskin turn to look at her.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to turn out like Regina or Zelena.  Or Cora.”  She shrugged.  “I know they made their choices, but sometimes I wondered if darkness was all you could teach.  I didn’t think it was your fault, really, but you _were_ the Dark One, and I assumed that tainted things, even when you didn’t want to.”

His immediate reflex was to deny that, but Rumplestiltskin knew better, now.  “You were right.  I couldn’t… _see_ what it did to me.  Not really.  But that darkness tainted everything I touched.  Even when I tried to do the right thing, it always turned out wrong.  Or at least less pure than I wanted it to.”

“Not anymore.”  Her smile brilliant, Belle reached out to take his hand as Rumplestiltskin unlocked the side door of the shop.  “And I trust you.”

“And I you.”  Leaning in, Rumplestiltskin brushed a kiss against her cheek before gesturing for his wife to precede him into the shop.  “But…I do have to ask.  Is this your way of getting out of today’s magic lesson?”

“Oh, no.  I’m probably enjoying them too much, and not only because I get you to myself.”  Belle reached up to touch his face as the door swung shut behind Rumplestiltskin, and he found himself trapped between her and the door quite neatly.  Not that he minded, particularly when she smiled like that.  “I love watching you be so passionate about it, Rumple.  You love teaching, and I love learning…it’s amazing.”

“If you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, we aren’t going to get _any_ work done this morning.”  He might have said more if Belle hadn’t come up on her toes to kiss him, which promptly erased most every thought out of Rumplestiltskin’s head. 

“Later,” Belle promised, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to let that word do unfortunate things to him as she pulled away, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the front of the shop.  “First, I want to learn.  You were going to show me how to transform objects.”

“You’re a tease,” he complained, and then cocked his head.  “You read that entire book already?”

Belle shrugged, heading through the curtain.  “Yesterday was slow at the library.”

“I bet it was.”  Snorting, Rumplestiltskin shook his head—and then stopped cold as his senses registered a problem.  Quickly he reached out, opening his eyes to magic and looking around the back room.  “Someone was here.”

“What?”  Immediately, Belle returned to the back, and he could see her squinting as she tried to _look_ at what magic was there.  “I can’t see it.”

“Whoever it was, they were _extremely_ subtle.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a breath, centering himself and _reaching_ ; he could see most magic without thinking, but this was illusive.  The threads he could detect were faint, silvery and wispy, almost invisible even to his practiced eye.  “But they were here…looking for something.”

“They got past your wards?”  Belle reached out, magically, and Rumplestiltskin could feel her probing the protections around the shop.  Ruthlessly suppressing his surge of pride in her—Belle really was such a quick learner—he watched her do so with interest.  After a moment, Belle shook her head.  “Nothing’s been disturbed.”

Twitching a hand, he watched magic settle across every item in the back, letting his spell catalog anything that was out of place.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t have listed everything that had been in the shop, but he didn’t need to.  His magic could tell him if anything had been moved, or taken.  That was simple enough.

“Except the one thing that is missing.”   He grimaced.  “The Black Fairy’s wand.”

“The _what_?”  Alarmed blue eyes met his, and Rumplestiltskin nodded grimly.

“Now the only question is who would want—or dare wield—a wand of such power.”

“Mordred?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, his mind racing ahead a mile a minute.  “I don’t think he’s returned to Storybrooke, yet.” 

But who else could it be?  He doubted Reul Ghorm could sneak so expertly into his shop, even though she was probably most interested in regaining the wand.  He’d stolen it from her once, after all, and then managed to get it back before he’d died killing Pan.  Rumplestiltskin had been smart enough to verify that the wand was securely hidden after he’d regained his freedom from Zelena; it was one of the most potent magical objects he’d ever encountered, and he’d wanted to keep it in safe hands.  _That wand is a secondary power,_ the Sorcerer realized with a start.  Apparently, not all secondary powers were weapons, even if they all were magical objects…and now someone had taken it.

He needed to figure out who, and fast.

* * *

 

The last person Regina expected to see walking down the street was the ex-King George.  He was in front of Modern Fashions, and part of Regina wanted to cross the street to avoid him.  They’d been having such a _nice_ morning; she, Roland, Robin, and Henry had gone to breakfast together at Granny’s before Henry headed to school, and now she and Robin were walking Roland to daycare.  But she didn’t like admitting weakness like that, so Regina decided to brazen on through.  It wasn’t like George could harm her, after all.  _He’s nothing but a has-been.  A washed up relic of a former age who refused to grow or change._

“Who is that man, and why is he glaring at you so nastily?” Robin asked quietly, breaking into her thoughts.

“King George. You must have heard of him back in our world.”

Robin laughed.  “Certainly.  Breaking John out of his dungeons was one of the Merry Men’s finer jailbreaks.”

“Why was Uncle John in prison, Papa?” Roland looked up at the pair while Regina tried not to snort in amusement.  Roland had been in the modern world long enough that was starting to forget what life as an outlaw had been like, she realized.  _Soon, he’s probably not going to remember another life other than the one the four of us have together._

Part of Regina felt guilty for the joy that thought brought her, but she made herself focus on Robin’s answer instead of that.

“Uh…Uncle John was a bit of a troublemaker back in the old world.”  Robin was clearly trying not to smile too much.  “He used to drink a lot and steal things.  Though not necessarily in that order.”

“Stealing is _bad_.”

“Yes, yes, it is.”  Robin’s eyes met hers over Roland’s head, and Regina couldn’t stop herself from snickering softly.  Watching the Enchanted Forest’s most legendary thief try to explain morality to his son was _funny_.

“Many things are bad, but not everyone gets punished for them,” George interrupted before Robin could continue, and Regina twisted to glare at him.  Was he _really_ implying what she thought he was? 

She would have said that she thought that even George wasn’t capable of quite that much hypocrisy, but that would have been a lie.  “This from a man who was in _prison_ until recently?”

“Papa, is prison like jail?” Roland interrupted, and Robin bent to pick him up.

“Yes, it’s the same thing.”  Robin glanced apologetically her way, but Roland looked at George before either of them could stop him.

“Prison is for _bad_ men.”

 “I was in prison because I tried to do what was best for this town.”  George rolled his eyes, looking down his nose at Roland like he was that much dirt.  Then he transferred his glare to Regina.  “Unlike some people.”

“You were in prison because you _killed_ a man and tried to frame someone else!”  Regina couldn’t believe her ears. 

“What’s frame mean?”

Robin groaned.  “We’ll be across the street,” he said, and matched actions to words, crossing the street quickly and getting the curious four-year-old out of the crossfire.  Regina gave him a nod of thanks before turning back to George, who was already looking at her dismissively.

“I _allegedly_ tried to frame someone, Ms. Mills,” George replied with a thin smile.  “No one could ever prove I had a hand in poor Billy’s death.”

Regina snorted.  “Splitting legal hairs isn’t going to win you any friends.”

“ _I_ didn’t cast the curse that brought all of us here or make us all live in twenty-eight years of misery.  If anyone should be locked up, it’s you.  Instead, you’re pretending to be mayor again.”

“I’m not pretending at anything.”  Regina couldn’t help bristling.  “I was _asked_ to be mayor again.”

“Not by me.”

“Pardon me if I don’t care about your opinion.”  She smiled sweetly.  “And I’ll let you in on a secret, George.  Most of the rest of the town doesn’t, either.”

Oh, _that_ made him glare, and Regina just widened her smile. 

“Play whatever game you’re going to.  I don’t care.  But I’ll beat you at whatever it is, so take your best shot.  I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

 

“Emma?”

Killian had spent most of the wee hours of the morning working up his courage while Emma crafted a beautiful and intricate dreamcatcher.  After he’d woken her up from her second set of nightmares, Emma had refused to go back to sleep, only muttering to him that she dreamt of Mordred’s plan succeeding before fleeing.  He’d had to call Henry to ask exactly what that plan had been—Emma had refused to say—but once the boy told him, his decision was made.  Emma was _still_ in the shed, still sitting on the ground with that damn dreamcatcher in her lap, and Killian couldn’t wait any longer.

He had to tell her.  She deserved to know, and his conscience demanded he act.  _If I don’t tell her now, I never will,_ he knew.  So he’d trudged out here after getting off the phone with Henry, half wishing that the lad was here to help.  But Henry was on the bus to school, and Killian knew he had to do this alone, anyway.  _I trusted him, and he almost locked her in the dark for eternity._ He had never felt so _cold_ in his life, so broken and so ashamed.  Mordred had told him that he was going to take the darkness out of Emma and that she would be fine!  Instead, his _uncle_ had tried to imprison the woman he loved.  His bloody uncle had lied to him, and Killian wanted to throttle the man with his bare hands.

Mordred, however, was not back.  And the nightmares of what could have been were _destroying_ Emma.

“Emma, love?” he called again when she didn’t reply, standing in the doorway to the shed and hoping she’d notice him.  Emma seemed to go into something of a trance when she worked on her dreamcatchers, and she didn’t always notice people.  Finally, however, she looked up.

“Yes?”  Her hands were still moving furiously over the frame of the dreamcatcher, winding the thread—or whatever it was—around its edges.

“I need to talk to you about something.”  Killian preferred to be straightforward when it was something so important, so he pushed his nervous desire to make light of, well, everything aside. 

Emma’s hazel eyes were still everywhere but him.  “Talk.”

“It’s important, Swan.” Killian spoke as gently as he could, moving forward to kneel in front of her, wrapping his larger hand around both of hers.  That at least made Emma stop working on the dreamcatcher, and after a moment, she focused on him. 

“All right.”  She smiled wanly, and the haunted look in her eyes broke his heart.

“Are you all right?” he asked, inwardly cursing himself.  _Of course she isn’t, you fool.  Don’t delay by asking questions you know the answers to!_

“I’m fine.”  Emma shrugged a little.  “Or I will be.   It’ll pass.  The darkness is just…noisy today.  I think the nightmares set it off.”

“About those nightmares, love…there’s something you should know.”  Killian swallowed hard.  “I told you that Mordred is my uncle.”

“I don’t blame you, Killian.”  Now her eyes finally looked normal.  Compassionate, even, and his heart did a flip even as it tried to shatter.  “You can’t pick who you’re related to, and I know you’re not like him.  It’s not like you knew him growing up.”

“But I was working with him.”  The whisper sounded incredibly loud in his ears, and Emma froze.

A long moment passed before she said a word, her face even paler than usual and her eyes wide.

“You…you what?”

She hadn’t pulled away from him, and that was a hopeful sign.  That meant Emma was willing to listen, so Killian spoke quickly, squeezing her hands desperately.

“He said he had a way to pull the darkness from you, even if you resisted.  I _wanted_ so badly to believe him, to get you back.  He seemed to have the best chance of making it work, and I just wanted to free you from this horrible—”

“Without my consent?”  Emma’s eyes were blazing, and how had she gotten to her feet so quickly?  Killian almost fell backwards as her hands tore out of his, but he scrambled up to face her, panic making his heart beat faster and faster.  “You were working with _him_?  Did you want me to be locked away?”

“No!  Of course not!  How can you even ask that?”

“How could you work with _him_?” she cried.  “Behind my back?  All this time?”

“Aye.”  Killian swallowed hard.  “But I swear to you, Emma, I didn’t know what he was going to do.  I’d realized that it had to be your choice, not his, and I told him that I wasn’t going to lead you into some trap of his!”

“Oh, that’s big of you.”  The air around them seemed to tremble, and every instinct Killian had told him to back away from her—but he couldn’t.  Not from Emma.  He _refused_ to fear Emma, even when there was so much rage in her eyes.  Her voice, however, was low and frigid.  “You _realized_ that I should have free will, did you?  And what would have happened if Mordred asked you to get the dagger for him?  I suppose _that_ would not have been too much for you, because then you could _make_ me choose.”

“Emma, no—”

“You were going to let him lock me in the dark.”

“No, I told you, I told him I couldn’t help him anymore,” Killian tried to say, but Emma strode forward threateningly, and he couldn’t help stumbling back a step.  “I know how hard you’re fighting it, and can you blame me for wanting to help?  I just wanted _you_ back!”

“This _is_ me!”  The closest dreamcatchers started vibrating, shaking as magic made the air around Emma thick and dangerous.  “And even when the darkness is removed, I won’t be the same!  It leaves a mark, _Killian!_   You might be able to turn your back on your past deeds, but I’ll never be able to do the same.”

“That’s not true.  You’re the Savior, love, and you’ll be fine in the end.”  In his desperation to reassure her, Killian missed the warning signs.  “I believe in you,” he continued.  “I _know_ you.  I know the old Emma, the one who’s truly inside you, not the Dark One that’s driving you to anger.”

That jerked her up short, and for a moment, Killian though Emma would actually _listen_ to what he was saying.  Then her eyes narrowed.

“You think I’m angry because I’m the Dark One,” she said softly.

“You’ve told me yourself how hard it is to separate yourself from the darkness—”

“And then I told you what happened at the Vault, when I _chose_ love over darkness, when I chose to be something better,” Emma cut him off again, but this time she wasn’t shouting.  Now she just looked cold and broken.  “But you _knew_ that Mordred was planning something.  _You_ knew he wanted to trap me.  And you didn’t even _tell_ me.”

Her voice broke on the last words, and Killian stepped forward, reaching out for her.

“No.”

He froze.

Tear-filled hazel eyes met his.

“Don’t touch me,” Emma whispered. 

“Emma, I didn’t mean for you to be hurt.  And I certainly didn’t mean for Henry to get dragged into this.  Please, believe me, I hate my part in this as much as you do.  I was wrong to trust Mordred.”

“Yes, you were.”  Emma backed up a step, her face suddenly expressionless.  “Get off my property.”

Killian felt like someone had just sucked the air out of the shed.  Walls were closing in on him, walls made of his own mistakes, and he had never felt so terrified.  “You can’t mean that.” 

“What, you expect me to want to _look_ at you after you just told me that?  You worked with a man who threatened to kill my _son_ to catch me!  What did you think he was going to do, _Hook,_ when he told you that he could rip the darkness from me against my will?  Ask me nicely?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t ask.”  Truth be told, Killian hadn’t _wanted_ to.  He just wanted his Emma back.

“Clearly.”  Emma turned away from him, and Killian felt his heart shattering into dust beneath her feet.  “Go away.  Take your things and go back to your precious ship.  I don’t want to see you in my house again.”

“I love you!” he protested.  “I only did what I thought might _save_ you!”

“And I believed that!”  There were tears streaming down her face when Emma wheeled to face him, jabbing a finger into his chest so hard that it hurt.  “But now I’m starting to wonder if you loved your precious Savior and what being with the _Savior_ meant to you.  Not me.”

“This isn’t you!”

Emma just teleported away, a swirl of gray smoke marking the place where Killian had left his heart.

* * *

 

She needed to know.

Her youngest son had been back from Arendelle for a week, and Mordred had been gone for five of those days.  Morgan had spent a significant portion of that time wandering the town, speaking to people and _learning_.  Unfortunately, Mordred’s reputation had already tarred her, and Storybrooke’s citizens had quickly figured out that she was his mother.  They might not be happy with Emma Swan, but they were _less_ happy with the man who had goaded her into starting a fight, so Morgan found out very little on her own.  In the end, she ended up sending Accolon out with her questions, which brought her answers, albeit ones of questionable veracity.  Her longtime lover was hardly the most intelligent of men, and he had a hard time remembering what to ask if she didn’t write it down for him.  Since Morgan was not about to send Accolon around town with a handwritten list of questions (or even a typed one, as her old home _did_ have a computer that she knew how to use), she found herself seriously short of information.

Hence her trip to the library.  She had _thought_ that she knew enough about Belle Gold until Arthur had dropped his little ball of dragonfire, but now that she knew her daughter-in-law was the granddaughter of the Black Fairy—and her infuriating stepbrother—Morgan needed more information.  _Yet you_ know _that was True Love’s Kiss you saw when Merlin tried to take him over.  Nothing else could have pushed Merlin back and secured Rumplestiltskin as the Sorcerer, which means their love is true._ Sighing, Morgan pushed the door open and swept in.  Why couldn’t anything in this town be simple?  In comparison, the environment in Camelot had been wonderfully uncomplicated and honest.

“Can I help you?” a male voice asked before she made it three steps, and Morgan turned to look at the large man.  _A giant_ , her instincts told her.  Interestingly enough, he seemed to have been permanently downsized.  _Again, what_ is _it with this town?_

Morgan drew herself up and tried to look as inoffensive as possible.  “I was looking for the librarian.” 

“What for?” The giant was watching her suspiciously, but Morgan didn’t try to give him a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, she was a woman with a long-held reputation for being difficult, ornery, and far too clever for her own good.  She wasn’t harmless or inoffensive; Morgan had shifted the fate of the entire magical world twice—knowingly and against all advice not to—and she knew what she was.  So, she didn’t bother trying to hide it.  Let the giant’s suspicious be damned.

“A conversation.”  That much was at least honest.  After all, she truly didn’t mean her daughter-in-law harm.  _Though I do mean all kinds of harm towards her grandmother, which I suppose might not be welcome._

“I’ll see if she wants to talk to you.”  He shuffled off, with a stack of books still tucked comfortably under one arm.  That fact would have been unremarkable if the books hadn’t looked to weigh about half of what Morgan did, and the giant carried them easily.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long.  Within a minute, Belle Gold came around the corner, handing off a second set of books to the giant and smiling Morgan’s way.

“Hello!  What can I do for you..?”

She was fishing for an introduction, so Morgan provided one.  “Morgan of Cornwall.”

“I’m Belle.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Clearly, the girl was educated enough to figure out who she was from that, which was something of a relief.  She didn’t _think_ that Arthur and Danns’ would have produced an idiot, but one never knew what kind of man Colette had married.  “Is there something in particular you’re looking for here in the library?”

“I was wondering if you had any books on the Black Fairy, or on the early wars between the Fae and the Fairies.”  Morgan couldn’t very well say she was there to meet her daughter-in-law, after all, but she _could_ throw a little test Belle’s way.

The reaction was immediate, and it wasn’t favorable to Danns’.  Belle’s eyes went wide, concern making her frown ever so slightly.  _If she knows what her grandmother is, only an idiot would think I wouldn’t know, which means Danns’ hasn’t told her._ That was good.  Morgan knew that her own reputation was far from exemplary, and her son’s marriage probably only had room for one darker-than-was-socially-acceptable relative.  Granted, Morgan wasn’t precisely a dark sorceress—or at least she preferred not to use dark magic unless she had to.  She _was_ fighting for the future of humanity, but she understood that lofty goals were sometimes hard for others to believe in when your methods were less than stellar.

“Weren’t…weren’t you alive for those wars?” Belle asked perceptively.

“Thankfully, no.”  Morgan chuckled, impressed by the girl’s knowledge.  “I’m not _quite_ that old—my mother was the fae, despite what people call me.  But I do have an unfortunate amount of experience with the Black Fairy—and with her ambitions.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any books like that.  You could try the convent.”

Morgan snorted, and Belle shrugged.

“But Blue isn’t terribly eager to share that kind of thing, I imagine,” the young woman finished, and Morgan upped her estimation of Belle’s intelligence.

_Assuming I was not so deathly concerned over the idea of a grandchild sharing my blood, Danns’ blood, and Merlin’s power, I would begin to hope for intelligent grandchildren._   But that idea was a terrifying one, even if it did bring _two_ prophecies to mind.  But she did not have time for prophecies now.  She only had time to consider the young woman in front of her, her _daughter in law_ , who did not know she was the grandchild of the Black Fairy.  _Arthur lied._   That was hardly a surprise—rather, it was depressingly typical of her stepbrother, particularly between the two of them—but it did make Morgan view Arthur’s granddaughter differently.

“No, she isn’t.”  Morgan smiled slightly, the expression coming almost against her will.  Belle reminded her a little of Igraine, or maybe of Colette when she had been young and trusting.  Morgan had wanted to hate that little girl, the child who lived when her own daughter had died, yet her step-niece had wormed her way into her heart.  “I fear Reul Ghorm and I have not been on good terms for several centuries, anyway.”

“She can be a little…prickly.”  Belle looked like she was trying not to smile or grimace, or maybe both.

Morgan snorted.  “That’s an understatement.”  But she waved a hand before Belle could come up with a response.  “She doesn’t matter.  But…the future of our world very much does, and I fear that I mentioned the Black Fairy with ulterior motives.  She is here.”

That was her final test, because Morgan _knew_ she’d be able to tell if Belle had already known that, and if her earlier concern had revolved around the fact that _Morgan_ might know.  But the shock on her daughter in law’s face was obvious.

“She is _what_?  The Black Fairy?  Here in _Storybrooke_?”

“Yes.”  Morgan let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.  “I would like to speak to you about this—with your husband.  When is a good time?”

She could kill two birds with one stone, after all, and it was high time she told her son the truth.

* * *

 

“Hey, Grandpa!”  Henry sailed into the shop like a breath of fresh air, and Rumplestiltskin felt a smile crease his face.

“Hey, Henry.  What are you doing here? I thought you were with your dad.”  And wasn’t the ability to say _those_ words simply amazing?   Bae had been resurrected five days ago, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t used to knowing that his son was alive.  Just knowing that made his heart flutter, made him breathless with joy.  Judging from the expression on Henry’s face, his grandson felt much the same way.

“Two of the lost boys over to see him.  They’re getting adopted by the couple who own the fishing company, and they wanted to bring Dad along.  They invited me, too, but I felt kinda weird going—they knew Dad for centuries, and they just kind of look at me like the kid Pan tried to kill.  It was awkward.”

“I can imagine so.” 

Henry peered at him curiously.  “What was your mom like?”

The question made him blink.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t remember the last time he’d even _thought_ about the subject.  After a moment, he shrugged.  “I never knew her.  My… _father_ always said that she dumped me on him ‘like a needy, squealing, _pig_ ,’ but knowing him, there was more to it.  I always assumed she died when I was born.”

“He was really an awful dad, wasn’t he?” Henry made a face. “I mean, he was terrible as Pan, but I never really thought about what he was like before that.  He’s not in my book.”

“Yeah.”  Rumplestiltskin had to swallow hard, pushing back the memories of being a seven-year-old boy crying for his father not to leave him.  Whoever his mother had been, if she _hadn’t_ died giving birth to him, he couldn’t blame her for leaving Malcolm…but why couldn’t she bring him _with_ her?  His life might have been so very different if he hadn’t grown up as he had.

_But if it had been, I would never have become the Dark One,_ Rumplestiltskin knew.  And if he had not taken that terrible darkness on, he would never have met Belle.  Baelfire would never have met Emma, and Henry would not exist.  The world would be no better for it, because Zoso would have found _some_ desperate soul, but his family would not have existed in its present form.  _I suppose things happen for a reason._ That thought brought a slight smile back to his face, pushing away the pain of what might have been.  A part of him would probably always burn to know about his mother, but Rumplestiltskin could live with the mystery. 

“You okay?” Henry asked quietly, and he turned to look at his brilliant grandson, whose brown eyes shined with enough compassion to make Rumplestiltskin’s heart clench.

“Yeah, I’m all right.”  He let out a breath.  “I generally try not to think about either of my parents.  I was lucky that I was taken in by two spinsters after he left, and they were good to me.  Really good.”

“Will you tell me about them?”

He never spoke of his childhood; even Belle only knew bits and pieces.  He’d told Bae sometimes, centuries earlier, but he doubted his son remembered those stories.  Baelfire had been far more interested in tales of knights and sorcerers, after all.  But Henry _wanted_ to know, and warmth stole through Rumplestiltskin.

“All right,” he said softly, and turned his memory back through the years.  “Their names were Moira and Parcae…”

* * *

 

“You know, if anyone had ever told me that I’d be working _with_ you, I’d have called them a liar,” Leroy grumbled, and Regina smiled despite herself.

“Get over it, short stuff.  You’re always on about how we ignore you little people when we run this town, so it’s time you stepped up and put your money where your mouth is.”

Leroy rolled his eyes.  “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna walk right out this door.”

“No you won’t.”  She smiled slyly; she knew she had him.  Leroy was great at creating trouble, but for once, Regina was going to have that singular skill of his on _her_ side.  She’d probably never see the dwarves as anything other than annoying little men, but even Regina had to admit that they wanted to do what was right for Storybrooke.

“But I will,” Whale spoke up, scowling.

Regina turned to face her _other_ pet troublemaker.  “Really?  And pass up the opportunity to form another lynch mob?”

“Maybe I’ll just send it after _you_ instead.”  Whale rolled his eyes.  “ _Your Majesty_.  After all, you’re great at deserving a good lynching, and we never did finish giving you the last one.”

“Which one was that?” she shot back.  “There have been so many that I can’t keep them straight.”

Whale glared.

“Look, _you_ people asked me to be your mayor again.  If you don’t want to help me, fine.  I’ll find someone else who will.”  Regina crossed her arms.  “But I don’t think either of you is blind enough to miss the obvious: these newcomers have a plan.  And unless you want to give up _our_ town without a fight…?”

“We’ll do it.”  Leroy shot Whale a look when the doctor started to object.  “Mind you, we might not do it _your_ way, but we’ll figure out what the people from Camelot want.  We’ll bring Jefferson in, too.  He seems so damn _nice_ that people tell him things without meaning to.”  His shrug was accompanied by a crooked smile.  “Now that he’s sane again, anyway.”

“Remind me again whose fault that was?” Whale asked the air around them, and Regina bit back a groan.

“Shouldn’t _Jefferson_ be the one griping at me over that one, or do you suddenly feel protective over your friend?”

Leroy snorted, but Whale went an interesting shade of red.  “He’s my friend,” the doctor muttered, and Regina certainly couldn’t let that drop.

“Did I just hit a nerve, or is there something between you two that no one knows about?  You _have_ been spending a lot of time together.”

“Shut up.  Fine.  We’ll help you.  Just…shut up.”

Regina didn’t even try not to smile.

* * *

 

“Don’t look now, but we’ve got a visitor,” Robin said from where he was perched on the other desk.  David rarely knew the other man to sit down; Robin was almost always in motion, or leaning on something.  At best, he sat _on_ the desk rather than behind it, but David could hardly mind.  He hadn’t expected to find a friend in Regina’s outlaw, but Robin was a good man—and made a good sheriff’s deputy, too.

“Who?” But he barely got the word out before Arthur strode in.

“We need to talk,” Camelot’s king said without preamble, and David felt his eyebrows rise.

“We do?” He couldn’t help sounding a little sarcastic, but that seemed to sail right over Arthur’s head.  Instead, the other man just gestured at Robin.

“Do you trust this man?”

“He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” David replied firmly, not missing how Robin rolled his eyes at Arthur’s back.

Interestingly enough, Arthur didn’t bother asking for an introduction.  He just started talking.  “I’m sure you’re aware of Mordred’s actions by now, and I would like to apologize for them.  I wish I could control him, but I fear that Mordred is firmly under his mother’s thumb.  I tried to pry him away from her years ago, but I failed.”

“We’re not going to hold you responsible for Mordred’s actions.”  If that was what Arthur’s eerie intensity was about, David felt he could easily reassure him.  “He’s an adult, and more than capable of making his own choices.  That _isn’t_ to say, however, that we won’t hold Mordred responsible.  He threatened a child and tried to unjustly imprison a citizen of this town.”

“Who happens to be your daughter, I know.  And I am sorry.”  Arthur grimaced.  “That’s actually what I’m here about, though.  I agree that Mordred needs to be punished, and my queen and I would like to help put this to rights.”

Well, David hadn’t expected _that_.  Granted, Arthur wasn’t the one who had tried to lock Emma into the Vault of the Dark One, but David still hadn’t been prepared for Arthur to offer to help.  _He says all the right things, yet my instincts say not to trust him.  Is that just because he killed Snow, or is there another reason?_ A ghostly hand slipped into his own, and David felt a warm rush of love in his heart that helped push the pain back.  He still had Archie investigating those Arthur seemed to be courting as allies, and Regina had said she had her own plan on that front, but perhaps accepting help from them wouldn’t be a bad idea.

It could even be an olive branch that the town desperately needed.  David knew that he’d never fully forgive Arthur on a personal level, but leaders weren’t supposed to focus on their own pain.  _I promised myself to put Storybrooke first from now on, and I have to,_ he thought firmly, and met Arthur’s eyes.

“Do you have any specific way of helping in mind?”

“Yes, actually.  I’ve heard that if someone is forced out of town, they can never come back.  Is this true?”

“More or less.”  Robin spoke up, coming around to study Arthur suspiciously.  “People _can_ be let back in, but only under very specific circumstances.”

“Well, such exceptions should not be made.”  Arthur kept his eyes on David after glancing at Robin dismissively.  “Mordred should be exiled immediately.  And his mother.”

Robin blinked.  “Isn’t she your sister?”

“ _Step_ sister.”

“I think we’re moving a little fast,” David interjected.  He could sense that Robin—who had been shut out of Storybrooke himself, albeit for very different reasons—didn’t like this plan, and David wasn’t sure that wishing an evil sorcerer on the outside world was the right course of action, either.  Granted, the idea was certainly tempting, but the eagerness in Arthur’s eyes gave him pause. 

“Believe me when I say that Mordred is dangerous.  I have tried to save him in the past, but he is determined to destroy the Dark One, no matter who he hurts in the process.  He also dreams of being a great king and ruling all and sundry—and _anyone_ in Camelot can tell you how well that worked out.”

“I don’t doubt that he’s dangerous, but exiling someone based simply on your say-so isn’t something we do here.”  David held up a hand when Arthur started to argue.  “ _Nor_ should a man’s crimes—no matter how heinous—condemn his mother as well.  Besides, this conversation should rightly take place with Regina here.  She is the mayor.  I’m simply the sheriff.”

Arthur scowled.  “But you were a king in the old world, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but now that’s a little complicated.”  George could argue that he’d disinherited David, though he and Snow _had_ fought for George’s former kingdom, and David had become king there via right of conquest if nothing else.  At the same time, _Emma_ was Snow’s heir, which meant the two kingdoms would have been split apart again upon Snow’s death.  And that didn’t even take into account the fact that the people of Storybrooke had asked Regina to step up as mayor again.  “Regina and I have a good working relationship.  She needs to be here for this.”

“I don’t trust her.”  Arthur’s blue eyes went dark.  “Percival—may his soul rest in peace—told me what kind of woman she used to be.”

“She’s changed,” Robin spoke up immediately.  “Regina isn’t that woman any longer, and whether you trust her or not, the people of Storybrooke _do_.”

“We have fought too long and too hard to go back on our beliefs,” David put in.  “We are certainly open to help in dealing with Mordred—your experience will undoubtedly help a lot—but this world is different from the old one.  We’re not absolute monarchs here, and we don’t want to be.”

Arthur shrugged.  “I suppose I have a lot to learn.”

After that, Arthur made a great show of saying that, _of course_ he would work with them and not act precipitously, but David wasn’t sure he wanted to believe Camelot’s former king.  Yes, they’d all grown up on legends of the Great King Arthur, but this was one case, he realized, where reality failed to live up to the legends.  _We’re all different than stories in this world says we should be.  Why would he be any different?_   Still, there was something in Arthur’s eyes that worried David.  A lot.

* * *

 

“Hey, Mom,” Henry’s voice made Emma jump.  She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the dagger and trying to decide if she was truly _better_ off alone, and then her son seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Henry…” Emma wasn’t sure how to react to her son’s presence, particularly when Henry just walked over and hugged her tightly.

“I saw Killian.  He said you kicked him out.  I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“He was working with Mordred.”  Dark fury reared up; Emma quashed it with all her might.  “He…he said he stopped, but he didn’t bother to even _warn_ me, and then Mordred dragged you in.  I can’t forgive that.”

Henry pulled back, looking confused.  “But why would he work with Mordred?”

“Apparently blood is thicker than love,” Emma spat.  _He’ll betray you again.  Don’t trust him,_ the darkness whispered, and she shoved it away, focusing on her love for Henry.  _Henry_ had never let her down, and he never would. 

“I’m sorry, Mom,” her son said softly, and hugged her again.  Emma just held on tightly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t skewer me too badly—remember that Emma’s the Dark One, and she’s bound to make some bad decisions. She’s not being particularly fair to Killian here, but he didn’t exactly make things better for himself, either.
> 
> Next up, Chapter Forty-Four—“…From Side to Side”, where Emma looks to a friend for reassurance, Mordred and Zelena return, Belle and Rumplestiltskin talk about Morgan, and Lancelot returns.


	44. …From Side to Side

_He would have_ let _Mordred lock you away_ , the darkness whispered, and Emma feared—for perhaps the first time—that it was telling the truth.  She’d kicked Killian out of her home the day before, and though part of her wanted to call him back, she hadn’t let herself.  _I thought he’d changed,_ Emma thought sadly, running her fingers over her newest dreamcatcher.  _And then he tells me that he_ decided _it should be my choice like this is some great gift.  He_ knew _Mordred was going to try to do something, and he didn’t bother to warn me._

_And then he let Mordred threaten_ Henry.

Just thinking about that left her so cold and lonely.  Henry had dragged her off to dinner the night before, and she’d wound up sitting in the loft and _laughing_ while David made a mess of homemade lasagna (a recipe Regina apparently gave him).  They’d wound up ordering pizza instead, and for a few hours, Emma had felt like her old self.  She’d been with her _family,_ realizing that maybe she didn’t have to do this alone.  She’d wanted to trust Killian because he said he was no stranger to darkness, but maybe that wasn’t what she needed.  Maybe she needed people who lived in the light, people who _wouldn’t_ pay lip service to helping her resist the darkness while they crept around behind her back.  She didn’t know.  She _wanted_ him back, wanted the safety and security of being loved so completely—but how much of it was love if he could stand by and let Henry be hurt to ‘save’ her?

The worst part of it all was that Killian hadn’t understood why she was angry.  He thought that she was angry because of what she was, now, but Emma knew better.  Her choice at the Vault had _held_.  She knew that she had to be wary, that she could never let her guard down, but so long as she held firm to those she loved, Emma was in control.  Someday, somehow, she would figure out how to get rid of the darkness.  Until then, she would live with being the Dark One.  Unlike what Killian expected, however, she would _live_.  Emma would not hide in shame any longer.  She would do her best to remember the best parts of herself.

Somehow, that determination led her to leave her house, walking with her head held high and refusing to pity herself.  A part of her was broken, yes, but Emma had had her heart broken before.  She always came out of that stronger, and this time would be no different.

She wasn’t sure how that led her to the park, though somehow she wasn’t surprised to find Neal on the swings.  He was barely visible in the early morning fog, but when she approached, she found her ex-boyfriend sitting in one of the swings, kicking back and forth idly while he toyed with his phone, his toes dragging in the dirt and ruining what _had_ to be expensive shoes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Neal looked up and shrugged.  “Henry called last night and told me what happened.  I figured you might come here to think.”

Emma scowled.  “ _I_ had no idea I was coming here.  How would you know?”

“Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“You’re still not funny.”  She sat down on the swing next to him, anyway, though.

“Didn’t mean to be.”  Neal twisted to look at her.  “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”  The response was automatic, and her _own_ instincts only made the darkness’ prodding worse.  It didn’t like Neal, she realized.  Not at all.  _Stay away from this one.  He’ll only break your heart again,_ the voice whispered, and it sounded strangely feminine.  And very dangerous.

“Emma.”

The words snapped out of her with more force than she intended.  “ _What?_ ”

“Look, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.  And this isn’t me trying to take advantage of whatever’s happened between you and Killian.  I want you to be happy, and if that’s with him, that’s what I want,” he said quietly.  “But I’d like to think that we’re still friends, despite everything—”

“Like me being the Dark One?”

Neal grimaced.  “Actually, I meant the whole me sending you to jail and then the whole part where I was dead.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”  Emma peered at him curiously.  “Doesn’t it bother you?  What I am.”

“Yeah, sure it does.  You deserve better.”  That almost made her snap at him, but he continued before she could.  “But you’re still _you_.  I know that better than anyone except my dad.  I lived in his head for a year, remember?  I _heard_ those voices, and I know how hard it is to fight them.  From where I’m sitting, you’re doing pretty well.”

The frank way he said that made Emma look away, swallowing hard.  “Not as well as you might think.”

“Hell, Emma, from what I understand _every_ Dark One goes on a killing spree.  My dad sure as hell did.  It’s horrible that you killed one person, but you stopped yourself.  That counts for a lot.  So does the fact that you were going to shut yourself up in that Vault for Henry— _forever_.  I know what that place is like, too, you know.”

“Are _you_ okay?”  She felt guilty; she should have asked him that earlier.  But she supposed that Rumplestiltskin and Belle had to be taking pretty good care of him; she understood her predecessor a lot better these days, and she’d always known how much he loved his son.

“It’s kind of a blur, to be honest.  I can’t remember much of being down there, and time didn’t really seem to run.  The Dark Ones in there didn’t seem able to touch me, not really, or at least not that I can remember.  So, I’m okay.  I’m alive, and that beats the hell out of being dead.”  He smiled, and Emma couldn’t see any restraint in the expression.

“You’re not treating me any differently,” she whispered in surprise.

“Should I?”

“Everyone else does.  Even my dad.  Even when he tries not to.  Your dad—well, he tries to help.  Usually he does, even.”  Emma snorted.  “I can’t believe I’m saying that.  I wouldn’t have believed it a month ago.”

“He’s changed a lot.”

“So have I.”

“So?” Neal met her eyes.  “People change, Emma.  The difference is that you didn’t _want_ to, and you’re fighting it.  That’s what matters.”

“Killian doesn’t seem to think so.”  She swallowed hard.  “He looks at me like I have a disease that needs curing.”

“It is kind of a rancid mess of a disease, that darkness.”  Neal gave her a lopsided smile, but it was his light tone that made a laugh startle out of her.  Had someone else said that, she might have snapped at him, might have let the darkness answer, but Neal continued: “But you and I both know that it can be beat.  Mostly.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”  The admission was a hard one to make; Emma _wanted_ to stay on top of things, and she felt like she was doing all right.  But she also knew that the darkness had tricked her in the beginning.  It had made her feel like she was winning, and then she’d killed Granny.

“I don’t.”

That simple answer made her swallow again.  “Why not?” she whispered.

“Because you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.  And hell, Emma, look at you.  My dad told me about the choice you made, and if anyone knows how hard that is, _he_ does.  You’re not always going to win—it wouldn’t be a curse if you could overcome it by willpower alone—but you’re still you.  And that’s what counts.”

Emma’s heart clenched.  She remembered Rumplestiltskin telling her about how he’d frightened his own son away, how he’d failed and how far he’d gone wrong.  “You really believe that?”

“Yeah.  It took me a long time to learn to see the person behind the darkness, but I get it now.”  Neal shrugged.  “I mean, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give you a free pass and not call you on it if you do something wrong or let it get the better of you, but I’ve got a pretty good idea how that darkness inside you works.  And I know you’re still you, under that.  Even if it does make you change.”

“Killian just wants the ‘real’ me back.”  Emma looked down at her hands, her eyes drifting to the sleeves of the leather clothes she now wore.  Dressing like this had seemed appropriate; she was _the Dark One_ , and she had to look the part.  Her wardrobe didn’t seem worth fighting the darkness over, and a part of her liked looking different.  It was a reminder to everyone that she wasn’t the same, that she _wasn’t_ the Savior.

_I don’t think I can be both, even at my best._

“What do _you_ want?”

“I want to be free of it…most of the time.  But I know that if your dad pulls it out of me like the Apprentice did him, it’ll just find someone else.  Someone who might not be able to fight it.”  She looked up again, searching his face for answers.  “Is that the darkness talking, or just me?”

“Probably both.  But you’re probably right, too.  If you stuck that in someone else, someone who isn’t as strong as you, they’d probably be determined to destroy Storybrooke.  Or do something absolutely batshit crazy.”

“Or both.”  A slight smile crossed her face, and Neal grinned back.

“Yeah.  There is that.”

“You want to get some breakfast?” Emma asked almost before she thought about it.  But it wasn’t a date, of course, even if she had kicked Killian out.  Neal was her friend.  She’d forgiven him a long time ago, and having breakfast with a friend could be fun.

“You sure you’re ready to brave Granny’s?  I, uh, heard what happened.”

Emma grimaced.  “Maybe if you go in and get takeout?”

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

 

Killian hadn’t felt so out of place in centuries.  He was _used_ to knowing where his life was headed, accustomed to the certainty of having a goal to work towards or a mission to accomplish.  He’d been the master of his own fate since he’d become a pirate…and yet now he was rudderless.  He’d let his life revolve around Emma Swan for too long, and now that she’d kicked him out—albeit temporarily—he didn’t know what to do.

That was why he found himself wandering aimlessly down Main Street that morning, trying to ignore the fact that he could see Emma’s bug parked down by Game of Thorns.  He thought about heading towards Granny’s, but he was a little uncertain of the welcome he’d receive there.  Yet he’d frequented establishments over the objections of their proprietors before, hadn’t he?  He wasn’t some soft-hearted weakling; he was a pirate.  He didn’t _care_ what they thought of him.  So, Killian squared his shoulders and walked that way, his head held high and bearing unbowed.  What was the worst Ruby might do, growl?  He knew that her bark was far worse than her bite these days.

He was halfway there when a bright green door appeared in the middle of the intersection of Main and Second Streets, crawling with vines from a jungle he _far_ knew too well.  _That bloody demon child is_ dead _.  The only worthwhile thing the Crocodile ever did was sending him to meet his maker.  Too bad Rumplestiltskin couldn’t just stay dead after the deed.  Then I’d have_ my _Emma still and—_

Mordred and Zelena stepped through the door.

His uncle had been absent from Storybrooke ever since he’d tried to lock Emma in that damn vault, and Killian had hoped Mordred would never return.  Yes, hearing stories of his father was nice, but Mordred had abused his trust.  _His own mother thinks he went too far_ , _but Emma blames me!_ The thought boiled up furiously, and Killian found himself stalking forward.  He didn’t know what he wanted to do, only that he needed to say something.  Or hit something.

“Well, that was more pleasant than a tornado, wasn’t it?”  Mordred turned casually to Zelena, clearly without spotting Killian.  The Wicked Witch scowled.

“It still took too long. We’ve been gone for _six days_.”

“And if you think you’re in for a happy homecoming, you’re very much mistaken,” Killian broke in icily.

Zelena twisted to face him.  “Oh, look.  It’s Captain Broody.”  Her hand snapped up, and suddenly the ground vanished out from under his feet.  Killian kicked helplessly, struggling against her invisible grip, but Zelena only laughed.  “You’ll make a _much_ better puppet than pirate, _love_.”

“I’m no one’s puppet!”

She giggled.  “Well, if you prefer to be a lovesick fool, I’m not going to quibble.  But I’m still attaching strings.” 

“Put him down.”  Mordred’s voice was cold.

Zelena pouted.  “But I was just starting to enjoy myself, and _someone_ has to pay for the Dark One getting away.  Why not Mopey Lover Boy?”

“You will not harm my nephew.”  Magic met magic; an electric chill ripped down Killian’s spine, and suddenly his feet hit the ground.  Staggering for balance, he caught himself and glared at Mordred.  His uncle looked rather satisfied—and not at all chagrined.  _Smug bastard._

“Don’t expect a thank you,” Killian growled.

Mordred blinked.  “I realize you are probably unhappy, but—”

“You lied to me!  You never wanted to help Emma—you just wanted to lock her away!”  Without thinking, Killian surged forward to poke a finger into the center of Mordred’s chest.  “You never gave a damn about her, did you?  You just looked at her and saw _the Dark One_!”

“Of course I did.  As did you.”

“I love her!”

“No, you _loved_ her.  Can you truly tell me that you love the demon she is now?”  Mordred met his eyes, making no attempt to move away.  “Do you love the murderer who won’t stop when you _beg_ her to?  The fact that you have tried to love her says a great deal about how good _your_ heart is, but you know as well as I do that no one escapes that darkness untainted.  Not your Emma, and not your ‘Crocodile’.  It leaves a mark, and she will never be who she was.”

“She can be.”  Killian couldn’t bear to think otherwise.  “She _will_ be.  The Apprentice removed the darkness from Rumplestiltskin, and—”

“And he was the first to take her side now.”  Mordred cocked his head.  “Tell me, were they allies before, or is it just since she became the Dark One?”

His teeth gritted together so hard that his jaw started to ache.  “Just since then.”

“You see my point, don’t you?”

“She’s not like him.  Emma is the Savior.  She took that darkness on to _save_ people!”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Mordred shook his head, actually looking sad.  “They all claim to have good reasons, and even if hers was better than most, you can see what the darkness has done to her.  I’m sorry that I lied to you, Killian, but I had _one_ chance to remove that darkness from this world, to keep it from hurting anyone else.  I am sorry that the woman you loved would have been a victim of that, but she is no longer innocent.  I am fighting to protect all those who might become her victims.”

The argument was logical, but Killian couldn’t get his heart to accept it.  He _knew_ that Emma wasn’t like the others.  She was _different_.  She wouldn’t—

“Enough, Mordred.”  A new voice cut in, and they both turned to face Morgan as she strode up, her eyes dark with fury.  “Your silly little quest has done enough damage.  You will stop this insanity _now._ ”

He had never seen his grandmother look so dangerous, and even Mordred fell back a step.

“Mother—”

“No.   You will _not_.  You will cease your lunacy immediately and return to your castle.  And then we will speak about the fact that you were willing to threaten a _child_ to get your way.”  Morgan’s eyes were like fire.  “Now, come.”

Much to Killian’s surprise, Mordred gave a half bow of consent.  “As you wish.”

Morgan did not look at all mollified.  Instead, she transferred that hell glare to Zelena.  “You as well.”

A gesture from Mordred made the trio vanish in a cloud of dark red smoke, leaving Killian standing alone in the street.  Part of him wondered why his grandmother—who had promised to help him against her own son if Mordred had succeeded—had left him behind, but Killian really didn’t want to be a party to that meeting, anyway.  _Besides, if I go with them and Emma sees it, she will assume I am on Mordred’s side._   Killian still couldn’t believe that his own uncle had betrayed him like this, even if it was clear that Mordred was trying to do what he thought was best.  _He believes_ my _Emma is gone forever.  Is he right?_

_No._  

Mordred was wrong.  Killian knew what he had to do.  He had to give Emma a _reason_ to come back, which meant that he needed to step away from her.  Mordred was right; this _wasn’t_ him.  Emma needed to understand that there were consequences to her choices, and that meant he had to do the hard thing, the _right_ thing, and step back.  _Give her a reason and she’ll come back to me,_ he told himself.  He would _make_ Emma find herself again, make her see what she had to lose if she kept on like this.  She could beat this, Killian knew, and he’d do everything he could to help her.

After all, he’d tried chasing her, and that hadn’t worked.  She’d made it plain that she didn’t want Killian by her side, but he knew Emma.  Once she was ready to listen to reason, she wouldn’t want to be alone.  It was that damn darkness eating at her again, the Dark One whispering horrible things in her ear.  He had to remind her that she had reasons to beat it, and from where he was standing, there only seemed to be one way left to do that.

* * *

 

“Why the long face?” Lily looked over at her mother, trying to puzzle out Maleficent’s frown.  She didn’t know her mother as well as she wanted to, only having met her about two months earlier, but Lily liked to think that they understood one another.  She _liked_ her mother, liked the way her sharp edges merged with her compassion.  Maleficent was a great example of how someone could be dark and yet still love.  Lily had always thought that her own inner darkness would keep her from truly loving—a life full of failed relationships told her so—but her mother wasn’t like that.  Maleficent put love before revenge while retaining her own power and dangerousness, and Lily wanted to be like that.

“I feel like this is a betrayal of a very old friend.”  Maleficent sighed.  “I don’t _owe_ Regina anything—she has ignored me to pay court to the damn heroes—but I miss our old accord.  We understood one another, once.”

“I don’t really understand how you were friends with her, to be honest.  She seems like someone who is throwing a veneer of goodness over a very rotten core.”

“Oh, it’s not her core that’s rotten, darling,” her mother said softly.  “If you understand nothing else about Regina, understand that she was such a _good_ girl.  Her heart has always been loving, but when you hurt someone too often, the scar tissue becomes armor, and therein lies her darkness.”

Lily shrugged.  “I still don’t like her hypocrisy.  I’m glad we didn’t choose _that_ side, and not just because I think they’re going to lose.”

“We do what we must.”  Maleficent’s smile was sad.  “And I do think you’re right.  But remember, Lily, no matter what happens, we are _committed_.  Arthur is nothing but a king—you can find a dozen of those within this town, each no greater than the last.  But Guinevere is something else.  Do not begin to think you can cross her, for it will mean both of our deaths.”

“I understand.”  She didn’t, not really, but Lily trusted her mother’s instincts.  Maleficent was wise and experienced with magic, and if _she_ said not to cross Guinevere, Lily would obey.  She had waited her entire life to have family, to have someone to stand shoulder to shoulder with against all comers, and her mother was everything she could ever have dreamt of.

They would be two dragons, standing together, and if they were lucky, their new allies could help them find Lily’s father—or at least identify him.  She burned to know who he was, to know a little about him, though the more time passed, the more Lily realize that she could live without meeting him.  _Having my mother is enough, if it comes to that.  And no matter who he is, I know that_ Mother _fought to get back to me so hard that even death couldn’t stop her.  I will never cease to fight for her, too._

_No matter_ who _gets in our way._

* * *

 

“Do you know who visited the library yesterday?” Belle asked over their absurdly late breakfast.  They both should have been at work already, but someone had forgotten to set their alarm clock—something each was still playfully blaming the other for—and they’d slept in.

Rumplestiltskin gave her a rueful smile.  “Are you going to make me guess, or will you tell me if I look pitiful enough?”

“I’m not sure even you could look _that_ pitiful.”

“To get out of playing guessing games?  Sweetheart, you have no idea what depths of pitiful I’m prepared to reach for.”

“Wimp.”  Listening to Belle laugh so easily was something he would _never_ grow tired of, even when she leaned over to elbow him in the side like that.  “But I won’t make you guess if you’re going to be no fun about it.  Morgan le Fae came to visit me.”

“Whatever would she do _that_ for?” Rumplestiltskin’s eyebrows had gone up right away; he knew Morgan of Cornwall by reputation, though he’d noticed her presence after the second curse.  _Or after I was free of Zelena, anyway._ She hadn’t ever acted overtly, and even now she seemed not to be fully supporting her son; had she been, Rumplestiltskin did not doubt he and Emma would have run into Morgan in the Enchanted Forest, as well.  Her reputation was a tricky one; no one ever seemed to agree on her motivations or even her actions.  Depending upon who you asked, Morgan was humanity’s last great champion or the ultimate destroyer of Camelot.  Knowing from Merlin’s memories that _she_ had freed the darkness from the Vault the second time it escaped hardly helped, either.

“She claimed to be looking for books about the Black Fairy, but I think she wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m not sure I like that.”  In fact, Rumplestiltskin was quite certain that he didn’t.

“Nothing happened.  In fact, she was perfectly nice to me.”

“ _Now_ I’m worried.”

Belle gave him a long-suffering look.  “Rumple.”

“I know you always want to see the best in people, sweetheart, but Morgan is dangerous.  And if she and Arthur are as much at odds as your grandfather indicated…this could get very messy.”  Rumplestiltskin scowled.  “Actually, I can guarantee they _are_ aligned against one another.  David called me last night to say that Arthur was advocating immediate exile for Mordred and Morgan both.”

Her eyes went wide.  “That’s…harsh.”

“Yes.  I fear your family is even more of a tangled mess than Henry’s, and twice as vicious.”

“I’m not sure how fair that is.”  But he could see the hesitation in Belle’s eyes; as much as she _did_ always see the best in people—something Rumplestiltskin had profited from many times—she was too smart to be hoodwinked by Arthur and Guinevere’s pretty words for long.  _And speaking of which, there is_ definitely _something different about her grandmother._ Rumplestiltskin in no way doubted that Guinevere was the source of the magic Colette had passed down to Belle, but he still wasn’t sure what that was.

Yet there was a feeling of foreboding hovering at the edge of his consciousness that grew greater by the day.

“Life isn’t fair,” he pointed out.  “Though I do wonder why Morgan would want books on the Black Fairy.  They were contemporaries, and knew one another.  What game is she playing?”

“How can you be sure she’s playing at anything?”

His smile was thin.  “One chess master always knows another.”

“She said that the Black Fairy is here in Storybrooke,” Belle said slowly.  “I’m not sure I believed, her, but that could explain where the wand went, and…”

“And if it’s true, we have more problems than we thought.”  Rumplestiltskin checked a sigh, missing Merlin for the first time.  He was grateful beyond words for the old enchanter’s sacrifice—things had happened so quickly that he’d had no chance to thank Merlin, let alone ask all the questions he should have asked.  _I thought we’d have plenty of time.  I’ve been the Sorcerer for less than a month._

Yet now he had the feeling they were running _out_ of time, and for all his legendary skills as a manipulator, Rumplestiltskin felt out of his depth.  He needed to meet this Morgan le Fae, and fast.

* * *

 

Sliding back into their old habits was frighteningly easy.  The last time they’d eaten breakfast in the bug had been over thirteen years ago—almost fourteen, actually—but somehow doing it felt absolutely normal.  Hell, Neal— _Baelfire,_ he had to remember he was Bae now, because he was the one who had made that choice!— hadn’t ever expected to be back in this cramped little car, even if he hadn’t died, but here he was, crumbling up the paper wrapper that Ruby had put the surprisingly tasty sandwich in and laughing at Emma’s rendition of a prank Henry had pulled on Regina a few months back.

“Man, I missed a lot.”

“I wouldn’t say you _missed_ most of it.”  Emma’s tone was bone dry; her sense of humor, he had already discovered, was a lot darker and sharper, but when she relaxed, she was _Emma_.  She said that she hadn’t really been, not before, but choosing Henry over the darkness at the Vault had helped a lot.  _Just like it helped Papa after Neverland_.  Bae could appreciate the difference, these days.

“Why’s that?” he asked as lightly as he could.  He didn’t regret resurrecting his father—though he sure as hell would have found another way if he’d known the price—but he’d never forgive himself for missing so much of his son’s life.  He’d barely been there for Henry, but that would stop.  Now.

“Well, you could have gotten to see Storybrooke get frozen over.  Or see the ‘Queens of Darkness’ come into town—though Maleficent is still here, so you can meet her if you really want to.  I knew her daughter growing up, actually.”

Bae snorted.  “Henry told me.  Man, that really stretches the bounds of believability, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling _me_.”  Emma rolled her eyes, and then shrugged.  “Come on.  Let’s go see if you can find that birthday present for Henry you were talking about.  I think the Wonderful Toymaker is open now, and they sell the comics he likes.”

“Sure.”

They climbed out of the car together and stepped into the mostly empty street.  It was just after nine, which meant most shops were opening up, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of people around.  Judging from what Emma had said about how she’d been received in town lately, it was probably for the best, anyway.  He could understand why people didn’t trust her, because Bae was intimately familiar with how unpredictable and dangerous the Dark One could be.  And he knew that he hadn’t reacted all that well to finding out that Emma was the Dark One, either, but now…now when he looked at her, all he saw was Emma.

Still, he wasn’t expecting the rabid hostility on the faces of the two men who deliberately crossed the street to avoid them.

“What’s that about?” He spoke quietly, jerking his head towards the pair.

“I, um, might have turned King Midas’ daughter into a statue a few weeks ago.”  Emma looked torn between embarrassment and aggression, and she did shoot a cold look in Midas’ direction when the king glared at her.

“You _what_?” 

“It’s a long story.  Let’s just say that August pissed me off, and she was collateral damage.  Your dad turned them back.”

“Well, that’s a swap.”  Bae let out a breath and decided not to press.  Or at least not too much.  “You do know that turning people into statues is a bad idea, right?  It tends to make people pissy.”  He gestured towards Midas and his companion.  “Case in point right there.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was better than killing them, and I was in a bad place.  I’m trying to be better.”  The hazel eyes that suddenly met his were a little desperate.  “It’s just…I’m fighting this voice every moment of every day, and sometimes I’m just so _tired_ of it.”

“I get it.  Right and wrong get upside down sometimes, yeah?”

“More like randomly diagonal.  Upside down I could figure out,” she grumbled.

Bae gave her a smile.  “I can work with diagonal.” 

Emma snorted.  “Figures, given who _you’re_ related to.”

“So, um, I’ve got to ask.  King _Midas_?  Like, the guy with the golden touch and all?”  He figured lightening the mood was in order; Emma _was_ fighting back, and there was no reason to make her feel worse when she still clearly blamed herself. 

“Welcome to Storybrooke.  You knew this place was weird.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t spend much time here to begin with, or at least not socializing.  I’ve got some catching up to do,” he admitted.  “Like, for example, who’s the guy he’s talking to?  And who’s the chick that just joined them?”

Emma’s features darkened so quickly that Bae almost stepped back.  “Grif.  He’s Arthur’s squire.”  Her voice dropped, going icy.  “And that’s Guinevere.”

“Right, Henry did say that Camelot had…wait a minute, why are you so angry?”

“I don’t like her.”

There was something in Emma’s voice that made Bae stop cold, the hint that there was _more_ going on than she said. “Why not?”

“I just… _don’t_.”  She hesitated, and then blinked hard.  “She’s dangerous.  I can’t say more.”

“Why not?”  Because there was no way at all _that_ didn’t sound suspicious.

“I made a deal with her,” Emma whispered.  “Leave it alone, okay?”

“If you say so.”  Bae glanced at the trio again; Guinevere really was a quite lovely woman, if you were into the ethereal types, which he’d never been.  But there was something _off_ about her, something, well, dangerous.  Midas, however, seemed oblivious, and Grif looked like he worshiped the ground she walked on.  “You know…if you’re looking for a loophole, we’ve got an expert on those in town.”

“Maybe.”  Emma’s face closed off.  “But not now.”

“Why not?”

“Not _now_ , Neal.”

She was afraid of something, he realized, so Bae made himself take a mental step back and stop pushing.  Not much scared Emma, he knew, and he imagined that was doubly true now that she was the Dark One.  So, he nodded, promising himself that he’d ask later.  Maybe when they weren’t in public, and when no one could possibly overhear.

* * *

 

“May I have a word?”

The question made Ruby glance up from the cash register.  The breakfast rush was finally over, but Happy was out sick, and the new girl had made a bit of a mess with the cash.  She’d been sorting it and hadn’t noticed Arthur coming in, but the king now stood on the opposite side of the counter, looking at her curiously.

“Talk’s free, but coffee isn’t.” She smiled to let him know she was joking—the Camelot bunch were funny about status, and the last thing she needed was some knight to jump out of the woodwork and lecture her about how to treat a king in _her_ diner.  _Kings are more common than werewolves in this town,_ she thought wryly.  “What can I do for you?”

“First, I wanted to apologize for how Percival treated you after we first arrived, and for any others of my people who have been less than polite.  As I’ve had pointed out to me, we’re new to this world, and _we_ have to adjust.  We can’t expect others to do that for us.”

“That’s very…gracious of you.”  Ruby could smell _something_ on him.  It wasn’t nervousness, but the emotion was something akin to that.  Sneakiness?

“I also wanted to extend our—my wife and mine—condolences for your loss.  I think the way this town’s leaders treated you in the wake of the Dark One killing your grandmother was, well, horrific, to be blunt.”

Ruby tried not to swallow, and ended up sneezing instead.  There was something about Arthur that made her nose itch, and it was almost distracting enough to push her grief aside.  Now, if only she could remember _what_ that damn smell was.  “I’m dealing with it.”

“I don’t doubt that.  Still, if you should ever be in need of a friend, please don’t hesitate to seek us out.  Guinevere and I have always stood by our friends.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Not sounding wary was hard, but judging from Arthur’s smile, she managed.

He left shortly after that, but the way Arthur went on to extoll the virtues of becoming their ally—hinting that doing so would pit her against her old friends, the people who had treated her so badly—just put Ruby on edge.  She tried not to show that, though, and just listened.  After all, it wasn’t every day a king came courting you, particularly when he had nothing romantic in mind.

* * *

 

David ran into his old friend by sheer chance on his way into the sheriff’s station.  He and Archie had been walking together, talking quietly about what little information Archie had been able to gain from talking to the people from Camelot.  They were apparently a close-mouthed bunch, who tended to look upon outsiders with suspicion.  That, of course, meant that Archie hadn’t found out much aside from the fact that they _did_ seem to be trying to gather allies from all sorts of people in town—but mostly the dangerous ones.  David was about to open his mouth and ask about that when he ran smack into someone from Camelot.

His jaw dropped.  “Lancelot?”

“Prince James!” Lancelot looked just as surprised to see him as David was, but his face split into a smile.  “You’re exactly the person I’m looking for—or close enough.  Where can I find Snow?”

The pain of hearing those words was enough to make David stagger back a step.  “Snow…Snow is dead.”  The whisper sounded broken even to his own ears, and the ghostly hand that slipped into his just _wasn’t_ enough.

“What happened?”

“She was killed,” Archie answered as David struggled to swallow his pain.  “By King Arthur.  It was an accident.”

Lancelot’s face went dark.  “With Arthur, it’s _never_ an accident.”

“You can’t mean…” David trailed off, swallowing hard.  He couldn’t even finish that sentence.  He’d _been_ there, had seen Arthur afterwards.  David hadn’t actually been present when Snow had been stabbed, but he’d arrived right afterwards, and Arthur hadn’t seemed like a man who struck out on purpose.  He’d been apologetic and horrified.  Hadn’t he?

“You don’t know him like I do.”  Lancelot’s voice was hard.  “Arthur _always_ has a plan in mind, and it’s usually because of his wife.  She’s dangerous, David.  They _both_ are.  More than you could possibly believe.  There are a thousand and one things that I need to warn you about, but first, there is someone I must find.  Is Sir Maurice of Avonlea here?”

“He is, but why—”

“Pardon me for interrupting; my knowledge of Camelot’s history is somewhat shaky, but were you not exiled for treason?” Archie cut in, throwing David an apologetic look.

Lancelot winced.  “Yes, but it was a little more complicated than that.  Guinevere—”

“Was your lover.  Am I correct?”

That question made David twist to look at Archie, who looked both nervous and concerned—and like he didn’t trust Lancelot at all.  The psychiatrist’s strange attitude confused him; David had never seen Archie like this before.  Archie wasn’t the suspicious type at all!  The only person David had ever seen him accuse of any wrongdoing had been Regina, and as much as Regina was his friend (and an odd sort of family), now, he had to admit she’d deserved it back then.  But Lancelot?  Since when was Archie the sort to condemn someone based upon myths, legends, and rumors?

“Hold on.”  He held up a hand as Lancelot shifted uneasily under Archie’s surprisingly hostile glare.  “Archie, Lancelot is an old friend.  Snow and I”—his voice broke, but David continued doggedly—“we never would have stood a chance against King George if not for him.  Whatever happened in Camelot, Lancelot has been a true and honorable man since then.  He earned my trust on more than one occasion.”  _And Snow’s._

“Of course.  My apologies.”  At least Archie looked abashed, though David wasn’t sure how to wrap his mind around the cricket’s recent hostility.

“And my thanks.”  Lancelot’s smile grew strained.  “I promise that I’ll answer any questions you have later, but for now, I _have_ to find Sir Maurice.  Please, tell me if he is in this town, and if so, how I can find him.”

Archie still looked unhappy, but he didn’t interfere when David gave Lancelot directions to Game of Thorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or is something up with Archie? And what might Ruby do now that she has an interesting choice to make?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Five—“Stand with Valor Untold”, in which Emma and Regina talk strategy, Lancelot finds Moe French, Danns’ is up to no good with a stolen heart, Killian manages to apologize to Emma, and Rumplestiltskin goes looking for Morgan.


	45. Stand with Valor Untold

“They’re back.”

“Will you _not_ do that?” Regina snarled, twisting around to look at her son’s other mother.  Emma had been sitting in her office when she arrived, but of course the Dark One had to be off to the side where Regina wouldn’t see her when she walked in.  “It’s obnoxious and uncalled for.”

“It made you jump.”  Emma’s smile was thin and a little nasty, but Regina couldn’t begrudge her _that_.  But Emma stood and came quickly to the point.  “Zelena and Mordred.  They’re back.  Earlier today.”

“I hear your boyfriend had a row with his slimy uncle in the street, yes.”  Regina snorted.  “Because only the one-handed wonder would try to take a pair of sorcerers on with nothing but his hook and his—”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh?  When the hell did that happen?”  Twisting to look at Emma, Regina took note of how utter misery wiped away the dark sense of humor.  “Are you okay?”

She wasn’t the reaching out type, but if she had been, Regina would have done something like put a hand on Emma’s arm.  _Damn, I miss Snow,_ she thought, shoving down the familiar pang of pain.  Her stepdaughter would have known just what to say right now, and would have known how to deal with this.  She only hoped that David knew what was going on and was there for Emma, because Regina really sucked at reaching out to a woman she’d once thought of as her worst enemy.

“I’m fine.  Or I’m not.  I don’t know.”  Emma turned away, crossing her arms in that self-protective gesture Regina had used far too many times herself. 

“If you want to talk—”

“I don’t.  Or not about that, anyway.”  The blonde turned back to face her, and Regina made herself drop the subject—after making a mental note to tell David that there was a problem, in case he didn’t already know.  “We need to decide what to do with Zelena and Mordred.  I know that _killing_ them isn’t the answer anyone wants to hear, but we can only cram so many people in the asylum, and to do that, we have to take their magic away.  And we have to take them out of play somehow.”

“Zelena’s still pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten.  And as much as I might despise her and her methods, that’s _Robin’s_ child inside her.”  Regina met Emma’s eyes bluntly.  “And anyone who tries to harm that child will have to do it over my dead body.”

“I’m not that far gone, thank you,” Emma snapped, and then shrugged.  “I just thought we’d accelerate her pregnancy and get it over with.”

“You _what_?”

Another shrug.  “It’s possible.”

“And the baby will probably pay the price!”  Regina couldn’t help staring.  “That kind of magic comes at a cost, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I _haven’t_ , thank you very much, and I know how to manage it.”  Emma glared.  “It’s an option.  Don’t disregard it.”

Well, if anyone could properly manage that kind of tangled magic, it was probably the Dark One, but Regina still didn’t like the idea of taking that risk.  “What, you just want to gather up our magical posse and go after the pair of them?  I know hitting things until they break is your style, but that’s a little rash, even for you.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, called we figure out what’s going on.”  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; the world was really messed up when it was Regina counseling caution.  _Particularly since I’d_ love _to curse Mordred into oblivion for endangering my son!_   “Look, I think I’ve got more of the big picture than you do, but I know enough to know I’m still missing huge pieces.  Mordred is just one player in a new game that’s come to town, and I don’t think we should go around killing until we figure out who the real enemy is.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed.  “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there’s a lot of weird crap going on and we don’t seem to know the half of it.  Arthur and Guinevere are making allies and sneaking around, and even though _they’re_ against Mordred, I’ve got the feeling that crawling into bed with them would be like sleeping with a pair of cobras.  Good ol’ George is making noises again, and there are a couple of hundred other wildcards creeping around town, too.”

“Your point?”

Regina almost snapped at her, and then reminded herself that Emma as the Dark One wasn’t exactly the soul of patience.  _It amplifies the worst that we can be,_ she thought for the hundredth time, and pushed her instinctive need to be snarky aside.  Instead, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“I’m saying that we need to figure out what the hell is going on—and who our actual enemies are—before we try to throw anyone in prison.  Or kill them.” 

“Mordred—”

“Tried to hurt Henry.”  Regina finally allowed herself a dark smile.  “Oh, believe me, that bastard is _not_ getting away with that, no matter whose uncle he is.  And I’ll be right beside you when it comes time to take him down.  But first we need to figure out who all the players are in the game.  _Then_ we strike.”

Emma scowled for a long moment, and then finally nodded.  “What’s your plan?”

“Your father and I have already started with…”

* * *

 

“Can I help you?”  Moe looked up from his register as the door opened, hoping that the customer wasn’t one of those young ruffians who liked to come in and try to steal flowers.  He hadn’t encountered any trouble he couldn’t handle, but the teenagers were an annoying bunch.   They kept coming even after his young assistant, Digory Kirke, chased them off, and Moe really had been expecting them to come around today, particularly since Digory was babysitting instead of working today.  Much to his surprise, however, a face out of his past walked into his shop.

Moe felt like his eyes were going to bug right out of his head.  _“Lancelot?_ ”

“Hello, Maurice.”  His late wife’s protector smiled wryly.  “It’s been a long time.”

“You—you—you look the same.”  They were the most intelligent words he could manage, but Moe couldn’t help himself.  The last time he’d seen Lancelot, Belle had been just a girl.  Had she even been ten?  Yet now, decades later, Lancelot still looked exactly the same.

Come to think of it, the other knight had looked just like this when Maurice had begun courting Colette.  _We were both only teens, then.  Yet he looks_ exactly _the same_.  Lancelot had to be at least a decade older than Maurice was; he’d sheltered Colette since she had been a child!  But Lancelot now looked younger than Moe…and if that didn’t make him wary, Moe didn’t know what would.  There had to be magic at work here, but what kind?  And what did that mean about his wife?

“It’s…complicated.”  Lancelot shrugged.  “And it would take a very long time to explain.  I will, later, if you want, but for now, there’s something I simply _must_ talk to you about first.”

“Such as?”

Lancelot grimaced.  “Colette’s parents have reached Storybrooke.  It’s imperative that they are kept away from Belle.  _Far_ away.”

“You mean Arthur and Guinevere?” he asked, making the other man frown.  Moe, however, was more than a little suspicious.  “Yes.  And I know the stories as well as anyone else.  You care to explain this?  They say you stole Colette.”

“I did, to be honest.  Though I know you won’t believe me, I was trying to save her.”

“You’re right.  I don’t believe you.”  Moe put his hands down on the counter, palms down, and leaned forward to glare at the man Colette had once called her _savior_.  “I’ve met them, you know.  They seem like perfectly nice people, and they seem to have loved her.  _And you stole their daughter_.”

“I had no choice,” Lancelot insisted.  “If I hadn’t—look, please believe me when I say that they’re more dangerous than you know.  They seem reasonable, and people _want_ to believe in them, but they aren’t what they seem.  _Neither_ of them.”

Moe snorted.  “Neither are you, apparently.”  _I know what it’s like to have lost a daughter, but mine was an adult who chose her own fate.  And at least we’re reunited, now, whereas you kept Colette from_ ever _seeing her parents again. I know how much that would hurt; I feared it every moment for years._ “Colette trusted you, and you kept her from her parents.”

“I did what I had to!  Now, please, tell me they haven’t found her, that they haven’t gotten to her—”

“Belle met them more than two weeks ago.”  Moe couldn’t help feeling satisfied when Lancelot’s face fell; the man who had kidnapped Colette didn’t have the right to keep Belle away from her grandparents.  “I’d say you’re too late on that front.”

* * *

 

She was half hoping that Morgan le Fae would come back to the library, but instead Belle’s first customer of the day was Archie, who she found staring blankly at a row of history books, wearing a glazed-over expression.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, walking around the corner from the biography section.  Belle hadn’t even heard Archie come in.

Archie jumped.  “Yes, of course.  I’m sorry.  Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Uh, no reason.  It’s just that everything’s been a little crazy around here lately, hasn’t it?”  Archie blushed a little, and Belle had to smile.  She adored him, she really did, but there were times that the former cricket could be _amazingly_ awkward at social situations. 

“A little, yeah.”  Belle nodded at the bookshelf.  “Is there anything in particular you were looking for?”

“Um, not really, no.”  He looked a little embarrassed, so she reached out and squeezed his arm.

“That’s perfectly okay.  You’re welcome to browse.  This _is_ a library, after all.”

Archie chuckled with her, but there was something off in his laugh that Belle couldn’t quite place.  She left him to look at the books—which he seemed to continue staring at blankly, even once he moved to the romance section, which was closer to the circulation desk—but Belle couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…off.

* * *

 

Danns’ put the heart down with a sigh, releasing the cricket-turned-doctor from his compulsion and allowing him to leave the library.  That had been a waste of time, alas.  She _knew_ that Mordred had left her home, and she’d hoped that her old enemy would dare go visit Belle again.  Danns’ desperately wanted to know what Morgan was up to, but her old enemy was playing things closely this time around.  Even Mordred didn’t seem to know, fool that he was.  _He’s managed to make enemies out of all of them,_ she thought with no small amount of satisfaction.  _While my secret appears to be safe._

“What are you smiling about, my love?” Arthur’s voice came from over her shoulder, and Danns’ turned to face him.

“I’m contemplating your sister’s great weakness.”

He grinned.  “There are so many.”

“Don’t let your hatred blind you.  Morgan is a dangerous enemy.  But her habit of hoarding information has served us quite well lately, and I do hope she continues to keep her precious secrets.”  Her smile turned thin.  “We won’t need much longer on that front.”

“Even though David didn’t buy into exiling the both of them?” Arthur grumbled.

“You were too ambitious.  Had you pushed for Mordred alone, he might have agreed.  The boy _is_ his grandson, after all.”  Having Archie Hopper’s heart—which she’d taken the day after he’d brokered that cute little truce between the town and the Dark One—was proving to be extremely educational.  Of course, Danns’ had known whose grandson Henry Mills was.  She doubted there was a soul in town who didn’t know who _both_ of his grandfathers were, save for Mordred, who had been foolish enough to kidnap the Sorcerer’s grandson and assume that Rumplestiltskin would leave him alone.  _Pity I didn’t get to see that encounter.  I did enjoy turning Merlin loose on the boy, all those years ago._  

Arthur shrugged.  “I had to try.”

“Unfortunately, it backfired.  Now we must see what these ‘heroes’ will do with him.”

“Rumor says he came back with a brilliant blue jewel,” her husband pointed out.  “Grif spoke to a few of his people, and apparently the redheaded witch is fawning all over it.”

“Any luck in prying her away from him?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”  He smiled.  “Our alliance is coming along quite nicely, particularly with the pair of dragons you gained us.”

Danns’ returned his smile.  “Yes, we are doing quite well.  But it’s not enough, Arthur.  We must be ready when the news comes out.”

“I know, love.  Believe me, I know.” Arthur smiled.  “And we will be.”

* * *

 

He hadn’t expected to see Emma threatening King George, but that was exactly the scene that Killian walked up on as he came around the corner.  Arthur’s squire was hurrying away from the pair, and Killian figured that George had been—again—plotting and planning with the newcomers, probably thinking that he’d get himself some power out of that.  The man was a serious opportunist, not to mention utterly ruthless and coldblooded, but that didn’t mean he deserved to listen to whatever macabre threats Emma was throwing his way.  Judging from the look on George’s pale face, whatever the Dark One had said _wasn’t_ pleasant, though Emma seemed to be enjoying herself at least a little.  Killian had been employed by the ex-king more than once back in his pirate days, and he knew how hard it was to intimidate George.

“Laying it on a bit thick, Swan?” he asked as casually as he could, strolling up and figuring that he could, at least, give George the chance to escape.  Emma was dangerous when she was angry, and her current anger was probably mostly due to him.  The least he could do was spare anyone else her fury.

“Hardly.”  Emma turned to glare at him, her voice and posture cold.  “At least _I’m_ trying to help people.”

“That didn’t look much like help.”  His flippant answer was reflexive, and he gestured towards George’s retreating back with his hook.  “Seemed to me a lot more like rank intimidation.  Sail as a pirate long enough, and you start to identify the trope.”

 “Yes, I suppose you’d know all about betraying people who trust you,” she snapped, making him flinch as she pointed at George.  “That, by the way, is what _he’s_ doing.  He’s creeping around promising safety while he plans to dump the town in Arthur’s lap.  Sound familiar?”

George was working with Arthur?  But it didn’t matter.  Emma hadn’t stormed off or teleported away, which meant Killian had a chance to say things _right_ instead of messing everything up again.  He knew now that he’d approached the entire issue of Mordred wrongly; he’d let his guilt fester for so long that he’d blurted out the wrong truths first, and now Emma hated him for it.  He wasn’t sure if he would be able to earn her love back anytime soon, but he did know that he had to try.  Swallowing hard, Killian tried to find the right words this time.

“Emma—love—I never meant for Mordred to—”

“Not this again.”  She started to turn away, but Killian caught her arm, making Emma twist to glare at him.  “Let go of me.”

“You’re the one with the power here, Swan,” he retorted.  “You can destroy me with a flick of your finger, yet you haven’t.  And I think that’s because you know I never meant to betray you.”

“Your _intentions_ are meaningless.”  She yanked her arm away, but didn’t step back.  Mere inches separated them, and Killian burned to kiss her, to wash away the pain and just lose themselves in passion.  _Aye, and doing so might make her light me on fire, but it would be a worthy cause to burn for._

“Then consider my actions, why don’t you?”  He was sick of having anyone, even the woman he loved, blame him for something he hadn’t done.  “Did I hope he could find a way to pull the darkness from you?  Of course I did!  _You_ asked us to help you get rid of it when you pulled it in, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything!  I know what I am and I _hate_ it, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to be locked up in that vault for all of eternity!”  Her eyes were wild with pain, and Killian tried to reach for her, only to find his hand slapped aside.

“You don’t, and I was wrong to trust him.  But please, believe that I never knew what he wanted.  I would never have let him lock you away!  Mordred said he could _help_ you, that he could restore you to what you were.  I would never have trusted him if he’d told the truth.  I just wanted _you_ back, love.  The real you.”

“None of us knew what this was when I took it on.   You don’t understand.  This _is_ me.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “I thought you knew that.”

Looking at her like this made his heart twist up in his chest.  “I promised to help you.” Killian swallowed hard.  “I was just trying to keep that promise.”

“With secrets.  With _lies_.”

“I know that darkness.  I know how it gets its claws into you.” He laughed, but it was a miserable sound, broken and exhausted.  Killian hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and then he’d seen Emma with Baelfire that morning, which had only made things worse.  “Yes, I was trying to save you against your will.  I was worried about you, the _real_ you—the woman I know you are underneath that evil.  The _Emma_ who I know wants to be saved.”

“I am the real Emma!  The _only_ Emma!  I hurt and I bleed, and I _trusted you!”_   She wheeled back to face him, her eyes fiery once more.  “I opened up and let you in, and you went behind my back—and you think I should be _glad_ for it?”

“No,” Killian said simply, seeing the pain in her eyes.  Of course he didn’t think she should be glad for his actions—and when Emma put it that way, he realized how very deeply he had wounded her.  He _knew_ how high Emma’s walls had been, and he’d been so pleased that she’d been letting him past them.  So, perhaps instead of going in circles, rehashing the same argument all over again, he should try a different tactic.  “You’ve every right to be angry with me, love.  Even to hate me.  I’ve done more despicable things in my time than this, but I’ve never broken someone’s trust the way I have yours, and I _know_ that.  But I didn’t mean to.  Please believe that, even if you’re determined to be furious with me.”

Emma looked away silently.

“I should have told you when I refused to help him,” he continued, hoping her silence was a good sign.  “I’m sorry.”

“I know.  I know you didn’t mean to.”  When she looked up, there were tears in Emma’s eyes.  “I think that makes it worse.”

“I was so caught up in trying to beat the darkness that I forgot the victim it hurts most is you.”  Killian swallowed hard.  _And those who love you._ “I do love you.  No matter what you are.”

The glare returned.  “I’m not a victim.  But I accept your apology.”

_Aye, love, you are,_ he didn’t say.  Emma wouldn’t take that well; she wanted to believe she was in control of herself.  Truth be told, _Killian_ wanted to believe that, too, but now he wasn’t sure.  She’d told him early on about how she could use lust to keep the darkness in check, but what if it had been playing with both of them all along?  _This isn’t me,_ he knew.  _I told her that I wasn’t afraid of the darkness, but what I pushed aside was the fact that being around her like this reminds me of everything I tried to learn_ not _to be._

“Now what?” he asked instead of contradicting her, trying not to point out that the darkness inside Emma would _never_ let her be who she had been, and trying desperately not to miss that Emma.  Was he really so pathetic that he’d waltz back into her arms at the slightest gesture, though?  Killian thought he had enough self-respect not to, but he knew that he would.  He loved her too much to leave her to face this alone.

“I…I think I need some space.”  Her halting voice was all the old Emma, and hearing her hesitation made him blink.  _Where did the dark seductress go, the one who clung to me for sanity?_   “I’ve gone about this all wrong.  I need some time, okay?”

“Of course.  I…I understand.”  Killian felt like he was stuck in a vortex that kept sucking him down; in all of his dreams, Emma had accepted his apologies and they’d—albeit hesitantly—restarted their relationship.  In his mind, _he’d_ been the one with reservations, because he knew that this darkness wasn’t him, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep indulging the Dark One just to be near Emma.

He’d never imagined she’d be the one to take the first step back, and he tried to hide how gutted he felt as Emma gave him a nod and walked away.

* * *

 

A man he barely recognized opened the door, one with dark skin and a baby face that hid the centuries Rumplestiltskin could feel swirling around him.  _He’s not magic, merely enchanted,_ his mind dutifully reported.  Seeing that meant it only took a moment for him to realize who this man had to be.  Sir Accolon was reputed to be Morgan le Fae’s lover; stories said she took him with her to that crystal cave and wasted the last of her magic granting him protections against it.  Bards had tried to make it out to be some great love story, but Accolon hadn’t looked like a man deep in the throes of love during his time in Storybrooke.

Now, he just looked annoyed, meeting Rumplestiltskin’s eyes impatiently.  “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Morgan of Cornwall.”  He saw no reason to prevaricate; Rumplestiltskin was no fool, and he could see Morgan’s opening move for what it was.  She’d approached him in an oblique manner by seeking his wife out, which was at least a far better tactic than her son had employed.  Oh, Rumplestiltskin was not prepared to be terribly forgiving if she had been in league with Mordred, but the fact that she’d remained in Storybrooke while Mordred and Zelena threatened Henry indicated she was too wise for that.

“She’s not here.”  Accolon’s nose twitched as if there was a foul odor in the air, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t miss _that_ message, either.

Hundreds of knights had looked at him that way when he’d been a peasant, but ones who turned their noses up at him when he’d been the Dark One hadn’t exactly fared well.  Luckily for Accolon, Rumplestiltskin was now merely the Sorcerer, and less inclined to turn him into something creepy and crawly.  His voice, however, did grow rather testy.  “Do you know where I might find her?”

“No.”

_He’d make a perfect Cocker Spaniel.  None too smart, yet rather attractive.  I’m sure_ someone _would like to cuddle him._

“And do you know when she’s likely to return, dearie?” he snapped, pushing the desire to _accidentally_ twitch his fingers aside.

“She didn’t say.”

“Then do me the courtesy of telling her that the Sorcerer has come to pay her a call.”  Rumplestiltskin forced a cold smile, and found that expression finally made Accolon flinch a little.  “If you please.”

There was nothing of a polite request in that sentence, but Accolon shrugged.  “I’ll pass the message along.”

“Thank you.”  A nod, and then Rumplestiltskin teleported himself away in a swirl of golden smoke.  Under normal circumstances, he would have chosen to walk—which was certainly more polite than vanishing off of someone’s doorstep—but Accolon seemed unconvinced of his power, and that power would be the only way he could impress Morgan enough to get her attention.

Assuming her little lover bothered to pass his message to her at all.

* * *

 

She walked in on her son as he held a fist-sized blue stone in his hand, with the red haired witch standing not far away.  Zelena’s expression was enraptured, her blue eyes shining with glee as multi-colored threads of magic ebbed and swept around Mordred, swirling in the air as he experimented with _power_.  Mordred’s own features were set with concentration, his dark eyes focused on the Greater Sapphire with an intensity that would have frightened any sorcerer; the power filled the air enough to make the ground beneath her feet tremble, and she could feel Mordred’s castle shifting and changing even as they stood inside it.

Morgan, however, was not impressed.  Instead, her heart leapt into her throat as she stopped cold, frozen with fear and shock.  Mordred was her firstborn, the child whom she _knew_ was intended for greatness.  He had been the first person she had _ever_ unreservedly given her heart to, and she had spent lifetimes trying to prepare him for his destiny.  And now he had disregarded one of the few rules she had insisted never be broken.

“Mordred!” Her voice whipped out almost on its own, making Mordred and Zelena both turn.  For a moment, Morgan hoped that her son would at least look guilty, but instead, he seemed quite taken with the stone in his hand.

“Mother.  I’m so glad you could join us.”  His brown eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the arrogant expression reminded her so much of Arthur that she wanted to hate her son.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d chosen to stand against me.”

“You are my son,” she snapped, forcing her feet to move and striding towards him.  “You may be a fool—and do not argue with me!—but you will always be my son.”

“Does that mean you will finally help me?”  She had never seen such arrogance in him, and given that Mordred was by nature royal _and_ arrogant, this was a frightening change.  “I don’t need your assistance, but I will take it.  I fetched Circe’s Pendant from your cave.”

“I can see that.”  Her teeth ground into one another painfully as Mordred adroitly tucked the pendant into a pouch on his belt.  Morgan had intended to take it from him, but he’d be able to stop her if she didn’t have surprise on her side.  _My fool boy.  I do love you, but your obsession with ending the Dark One has eaten further into you than I knew._   Morgan supposed that was what happened when she spent centuries in a (nearly) time-suspended cave and allowed her son free rein to rule and grow.  _I had hoped he would gain perspective.  I think I was wrong._

For the first time, Morgan pitied the fools who had stayed behind in Mordred’s Camelot. If he had been this short-sighted as a ruler, it was no wonder why they preferred Arthur.  Her stepbrother was far more charismatic than their shared son, and he hadn’t been a bad king.  _At least not until Danns’ got her claws into him._

“You look upset.  Is something wrong, Mother?”

“Drop the innocent act.”  Stopping in front of her son, Morgan crossed her arms and glared at him.  “It is beneath you.”

That, finally, seemed to get through Mordred’s arrogance, and he inclined his head slightly.  “My apologies.”

“You ought not have fetched the pendant.”  She tried to soften her voice, but the words were still hard.  “You _know_ the dangers.”

“It hasn’t burned through me yet.”  He shrugged.  “I am not fully human, any more than you are.  My beloved father is a half-fairy even as you are half-fae.  He may not have the magic, but the blood passed on to me well enough.  I will be fine, and with Circe’s power at my disposal as well as my own, there is no Dark One or Sorcerer who can measure up to me.”

“That pendant may contain an original power, but that does not make you one.”  Morgan’s heart was racing, because she could see the way Mordred’s jaw was set.  He was determined to use that pendant, convinced that it gave him an edge over the Dark One—and probably over Rumplestiltskin, too.  How could she dissuade him when Mordred thought he was holding the tool that would let him fulfill his destiny?

_I would warn him that it will kill him, but I have always known who will be responsible for his death, and it is not Circe’s power,_ she thought sadly, watching Mordred subconsciously pat the pouch that held the pendant.  At least he was not fool enough to wear it.

Yet.

“Near enough.  Smile, Mother.  I no longer need to threaten a child, and I’ll even admit that you were right.  I should not have tried what I did.”  His expression turned serene.  “Now I can simply take the dagger and do what must be done.”

“The Vault—”

“Is not secure enough, yes, I know.  But with this pendant, I can create a new place to trap the Dark One, one that even the exchange of a life will not free her from.”

“Can you do that to Rumplestiltskin as well?”  Zelena cut in before Morgan could find her voice; she’d been too shocked by the fact that Mordred was _still_ determined to trap the Dark One—host and all—away for eternity.  _Now he thinks himself an original power, and he thinks he’ll live to see that eternity._

_What have I_ done _?_

“Perhaps,” her son mused as Morgan looked on in horror.  “I could—”

Zelena interrupted before he could finish, bouncing a little in glee.  “Or, better yet, can you strip him of his power like Circe once was?  Bring him low, make him nothing?”

“This, too, is beneath you, Mordred,” she said before he could reply.

She had hoped that losing to the Sorcerer would teach Mordred something, and it had—but it hadn’t been the lesson Morgan had wanted.  She could _see_ from the look in his eyes that Mordred liked Zelena’s idea; he wasn’t nearly as insane as the unstable witch, but he was angry…and Mordred had inherited his father’s temper as well as both his parents’ vindictive streaks.

“Of course it is,” her son lied to her face, and Morgan felt a part of her heart breaking.  Then he sneered.  “But this so-called Sorcerer is no worthy holder of the title.  He brought someone back from the Vault, and now I have to clean up _that_ mess, too.”

“He _what_?”

“His son.”  Zelena rolled her eyes.  “Stupid boy got himself killed resurrecting  Rumplestiltskin before the second curse.  The world was better off without him.”

For the first time in centuries, Morgan was struck utterly speechless.  It would occur to her later that she probably should have told Mordred that the ‘stupid boy’ Zelena referenced was his nephew, and the Sorcerer he had so come to despise was his own half-brother, but she simply could not find the words to do so.  _He won’t care,_ she realized, shock and fear making it hard to breathe.  _He was willing to hurt Killian to indulge his obsession, and he won’t hesitate to hurt anyone else who gets in his way._   No, she couldn’t tell him.

It was far too late to knock Mordred off of this destructive path with anything short of brute force, and Morgan had not the power to do that.  Not anymore.

* * *

 

“Is there a way to, I don’t know, _take_ the baby out of Zelena?”

Robin’s question made Regina drop the strainer full of pasta, but she hardly noticed.  She hadn’t known he’d come into the kitchen, and even if she _had_ , she wouldn’t have expected him to ask that!

“Sorry, love.”  His smile was sheepish, but she could see the determination in his eyes as he bent to help her with the pasta, about half of which now decorated her tile floor.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s more what you asked than the fact you snuck up on me.”  Regina glanced his way, but Robin’s expression hadn’t wavered.  “Are you _sure_ you want to ask that question?”

“I think I have to.  Now that Zelena is free, she seems more interested in getting into danger than protecting my— _our_ —child.  I know she doesn’t care about me, and I’m fine with that, but I don’t think she cares about the baby, either.  If she did, she’d _never_ have gone gamboling off to the Enchanted Forest to pick a fight with the Dark One.”

Regina couldn’t argue with those facts.  Emma had told her the story of the magical crossfire Zelena had gotten caught in.  _No, be honest with yourself.  Zelena_ threw _herself into that fight; Emma might be angry, but she’s not so out of control that she wants to hurt a child._ Zelena certainly hadn’t seemed to have any regard for her baby’s safety, then.  Would she ever?  Regina knew that becoming a mother had changed everything for her, and she and Robin had spoken of trying to give Zelena a chance to learn to be better, too.

Now, however, Robin seemed to have changed his mind.

“I can’t disagree,” she said after a moment, straightening to rinse off the pasta they’d gathered.  “Zelena certainly isn’t thinking of anyone other than herself.  As usual.”

“I’d be quite happy if she’d walked off a cliff before any of this, but that is _my_ child inside her, and one of her parents has to care about her.”  Robin shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.  “Normally, I’d argue that even Zelena has some rights…but her rights don’t extend to endangering my child when _she’s_ the one who got pregnant to hurt you and I.  She wants this child to live, but that doesn’t mean she gets to treat my daughter like an object and endanger her through her recklessness.”

_Her._   They hadn’t talked about the sex of the child, but Regina knew that Whale had told Robin.  She hadn’t been sure if she wanted to know, if she was ready to face the fact that her sister could bear Robin the child _she_ never could…but now it was out.  Robin was going to have a daughter, and Regina was going to do her best to make sure that daughter grew up with loving parents.  _I know better than anyone that family isn’t defined by blood.  I don’t care who her birth mother is; that girl belongs to Robin._   Decision made—again—Regina nodded slowly.

“There are a few ways, magically, to either speed the pregnancy along or use a surrogate.  But such spells _do_ come at a high price,” she warned him.

“I’ll pay it.  That’s my job as a father.”

Just the thought of _Robin_ paying that price made Regina smile.  “You can’t carry the child, Robin.”

“I—what—oh, god, Regina, is it terrible that I’m glad about that?”  The look on his face was comically shocked enough to make her laugh; clearly, that possibility had never occurred to Robin. 

“No.”  She had to smile, despite how serious everything had become.  “Even magic has to respect human anatomy.  And it’s simpler to speed the pregnancy up than to transfer the child.  Emma…Emma actually has some ideas on that front.”

“She does?  Great, let’s talk to her.”

Regina had told Emma earlier that day that they had to wait before making such decisions, but that had been when Emma was in a hurry to punish Zelena.  _I should have considered how Zelena’s endangering the child,_ she berated herself.  _I’m so used to thinking of her as an enemy that I missed that._   Fortunately, Robin hadn’t, and she reached out to squeeze his arm as she promised they’d talk to Emma the next day.  Together.

* * *

 

Morgan came home in a fury, but Accolon never even considered telling her the truth.  She didn’t need to know that the Sorcerer had come to see her—he’d already passed that information along to someone who _did_ need to know, and that wasn’t his lover.  Instead, he stood, offered her a back rub, and listened to her grumble about Mordred.

She wasn’t in the habit of sharing much with him; Morgan always looked at Accolon as more of a pretty face than a serious companion, but he was used to that.  He was smart enough in his own way, cunning and always looking for the next chance to make something more of himself.  That was why he’d gotten involved with King Arthur’s stepsister, after all.  She had been a queen in her own right, having inherited Cornwall from her late father—the man whom Uther had killed to take his wife—and Accolon had hoped she’d marry him and make him king.  He’d never forgiven her for the fact that she’d decided he wasn’t suited to be her husband.

That, of course, was why he’d betrayed her the first time all those centuries ago.  And it was why he still did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing an update last Friday—I was under the weather and writing was incredibly hard. I did finally manage to write a oneshot, titled “Ruins of Trust”, which you can find on here and my tumblr. 
> 
> Next up, Chapter Forty-Six—“There She Weaves by Night and Day…”, where our heroes meet to talk strategy, Emma tries to apologize to Ruby, Henry gets clever, and Belle’s asks her grandparents an important question.


	46. There She Weaves by Night and Day…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has nominated this story for this year’s TEAs (The Espenson Awards) on tumblr. If you’re so inclined, voting begins on the 31st. This story has been nominated for Best OUAT!AU and Best Season Rewrite. Danns’ has also been nominated for best OC, and the entire series (“Ruins of Battles") has been nominated for Best Series.

Thirty-seven days after Emma became the Dark One, they met at the Sorcerer’s House.  Once, Granny’s would have been the meeting location of choice, but Mordred barging into Henry’s birthday party had changed that forever.   Besides which, the Sorcerer’s House was the one place where they knew they would not be overheard or interrupted…and, somehow, Rumplestiltskin had become one of their number.  He still wasn’t sure what he thought about that; no longer being the Dark One meant that he didn’t reject the possibility out of hand, and yet a life full of negative experiences told him that ‘hero’ types would only use him and discard him.

_I’m no longer that man,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.  Even if his rocky self-esteem insisted that these people would never view him as an equal, common sense told him that he was the Sorcerer now.  They _needed_ him, and that meant that they wouldn’t be able to shove him off into a corner, even if they wanted to.  He wasn’t some monster to haunt their nightmares; he was the most powerful human magic user in the world.  _As daunting as that feeling is, I can’t deny it.  I just have to live up to it._

“Thanks for hosting us,” David said to him as they all settled into the library—not Belle’s library, but the one that still held dozens of blank storybooks.  The sheriff gave him a tired half smile that said he’d been up half the night with baby Neal.  Unless, of course, he’d been worrying about his daughter the Dark One, but that seemed less likely since Emma was standing to David’s right.

Henry stood next to her, between his mothers and looking extremely excited to have been invited (or having had invited himself, with much the same result) to this little meeting.  Regina and Robin stood together, more closely than usual, with the outlaw looking grimly determined and manifestly unhappy.  The pirate stood next to him, interestingly _not_ near Emma, who seemed to be intent on ignoring him.  Bae and Belle came next, and Ruby was on Rumple’s other side.  Belle had invited the diner’s owner, though Rumple was a little surprised to see her actually come, given Emma’s presence.  Someone else had brought Leroy, but at least no one had asked a fairy to come.

“Anytime,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly.  Then he offered a crooked smile.  “I suppose.”

“Yeah, right.”  Regina snorted wryly.  “You might not be cursed anymore, but you’re never going to be _that_ social, Rumple.”

He just shrugged.  “Well, at least I can guarantee that no one uninvited will drop by _this_ gathering.”

“Besides, Regina was right,” David spoke up.  “We need to _all_ talk about what’s happening and figure out our plan of attack.  We’ve been approaching these problems from a dozen different angles, and we need to coordinate our efforts.”

“I’m sorry.  Did you just say I was right?  Wonders will _never_ cease.” Regina’s tone was light, though, and part of Rumplestiltskin had to pause and marvel at how very _far_ they had all come.  He wasn’t the only one who had changed—they all had.

“Don’t get used to it,” David shot back, and most everyone laughed. 

Even Rumplestiltskin smiled, though he noticed his son taking in everything with intent and thoughtful eyes.  The changes had to be most startling to Bae, who’d missed the worst of the time after their return from Neverland.  _I need to talk to him about that,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself, his heart skipping a beat happily because he _could_ talk to his son.  Bae was alive, their relationship was slowly returning to what it had been before he was the Dark One, and he, Belle, and Bae were beginning to form something of a family.  _And Henry.  He’s here almost as often as he is anywhere else, and I never admitted to myself how badly I_ wanted _that until he kept coming by._

“Not to be the downer here,” Robin interrupted, “but I think we’ve got to start with figuring out which enemy we go after first.  We’ve got a _lot_ of them to choose from.”

“Yeah, we do.”  David squared his shoulders, placing his hands flat on the table and taking control of the conversation once more.  _Talk about change; he’s gone from an uncertain shepherd to a man who is truly a King,_ Rumplestiltskin thought approvingly, listening as David went on: “First, there’s Zelena, and the fact that she’s carrying Robin’s child.  Then there’s Mordred—sorry, Killian—who has threatened to kill Henry, allied with Zelena, and seems to be obsessed with destroying Emma.  His mother is Morgan le Fae, and no one seems to know whose side she’s on; she offered to help Killian once, but she seems to be staying with her son.  Finally, we have Arthur, who at the moment seems to be a political threat more than anything, but he’s gathering support and—”

“And Guinevere.”  Surprisingly, it was Bae who spoke up, his eyes flicking towards Emma, who flinched almost imperceptibly.  “I don’t think we can leave her out.”

“Not if she and Arthur controlled Merlin when he was the Dark One,” Regina agreed immediately, glancing Belle’s way.  “I know they’re your grandparents, but there’s something _seriously_ shady going on about that pair, and it isn’t just them wanting power.”

“I think we _all_ have family on one of the opposing sides.”  Belle’s smile was a little strained, and Rumplestiltskin reached out to put a hand on her arm as he turned to Emma.

“You have some of Merlin’s memories?  Enough to remember who controlled him?”  He’d asked Merlin about such things when Merlin had been present in his mind—or semi-corporeal outside it—and the answers had been maddeningly vague.

Emma grimaced.  “Sort of.  It’s more feelings than facts.  Everything’s murky…like there was a compulsion forcing him to keep his mouth shut.”

“He said as much to me.  He died, more rather than less, as the Dark One.  The compulsions held, even when he spoke to me, and he didn’t seem able to discuss Guinevere at all.”  With everything that had happened, Rumplestiltskin had allowed himself to forget about that conversation—but he shouldn’t have.  Suddenly, everything Merlin _couldn’t_ say was important, and he wished he’d asked more.

Something interesting flashed across Emma’s expression, and Rumplestiltskin’s instincts twitched.  But before she could reply, Hook spoke up, his voice rough and suspicious:

“It would have helped a great deal if you maybe had mentioned that you could _talk_ to Merlin before he bloody well died for good.”  The pirate’s eyes were narrowed and angry, and his words filled the air with hostility.  “But, no.  You’re too concerned with gathering _power_ to share that with anyone, aren’t you?”

“Actually, no.”  Rumplestiltskin leaned back in his chair, surprised at his own lack of anger.  But the pirate’s words were only to be expected, weren’t they?  There had been a time in his life when that accusation would have been made of unquestionable truth, but now things were different.  _He_ was different.  “Contrary to what you might think of me, Captain, I no longer _need_ to gather power.  I never denied the fact that Merlin’s memories—and much of him—remained inside me, but I couldn’t exactly trot him out for everyone else to play with.  Doing so would have killed him.”

“Merlin said it himself,” Henry spoke up, glaring at his mother’s beau.  “He said he’d die either way after appearing to us.”

Hook scowled.  “That still doesn’t make it right.  We could have used his help.”

“And everyone could have used you warning Emma about what Mordred was up to, but you don’t hear anyone whining about that do you?” Surprisingly, it was Bae who spoke up—and even more shockingly, Emma didn’t pipe up in Hook’s defense.  In fact, she looked more than a little miserable.

_Is there trouble in paradise?_ Bae had told him about how Emma had kicked Hook out, but Rumplestiltskin had assumed that their stubborn Savior-turned-Dark One would make up with her lover.  However, judging from Henry’s continuing glare and Hook’s obvious shame, that hadn’t happened.  Yet.

“All right, enough.”  David’s voice was hard.  “We’re not here to argue.  We need to start _planning_ , not fighting.  So, let’s figure out who we go after first, and how we’re going to do that.”

“Mordred.”  Emma spoke flatly, but there was no negotiating with that tone—and frankly, Rumplestiltskin didn’t care to.  That bastard had threatened his _grandson_ , and while he wasn’t as enamored of the idea of murder as he’d once been, for Mordred, he’d make an exception. 

_I probably should have just killed him at the Vault, but killing comes at a price I’m not sure I want to pay_ , he knew.  Merlin had believed that one death would be enough to turn even an original power towards evil, but he wasn’t so sure.  After all, the power inside him had survived Merlin killing  Nimue, even if that had turned Merlin into the Dark One.  Rumplestiltskin thought it was more complicated than that, but he wasn’t certain that he wanted to find out the hard way.  Having choices other than darkness was damn addicting.

“I agree.”  Regina crossed her arms, glaring and daring anyone to argue with her.  “But I think we need to figure out what he’s doing first, and where my damn sister fits into that.  Not to mention the fact that we need to get _her_ locked up in a hurry—or get that baby out of her.”

Emma twisted to look at Regina with an arched eyebrow.  “Oh, now you want to listen to me?” 

“It’s about damn time,” Hook muttered, but even Emma ignored him.  Her eyes were still on Regina.

Regina just scowled; Robin spoke up: “We don’t think we have a choice.”

“Okay.”  Emma nodded tersely, her eyes intent.  “I’ll work on it.”

Impressed, Rumplestiltskin watched that exchange.  He felt no need to get involved; Emma had the power to pull off what she wanted to do, and it would probably do _her_ some good to help others instead of hurting them.  He’d have to remind Emma to watch the price, of course.  If she wanted to _keep_ ownership of (most of) her soul away from the darkness, she’d have to manage that carefully.  But she was smart, and she’d pull it off.

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat.  “We can’t simply act in sequence here.  If you two can sideline Zelena—and before you ask, yes, I can help you devise a way of holding her, or both of them—we still have to figure defeat Mordred.  And then the other two, who may very well be a greater threat.”

“Are you sure, Rumple?” Belle asked softly, and he turned to face her worried eyes.

“I hope I’m wrong, sweetheart.  But I fear I’m not.”

“Lancelot is here,” David said unexpectedly.  “He’s worried about Arthur and Guinevere, too.  Really worried.”

Memories stirred, but not his own.  There was _something_ in Merlin’s mind, something left behind that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t quite put his finger on.  Why had Bae brought up Guinevere while looking at Emma?  Clearly, Emma had said something to his son, but Emma’s obvious discomfort meant there was more than met the eye going on.  _I need to talk to her_.  _Soon._   Hopefully, Emma would remain in control, and whatever she knew would be something that the darkness wouldn’t keep her from sharing.

“Lancelot knew my mother.”  Belle looked concerned as she glanced at David, who nodded.

“He said.  He went to find your father, actually.  Yesterday.”

“I’ll…have to ask Papa about that.”  Leaning a little closer to her, Rumplestiltskin squeezed his wife’s hand.  He’d been more suspicious of Belle’s grandmother than of her scheming grandfather all along, but why?

He was missing something, but there was no time for that.  David was looking at him again, though heavens only knew why the other man would think Rumplestiltskin was a good person to ask:

“You said we can’t go after our plethora of enemies in sequence.  Do you have any ideas how we can attack them all at once without spreading ourselves too thin?”

_It’s now or never, Sorcerer,_ he told himself firmly, pushing aside his instinctive need to say something sarcastic and self-protective.  _You’re either one of them…or you aren’t._ Rumplestiltskin nodded slowly.   “Actually…I do have some ideas.”

* * *

 

Henry hadn’t even had to goad her, and Emma was proud of herself for that.  Telling the difference between right and wrong was still hard, sometimes—she found her feelings disgustingly selfish—but it was easier now that she’d shoved the darkness down.  _She’ll still hate you, no matter what you do,_ the annoying voice whispered.  Even if it was quieter than before, Emma couldn’t just shove the darkness aside, no matter how hard she tried, and that was frustrating as all hell.  Particularly when she knew that the darkness was right; Ruby would probably always hate her.  _She probably_ should _hate me,_ Emma decided, squaring her shoulders and stepping up to face her mother’s old friend.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” she said quickly.  “So I’ll make this brief.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t—I didn’t have control of myself, but that doesn’t make it all right.  Granny deserved better.  She was…she was trying to help me when I killed her, and I know there’s nothing I can do to make it up to you.  But I am sorry.  I want you to know that.”

Ruby had been standing next to Belle when Emma approached, and she’d been a little wide eyed when she turned to face the Dark One.  But now Emma watched the other woman’s chin come up.  Ruby swallowed hard.

“It doesn’t make it okay, but I accept your apology.  And—for what it’s worth—I think Granny would, too.  I just…I just wish you’d figured things out sooner.”

Emma didn’t comment on the unshed tears Ruby was clearly holding back; acceptance was more than she had any right to expect.  Besides, her own regrets were threatening to strangle her at the moment.  “Me, too,” she whispered.

“Then that’s that.  You don’t have to avoid the diner, as long as you promise not to start any more fights in there.  Or kill anyone else.”  Belle squeezed Ruby’s shoulder as she said the last part, and Emma forced herself to nod.

“I’ll do my best.”  She knew better than to make promises, now.  The darkness would always want her to break them.

That seemed good enough to Ruby, though, and when Emma stepped away a few moments later, her heart felt just a tiny bit lighter.

* * *

 

“Is there any way I can help?” Henry had approached both of his grandfathers as they spoke off to the side, watching Emma walk away from Ruby.  David was so proud of her; she was trying _so_ hard, now, and he just wanted to hug her for her efforts.  But he was smart enough to know that Emma might not appreciate that here, not in front of other people.  And he also had Henry to deal with.

Sneaking a glance Rumplestiltskin’s way, he could see that Henry’s other grandfather felt as hesitant as he did.  Henry was thirteen, and acted old for his age, but he was still a child.  _One everyone in this room wants to protect, no less,_ David thought wryly, hoping that Rumplestiltskin would answer.  This one would take some careful wordsmithing, and you could always trust Rumplestiltskin to be good at that.  Unfortunately, Rumplestiltskin seemed to be hoping _he’d_ take on this thankless task, which left them both wallowing in helpless silence for a moment.

_Henry’s got_ three _parents, now.  Can’t he ask one of them?_ David felt guilty for the thought, but there it was.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin seemed to finally knuckle under, which was a good thing, seeing as how this was his plan and all.  _And man is it different having him planning_ with _us instead of against us.  Or at a diagonal, as Emma would say_.

“Not by spying on anyone, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Rumplestiltskin said bluntly. 

David felt his eyebrows go up.  “That’s usually _my_ line.”

“Apparently we have something in common after all,” was the dry response as Henry groaned impatiently.

“No one suspects a kid.”

“You’re not young enough to pull that off, anymore, I’m afraid.”  It really was amazing how patient Rumplestiltskin was with children; had David tried arguing with him like this, he’d have been cut off at the knees long ago.  But the former Dark One had always seemed to have a soft spot for kids.  “Not to mention the fact that Mordred knows exactly who and what you are—and your _mother_ is going to be working that angle, which means there’s no room for you there.  Arthur and Guinevere won’t say any more to you than they would Belle—”

“That leaves Morgan, and she was nice to me when we met.  I think she likes kids.”

_Yeah, but she’s also the mother of the guy who just threatened to kill you a week ago,_ David thought acidly, but didn’t say it.  Henry looked so damned hopeful, and he didn’t want to leave him out.  Doing that always led to Henry finding trouble on his own.  There had to be _something_ else he could do that wasn’t so dangerous…

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said quickly, inspiration striking.  “You’re the Author, now, and we’ve already seen that there aren’t any storybooks about Camelot—or at least none we can find.  But if anyone knows where they are, it’d be Isaac.”

Henry scowled.  “I know _he_ doesn’t like me.  He won’t want to tell me anything.  He blames me for ruining his ‘Heroes and Villains’ world.”

“Are you saying you can’t come up with a clever way to get the information out of him, anyway?” Rumplestiltskin picked up right where David left off, and David barely managed not to smile.  Henry would hate the fact that his grandfathers were ganging up on him, but it _was_ a good idea.  They did need to know the backstory on what had happened in Camelot, and Isaac was far more annoying than he was dangerous.  So long as they kept the former Author locked up, Henry would be perfectly safe.

“No.”  Henry looked between the two of them suspiciously.  “I can probably come up with something.  Did you two plan this?”

Rumplestiltskin managed to look far more innocent than David did, but fortunately, Henry was looking at his sneakier grandfather.  “Hardly.  Though I think we’re in agreement on the fact that neither of us wants anyone else to try to kill you.”

“You can say that again,” David breathed.

Henry didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. “Okay.  I guess I can start with that.  It _would_ be really useful to find out what happened.  It could tell us a lot.”

Glancing at his fellow grandfather as Henry wandered back towards Regina, David stopped trying to hold back his victorious smile. 

“Good idea,” Rumplestiltskin muttered.

“It won’t keep Henry out of danger forever, at least it should work for a while.”

The other man snorted.  “He’s more trouble than his father was at that age by far.”

“I suspect he takes after his mother in that respect,” David couldn’t help replying, letting his eyes slid over to where Emma and Neal— _Baelfire!_ —were talking.  Not a day went by where he didn’t regret sending Emma through that wardrobe; watching his Neal grow older just made him miss having seen those same moments with Emma.  They’d had no choice, and sending her had probably saved her life, but David would never forgive himself for letting her grow up alone.

“She’s doing well, you know,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, also watching the pair.  “Better than I did, particularly in the early days.”

That made him turn to look at the man who had sort of, somehow, become his friend.  David understood him a lot better now, or at least he thought he did.  “You didn’t have a lot of support, did you?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, still on his son, turned sad.  “And what I did have, I didn’t listen to.”

 “I know what it’s like to screw things up for your kid.”  David swallowed hard, but said the next words anyway as Rumplestiltskin turned to look at him in surprise.  “All you can do is try like hell to be worthy of the forgiveness you’re damn sure you’ll never earn.”

Was that gratitude on the other man’s face?  “Yeah.  Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

* * *

 

She was talking to Baelfire again, and Killian was busy trying to pretend that didn’t tear a hole in his heart.  Emma wanted space, so he was working to give it to her, yet Bae had an in that _he_ didn’t.  Bae was Henry’s father, so of course they talked about the lad.  It didn’t look like they were discussing anything else, but Killian had heard how Emma went to Bae the morning after she’d kicked him out.  Even if they were just friends, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t envious.  _Don’t make an issue of it, and_ don’t _be a jealous ass,_ he told himself firmly.  _She loves you.  Or she did, before you screwed things up._

He shouldn’t have tried working with Mordred, or at least not behind her back.  Now that he knew a little more about what had happened in the Enchanted Forest—courtesy, ironically enough, of Henry, who had told him the entire story before this meeting, including the parts about how _obsessed_ Mordred had been with ending the Dark One—Killian knew that was true.  Yet, at the same time, he didn’t think his uncle was a bad man.  He’d had an obsessive quest of his own once, too, and it had been the same damn thing he’d focused on.  Just like Mordred, Killian hadn’t been able to understand that there was a human soul underneath the demon, one that was now fighting to be free with all she was worth.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Bae said as Killian inched closer.  He didn’t mean to eavesdrop…or maybe he did.

“Doing what?” Emma glared, but Bae seemed unfazed.

“Being paranoid.  That’s not you.  That’s the damn Dark One whispering crap in your ears.  Whoever this Isaac dude is, if he’s locked up and has no magic, he’s probably the least of Henry’s problems.”

“He wrote an entire _world_ that changed everyone from a hero to a villain and vice versa.”

“So, if Henry broke the pen like he said he did, can he do that again?”

Emma’s glare turned a little petulant.  “No.”

“Then worry about something else.  Even Regina isn’t going to flip out about that one, and if _she’s_ not going to go all paranoid-overprotective, that’s probably a good sign that you shouldn’t.”  Bae crossed his arms, and much to Killian’s surprise, Emma shrugged.

“Maybe you’ve got a point,” she grumbled.

“Maybe?”

Emma punched him in the arm, but not very hard, and Killian couldn’t quite catch what she muttered.   Yet he was left blinking all the same.  He’d done his damnedest to support her and be there for her, to make her feel secure and not lonely.  Baelfire, on the other hand, was needling her and straight up _baiting_ the darkness—yet she wasn’t getting angry with him.  Did he get a pass because he’d been dead, or was there something Killian had missed?  He’d told her time and again that she couldn’t indulge the darkness, but if he’d ever been that blunt, she would have shut down and shut him out.

Yet she just hit Bae playfully and went on with their conversation, and that made worry twist in Killian’s gut.

* * *

 

Later that same day, Belle headed to the store to get some groceries and Bae decided to tag along.  She didn’t argue; she and Rumple had built quite the shopping list up that week, thanks in large part to Bae’s ability to eat enormous amounts, along with the fact that Henry visited more often than ever now that his father was alive.  Between those two, they were doing a _lot_ more cooking than usual—not that either of them minded.  _Particularly since Rumple does way more of that than I do,_ Belle thought with a smile, unlocking the Cadillac’s trunk in the driveway of the Sorcerer’s House.   She’d never be that good of a cook, but it was really nice to have help unloading the bags from the car.

“We should look at getting you a car,” she said to Bae with a smile.  “Rumple and I have been talking about getting new ones—this one is getting on up there, and it might be nice to have an excuse to leave Storybrooke and go shopping.”

“Whoa, I don’t need anyone to _buy_ me a car,” her stepson objected, looking at her like she was crazy.  “I’m hardly—ah, hell, I am a jobless bum, aren’t I?”

“I’d say you could help out in the shop, but I think you and your father might kill one another if you did.”  She laughed.  “And besides, I think Henry claimed that job already.”

“Yeah, he told me that he worked there for a bit and he was thinking of going back.”  Bae shrugged.  “Hell, anyone in this town need any IT stuff? I could probably do my old job remotely, but it might be more fun to try to drag Storybrooke into the 21st century where technology is—who’s that?”

His question made Belle turn her head, and she spotted her grandparents walking up.  Seeing them made her blink; the new house wasn’t really near the rest of town, and no one took walks _this_ far away from everything else.  _This is unexpected,_ she thought.  _And…odd._

“My grandparents,” she said softly, watching the pair approach.  Belle couldn’t shake the memory of the earlier meeting, of the way that _everyone_ was wary of her grandparents.  She wanted to love them, and she wanted to believe the best about them, but the way Arthur had repeatedly tried to direct her feelings about certain matters—even if he _was_ right about Mordred’s less-than-kind motives—didn’t sit well with her.  Guinevere was more subtle by far, and Belle found herself agreeing with her grandmother far more often than she felt she should. 

“The legendary Arthur and Guinevere.”  Bae’s smile was quirky, and just a little sarcastic.  “This should be interesting.”

But Bae had spoken more loudly than he probably intended, and Arthur responded immediately:  “I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure.  But it might just be interesting.”

“Grandfather, this is Baelfire, my stepson.”  Belle got in before Bae could say something flippant, glancing his way to make sure he didn’t make things worse.  Bae only shrugged, and she saw her grandparents exchange looks.

“We weren’t aware that you had a stepson,” Guinevere spoke up, her voice as smooth as ever.  Her smile, however, was a tad sharp, and Belle wondered why.  “We are glad to meet you, of course.”

“Yeah, me, too.  Belle talks a lot about you both.”  Only Bae—or his father—could manage to say something so loaded with such a straight face, but he did it, and Belle managed not to shoot him a warning look.   He kept an easy smile in place.  “Why don’t I take this stuff inside while you guys chat?”

“Thanks.”

Somehow, Belle wasn’t sure she was ready to invite her grandparents into her home.  She _had_ been before now, but knowing that one or both of them had controlled Merlin when he was the Dark One—and secretly, if what Rumple and Emma suspected was correct—put things in a very different perspective.  She’d _liked_ Merlin, and Belle still mourned his loss.  He’d seemed like a good man, despite having been ravaged by both the darkness and the long time he’d spent disembodied, and she now knew enough to understand how terrible being controlled was for _any_ Dark One.  She had a hard time picturing Merlin as some raging monster who needed stopping, and from what she understood, he’d never had a chance to find out.  Rumplestiltskin had mentioned the fact that Merlin had _never_ had possession of the dagger after becoming the Dark One, and she feared her grandparents were responsible for that.

Thinking about _that_ , however, brought another question to mind, and Belle began to wonder if now was the time to tackle that mystery.  _Rumple would tell me to wait, but my instincts tell me that knowledge is important.  We may_ need _to know the truth before long, and they’re certainly not going to tell anyone but me._   Her grandparents were good at secrets; Belle already knew that much.  But she could keep her own counsel, too, and she was beginning to think she’d need to be more wary of them. 

As Bae headed inside, lugging the first load of groceries with him, Belle turned back to face her grandparents.  “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Gwen’s regrettably fond of nature walks,” Arthur groused, making Belle look at her grandmother in surprise.

“Well, I’m fonder of _nature_ than of walking, but I did drag Arthur along.  We had no idea how far we’d gotten until we spotted your car.”  Guinevere’s smile was guileless, but there was something in her posture that set alarm ringing in Belle’s head.

“Well, it’s lovely to see you regardless.”  Smiling at them was easy; Belle had been brought up to smile at everyone, regardless of how she felt about someone personally.  After spending months betrothed to Gaston and smiling at _him_ , being nice to her grandparents was easy.

“Have you been all right?” Arthur asked immediately, and she wished that she didn’t feel like pulling away every time he looked at her like she might vanish.  If Belle had thought Rumple was overprotective…Arthur had none of his finesse and _all_ of his possessiveness.  “We haven’t seen you in some time, and I feared Lancelot might have caused trouble for you now that he’s in town.”

Belle shrugged as casually as she could.  “I heard he was here, but he hasn’t sought me out.”

“Your father said he came by his shop.  We were worried.”  Arthur’s expression promised bloody vengeance on Lancelot, but Belle was far more concerned with the fact that her father had called her grandparents instead of her.  _Then again, if what they’ve said about Lancelot stealing Mother away_ is _true, I can’t blame Papa.  I think._

“I’ve been fine.  I’ve been busy, really.  Baelfire just recently came back, and we’ve spent time reconnecting as a family.”  Now wasn’t the time to mention the fact that Bae had been dead; something about the knowing gleam in Guinevere’s eyes suggested that she already knew that, anyway.  “There was something I wanted to ask you, though.”

“You know you can ask us anything.”  Her grandmother’s answering smile didn’t promise truthfulness, though, and Belle took note of that.

But she still had to know.  “When Rumplestiltskin and I went to Arendelle a few weeks ago, we went to recover my memories of my mother’s death,” she explained slowly.  “I’d lost those memories, as you recall, but there was something in them I didn’t tell you about when we spoke before because I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

“Make of what?” Arthur asked quickly, but he didn’t say more when Guinevere’s hand landed on his arm.

“If there’s anything we can help you with, Belle, you must know we will.  You are our granddaughter, and that means we will _always_ look out for you.”  Green eyes met her own, and Belle felt the slight shiver of power in the air.

_I think I just found the answer to my question._

“My mother defeated the ogres that tried to kill us using magic.”  Belle watched their reactions carefully, but there seemed to be no surprise on either face.  “I was wondering where that magic comes from, if it’s…something that runs in the family, or just something that, well, _happened_.”

Now Arthur and Guinevere exchanged a glance; he seemed to be waiting for her to answer.  And that said more than either probably wanted.

“Arthur comes from a long line of magic, so your mother’s affinity for magic—particularly in a moment of such high emotion, when she sought to protect _you_ —is unsurprising,” Guinevere said after a moment.  “She hadn’t demonstrated magic when she was taken from us, but she was only ten.”

“What you do mean, ‘long line of magic’?”  _You know too much to blame this all on him, Grandmother,_ she didn’t add.

“My mother was a fairy, actually.” Arthur looked a little embarrassed.  “Though hardly what people these days think of as a fairy.  She was very different.  My father’s family had a penchant for shapeshifting into dragons—hence the name ‘Pendragon’.”

“I see.” 

Why did she get the feeling that they’d only told her a half truth?  But Belle knew neither was going to volunteer more, so when Bae returned, she changed the subject to more pleasant topics.

* * *

 

“Have a minute, Mr. G?”

Hearing Ruby’s voice made Rumplestiltskin turn; he couldn’t remember her ever having dropped by the shop before, and if she had, it had certainly been while looking for Belle.  Now, however, she was clearly seeking him— _and_ using that abominable nickname—so he could only sigh.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

Her smile was cheeky, and a little lighter than it had been since Granny died.  “Too late.”  Ruby popped her gum noisily.  “It’s stuck already.  Soon, I’ll have all the dwarves calling you that.”

“I _do_ know memory-erasure spells, dearie.”  He glared.

 “Sure you do.”  Ruby laughed.  “I’m not scared of you.  I know you’re an old softie at heart, and you don’t even hide it as well these days.”

Part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to argue, but he really couldn’t.  He _was_ different, and a part of him was even starting to like that fact.  Being friendly with people, if not friends, was rather addictive.  Even if it did scare him to death.

“You didn’t have much to say this morning,” he said, just to change the subject.  “Though I’m sure that we’ll appreciate you volunteering your tracking skills before long.”

Ruby had offered to track down Zelena now that Regina’s locator spells were failing, even though doing so would put her in close proximity to Emma.  Rumplestiltskin was impressed by her courage, though not terribly surprised.  Ruby just shrugged when he pointed that out, though, and addressed the first half of his comment.

“I didn’t want to bring this up in front of everyone, but I think King Arthur tried to recruit me.”  She shifted a little uncomfortably.  “And if he’s asking _me_ to ally with them…that means he’s talking to a lot of other people.  I’ve been asking around, and I’m not the only one.  He talked to Thomas’ father, too, and we all know about King George already.  I think he’s looking for people who have reason to be pissed off at the government…or Emma.”

“Isn’t _that_ interesting?” Rumplestiltskin glanced down at the counter, deep in thought.

“Everyone in there—except you and Belle—seemed really fixated on Mordred, but I don’t think he’s the one we need to worry about,” Ruby said after a moment, and there was something in her voice that made Rumplestiltskin look up.  “It took me awhile to figure it out, but when Arthur came to see me, he smelled like dark fairy dust.  It made me sneeze.”

He blinked.  “You know that smell?”

“Snow used to carry a pouch of it around, though she never did say how she got it.” Ruby smiled sadly.  “I hated the smell.  It makes my nose itch horribly, and when I’m a wolf, it makes me want to eat grass.”

“Fascinating.”

Now _this_ was useful information.  Rumplestiltskin was well enough versed in legend to know of Arthur’s lineage, but his mother had been a _fairy_.  Dark fairy dust was the exclusive purview of the fae, not their lighter—and more self-righteous—counterparts.  So why would Arthur be associated with the latter?  The fae were supposed to be all but extinct, driven into exile with the Black Fairy centuries earlier.  No one had seen them in the Enchanted Forest since before Rumplestiltskin was born.

Yet it never had occurred to him to wonder if any of them came over with the curse.  Not even once.

And _he_ was supposed to be the clever one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Seven—“…A Magic Web”, in which Mordred tries to mend broken bridges with Killian, Lancelot runs into someone unexpected, Zelena decides to do something on her own, Emma has an unsettling encounter with “Guinevere”, and Rumplestiltskin finally meets his mother.


	47. …A Magic Web

Mordred was waiting on the ship when Killian returned after the meeting at the Sorcerer’s House.  The last he’d spoken to his uncle, Killian had made his opinion of his actions incredibly clear, but apparently that message hadn’t gotten through.

“What do _you_ want?” he snapped, striding angrily up the brow. 

“To apologize.”  Mordred looked down briefly as Killian stopped in front of him, and he thought that he detected genuine grief in his uncle’s expression when he looked back up.  “I know I lied to you, and although I was trying to keep you safe…I was wrong to do so.  So I have come to apologize, although I do not expect you to forgive me.”

“You said that before.”  Killian would have crossed his arms, but doing it with a hook for one hand was awkward.  “You said you were doing it because it was your ‘one chance’ to remove that darkness from the world.”

“And it was the best chance I ever thought I would get.”  Mordred gestured helplessly.  “But I didn’t stop to think about what it might do to you, and I should have.  You are all that is left of my brother, and Gwaine would have expected better of me.”

Killian didn’t mean to flinch, but he did.  He barely remembered his father, only remembered waking one morning to find that his father had up and left.  Many said that his mother died of a broken heart, and although Mordred claimed that Gwaine had been on the run to save his family, that didn’t erase centuries of bitter abandonment.  Yet he’d _wanted_ so badly to get to know his father’s older brother that he’d let himself be fooled.  _Fooled?  Was I really tricked, or did I just blindly decide that he_ had _to mean what I thought he did?_   Killian wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.  Had he just been so damned desperate to save Emma that he’d ignored the signs?

Emotion made the words wrench out of him painfully.  “I don’t know. He left when I was too young, and I don’t remember a bloody _thing_ about him.”

“He would have been proud of you, particularly for sticking by the one you love.”  Not for the first time, Killian noticed that Mordred refused to refer to Emma as a _woman_ ; he always called her ‘the Dark One’, and never seemed to imbue her with human qualities.  Yet Mordred at least admitted that Killian loved her.  Even when it tore him apart.

“Did you want anything else, or are you just here to make me miserable?”

“I wanted to ask for your help, actually.  But this time I wanted to do it honestly, and tell you what my motives are up front.”

Killian snorted.  “Give me _one_ reason why I should believe you.”

“Family is important to me.”

“Yeah, you’ve sung that song before, ‘Uncle’.  Why the bloody hell should I believe you this time?  You’ve already proven that you always have an ulterior motive, and that you’re utterly determined to destroy the Dark One, no matter what it costs.  Why should I ever trust anything you say?”

“Because now you know my ulterior motive.  And you know that I need your help.  You’re close to the leadership of this town, and they’re sure to oppose me now.  I need someone on the inside to tell me what they’re planning.”

The utter absurdity of that statement made him snort.  “You’ve come to the wrong man for that, and you’ve seriously underestimated me if you think I’ll betray my friends.”

“I’m not sure they think so highly of you, Killian,” his uncle replied softly.  “From what I understand, you’ve always been an outsider here—except for Emma.  And now she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone!  She just needs space and—” He cut off with a gulp, refusing to allow himself to even _think_ of what Emma had said…or about how she’d smiled with Baelfire earlier that day.   Mordred had no idea what he was talking about.

“No matter what happens, we’re family.  Even if we’re on opposite sides, that matters to me, so if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here.”

Mordred walked off the ship, and all Killian could do was watch.  He didn’t know what to think, not anymore.  For so long, his life had revolved around Emma Swan: first, he’d focused on winning her, and then he’d been determined to save her.  But now…now what happened if she didn’t want him back?  Oh, he could lose himself in fighting for her, and risk everything.  He hadn’t had a purpose other than Emma Swan for longer than Killian could remember.  _Aside from killing the Dark One.  I don’t even know who I am unless I’m a pirate who loves Emma Swan and wants to kill Rumplestiltskin_.

Staring blankly at the railing, Killian tried to banish the cold feeling filling his soul.  He didn’t know what he was going to do.  He just…didn’t.

* * *

 

Belle had meant to go straight to the library, but the conversation with her grandparents had left her feeling very strange.  She _liked_ Arthur and Guinevere, she truly did, yet this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten the feeling that they weren’t telling her the whole truth.  So, she’d gone to the shop and run the conversation by Rumple, just to see if his instincts matched hers.  _Baelfire thinks they were being evasive, too_ , she remembered.  Belle wasn’t normally a suspicious person, but she couldn’t shake the feeling—and the moment she told Rumple about their conversation, her husband agreed.  Even more importantly, he relayed Ruby’s story to her, and that set Belle’s teeth on edge more than anything else.

“I want to believe them.”  She bit her lip, staring at the countertop in the pawn shop. Hands landed on her shoulders, rubbing gently, and Belle leaned back into his touch.  “But…I’m not sure I can.  I’m starting to get the terrible feeling that they’re up to something bigger than we thought.  Do you think they might be working with Mordred?”

“I doubt it.”  Rumplestiltskin’s hands tightened slightly; Belle knew that he was angrier than he let on about how Henry had been endangered.  He’d played the voice of reason in the meeting that morning—a role that no one expected him to fill so well, even Belle—but she knew that a dangerous temper lurked beneath the calm façade.  Rumple might not have been the Dark One any longer, but that didn’t make him less of an infuriated grandfather.  “If history—what I know of it—is anything to go by, Mordred has been opposed to them for a long time.”

“Gaining new family is so wonderful when they all hate each other.”  Belle sighed.  Even she couldn’t put a positive spin on this one.  She hadn’t even _tried_ to meet her uncle—a relation she apparently shared with Killian Jones, of all people!—and Belle wasn’t sure she wanted to.  Mordred had been willing to kill Henry in order to lock Emma up, and he’d used Killian rather thoroughly to pull that off.  _Even Rumple didn’t try to force his family to betray anyone, not even at his worst._

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” her husband whispered into her hair, and Belle snuggled back into him when his arms wrapped around her.  “I can’t say my experiences are identical to yours, but I know what it’s like to oppose your own family.”

“How did you make yourself do it?  I keep _wanting_ to believe them, and I know it’s a weakness of mine.  I trust too easily.”

“Not too easily, if you’re expressing doubts now.”

“You know what I mean, Rumple.”  Belle didn’t hold his previous actions against him, but she did try to learn from them.  If she hadn’t wanted so badly to believe everything was perfect in her marriage, Rumplestiltskin’s lies never would have fooled her.  He’d made his choices, but Belle had been willfully blind, and she would _not_ make that mistake a second time.

Not even for her mother’s parents.

“I do, but I think you’re underestimating yourself.”  She could hear the wry smile enter his voice.  “Besides, you’re not fighting this battle alone.  There is something… _off_ about them, your grandmother in particular.  Merlin knew something about her, something that doesn’t quite translate.  The knowledge is there, right on the edge of my mind—his memories, I suppose—and yet I can’t quite grasp it.  But your instincts are definitely right.”

“Why do things always have to be so complicated?”  Shoulders slumping, Belle turned to take refuge in Rumplestiltskin’s arms.  “You know, my life was supposed to be simple, once.  Everything was all planned out for me, as dull as it was.  I was supposed to marry Gaston, have a nursery full of kids—sons, of course, all of whom would want to hunt and ride like their father—and that was that.  Maybe I’d manage to sneak myself a library.  I wanted more, but I never thought I’d have it.”

“And do you regret this complicated path?”

Once, her husband would have sounded tentative and frightened, certain that she’d find some other shallow knight and run away.  Now, however, Rumplestiltskin sounded playful and a little more self-confident, and that made Belle smile.  _He’s learning.  He really is._

“Of course not.”  Looking up at him, she planted a light kiss on his lips before sighing again.  “I just wish my grandparents weren’t probably a pair of evil overlords who want to rule Storybrooke.”

He snorted.  “There is that.”

“You know, maybe liking villains is in my blood,” she joked, allowing herself a little laugh.  “My grandparents and my uncle both seem to be leaning in that direction.  Maybe I’m not the ‘good’ little girl everyone thought I was supposed to be.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed.  “You’d make a terrible villain.”

“You don’t know that.  I’ve never tried.”  Saying those words with a straight face was almost impossible, though, particularly when he laughed at her.

“I think I’d know.”

Belle started to reply playfully, only to be cut off by her phone ringing.  Scowling, she dug it out of her bag, surprised to see that it was her father.  “Papa?  Is everything all right?”

“Of course it is,” her father replied quickly.  Too quickly?  The words put Belle right on edge.  “But I did want to tell you something.”

“That sounds ominous.”  Glancing at her husband, Belle put the phone on speaker and leaned back into him as a strange chill worked its way up her spine. 

“Nothing terrible, but I did want to tell you that Sir Lancelot is here in Storybrooke.  You remember him, don’t you?”

“A little.”  Frowning, she couldn’t help thinking about what her grandparents had told her about Lancelot, about how he’d stolen her mother away.  Was all of that true, or was there more to the story?

“Well, he came by to see me, and was very worried about you meeting your grandparents.  I told him that you already had, and that he really didn’t have any right to keep you from them, and he seemed very…irate.  I’m not sure he’s right in the head, honestly.”

“Oh.”  Belle wasn’t sure what to say to that.  She _did_ remember a little about her mother’s ‘guardian’; he’d always been kind to her, and he’d seemed to care about her mother.  _Was that all a lie, or am I missing something important?_

“Be careful, my girl.  I think he might be dangerous.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Belle hung up, staring at the phone for a long moment.  Maybe she should just go find Lancelot and see what story he had to tell.  There was no guarantee that _he’d_ be honest, of course, but at least then she’d know what every side was claiming.

* * *

 

Moe put down the phone, frowning slightly.  Why had he done that?  He wasn’t sure why he’d felt the burning need to warn Belle so strenuously, but it must have been important.  _Can’t have Lancelot threatening her happiness,_ he decided, nodding to himself.  That must be it.  He didn’t always approve of Belle’s husband—though the man clearly _was_ better now that he was actually a man—but his little girl had decided her own fate.  More importantly, she deserved to know her grandparents, and he wasn’t going to let Lancelot ruin that.

Somehow, the fact that Lancelot’s warnings had worried him just the day before never crossed his mind.

* * *

 

Storybrooke was an unbelievably strange town, and Lancelot was still trying to get used to the place.  After having barely survived being murdered by Cora, he’d fled the survivors’ small haven in the Enchanted Forest, spending months dodging ogres before he could make his way back through one of the few pathways to Camelot.  Getting through to Camelot had required the sacrifice of the last artifact he’d had from home—the sword his mother, the Lady of the Lake, had once given him.  He’d meant to go straight to Mordred, but after a few lifetimes of learning caution the hard way, Lancelot decided to watch and learn before acting.  He and Mordred had been friends since they were young—they were even distantly related—and he’d known Mordred well.  They’d worked together to uncover “Guinevere’s” lies, hoping that they could save Arthur before it was too late. 

But Mordred had changed.  The man who ruled Camelot was a cold-hearted stranger, one who ruled with an iron fist and gave no quarter to anyone he suspected might have been a supporter of Arthur.  His compassion and caring were gone, and the only thing left of the man Lancelot had known was his single-minded obsession to destroy the Dark One.  Best Lancelot could figure, the dark magics Mordred had used to freeze Camelot in time—and then to attempt to _undo_ his horrible work—had corrupted Mordred in ways even Mordred might not understand.  Under other circumstances, Lancelot would have gone to see Mordred, regardless.  But Mordred wasn’t the man he’d been.

That left Lancelot at loose ends; he’d been in Storybrooke for about three weeks, having snuck through with the last of the refugees from Camelot, and he was still trying to get used to the place.  But he’d waited too long, and he knew that, now.  He’d waited before he’d gone to see David, mostly hiding in the woods and avoiding anyone except a group of peasants he’d befriended back home.  Now, however, he had to face the crushing realization that everything had gone wrong.

It was almost by chance that he ran into the man David had called Doctor Hopper (whatever a ‘doctor’ was, it sounded like some sort of title, so Lancelot was careful to be polite).  Or, at least it felt like chance.  They chatted for a few moments, mostly with Hopper asking him how he found Storybrooke and ‘modern technology’, and Lancelot mostly shrugging and admitting that he’d stayed in the woods with the other people who weren’t very comfortable in town.  Then it turned interesting.

“You mentioned Arthur and Guinevere being a danger when you spoke with David,” Hopper said casually.  “You implied that Guinevere, in particular, was more than she seems.  Do you know more?”

Lancelot grimaced.  “Unfortunately, I do.  Mordred and I found out years ago, and our last attempt to stop her turned out…not so well.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“Find a way to make people believe me.”  Lancelot sighed.  “The truth is more than a little incredible, and no one’s going to take it at face value.  They’ll call me crazy, and the only one who can back me up is now Public Enemy Number One.”

“Mordred, you mean?”

Hopper’s quick response made Lancelot blink in surprise.  “Yes.  But he’s not the man he used to be.  The Mordred I knew…he wouldn’t have threatened a child like that.” 

_Except you know that he tried to kill Colette.  That’s why you worked with Morgan to get her away from Mordred before he could do it again_ , he remembered sadly.  _It was never just about getting Colette away from her parents.  It was always more dangerous than that._

“Sounds like you’re facing quite a challenge,” Hopper said sympathetically.  “Look, I know these people and I know this town.  If I can help you, just let me know.”

* * *

 

Zelena glared.  “I’m not playing second fiddle to you.  I have better things to do.”

“Such as what?”  Mordred looked like he was convinced that the entire world revolved around him, and Zelena was well and truly sick of that.  He’d been even more insufferable after taking that damned pendant; at first, she’d thought he might let her sample some of its powers, but now he might as well have been sleeping with the damned thing.  _And not me.  What_ is _it about him?  You would think he’s a monk._

“I have matters to settle with my sister,” she snapped.  “She’s still trying to steal my baby.”

“Do you even want that child?”

“Of course I do!  It’s _mine_!”

“Of course it is.”  Mordred sounded more normal, for once, at least until he reached for the Greater Sapphire—for the remnants of a _human_ original power, a jewel that held magic like Zelena had seen only once in her life.  Mordred’s eyes softened as he looked at the pendant.  “I will not need you, anyway.  I will simply do what needs to be done.”

“You do understand that you’re trying to kill Rumplestiltskin’s _son,_ don’t you?  Baelfire’s an idiot, but his father won’t take that lying down.”

Mordred snorted.  “I’m looking forward to that, actually.”

So was Zelena, truth be told.  Rumple would fight, of course, but if his son did die—again!—it would undoubtedly break him.  And Zelena had plans if that happened.  Oh, she had plans.

So, she certainly wouldn’t get in Mordred’s way, and there was no way she was going to warn any of the little heroes.  If Mordred played his cards right, he’d kill the idiot whelp and Zelena would be able to sweep up the shattered pieces of Rumplestiltskin that Mordred left in his wake.  _It’s a pity that I didn’t get pregnant with_ his _child, but it didn’t occur to me to help that process along when I had him enslaved.  Rumple would be terribly attached already._   Well, there was always next time, so she watched Mordred leave with a smile on her face.

Now, if she could just figure out how to enslave the pesky Sorcerer, everything would be perfect.

* * *

 

Emma didn’t feel like she’d earned Ruby’s forgiveness, but she was determined to be worthy of it.  No matter what the darkness inside her said, she was going to be _better_.  It could push her and it could try to control her, but Emma knew that, as long as she didn’t let go, as long as she kept her ability to love in the forefront of her mind, she would be all right.  Oh, she’d had a half-dozen long conversations with Rumplestiltskin that told her that she couldn’t win forever, but she didn’t _have_ to.  Oddly enough, Emma trusted the former Dark One enough to know that he would keep his promise to help her find a way out.  The fact that Neal was around again probably only made Rumplestiltskin more determined; she knew them both well enough to know that her predecessor would do anything for his son, and Neal still cared for her more than Emma wanted to admit.

But he wasn’t pushing her, thankfully.  Emma wasn’t ready for any romance, not yet.  She wasn’t sure if she was ready for any romance with Neal _ever_.  She felt a kinship with him, yes, and was really glad to have him back as a friend.  She’d missed him terribly, and hadn’t wanted to think about how much, even if part of her didn’t want to admit that out loud.  But it was true.  Even if she wasn’t _in_ love with him, Emma knew that Neal would always be her first love.  A part of her heart would always be his, and not only because he gave her Henry.

That didn’t mean she was ready for any sort of romance, though, and she was really glad that Neal understood that.  He seemed content to be her friend, unlike Killian who sent her smoldering and sad glances every chance he got.  Oh, her heart quickened at those glances, and Emma wasn’t ready to ignore the feelings she had for him, either.  But she wasn’t sure that being the Dark One—being desperate and lonely and frantic for a way to hold the darkness in check—hadn’t made her jump head first into deepening their relationship.  She wasn’t sure that she would have made the choices she had, inviting Killian to move in with her, indulging her selfish lust, and leaning on someone who she had no right to expect would make her better.  _Only I can do that,_ she finally understood.  _Yes, having love helps me keep this darkness in check, but in the end, it has to be_ my _choice._

That knowledge—and Ruby’s forgiveness—helped her brave the rest of the town, refusing to answer hostility with hostility.  In fairness to most of Storybrooke, many people simply watched her warily, though August and Lily both had some choice words to shoot her way.  Those two made an interesting if terrifying pair, but Emma chose to ignore them.  She just wanted to go to Granny’s like a normal person, and then maybe meet up with her father and try to figure out if she _could_ be sheriff again.  Emma wasn’t sure if she trusted herself that much, but she knew that her father would keep her in line.  David wasn’t afraid to tell her when she was wrong, and Emma wanted to give something back to the town. 

“My, we’re looking…determined,” a voice said from behind her, and Emma stopped in her tracks.  A nasty shiver ran up her spine, and she could feel the darkness coiling within her.

_Destroy her.  Flee._   _Do not trust her—but stay._ Listen.  _She knows._

“What do you want?” Emma demanded, wheeling around to face Guinevere.  She could sense magic around the other woman—or at least the darkness could—and something wasn’t right.  Why was it that no one else had noticed this?  Emma had wanted to strangle Neal when he’d brought Guinevere up in the meeting that morning, but he’d been right to do so.  And it hadn’t violated the terms of her deal with Guinevere, so the gloating voice of the darkness inside her could just go to hell as far as Emma was concerned.  She didn’t know why the darkness was both gleeful and fearful, but the indecision gave her whiplash.

“Just to have a friendly chat.”  Guinevere’s smile was razor sharp, and her green eyes flashed dangerously.  “I understand you almost gave up the Dark One’s dagger for that lovely boy of yours.  As a mother myself, I can completely understand being willing to sacrifice anything for your child.”

Emma fought the urge to take a step backwards, barely conquering it as she bristled.  “What’s your point?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.  I simply wonder why in the world you’ve allowed the man who almost killed your son to keep breathing.”

“I’m not a murderer.”  The words ground out of her painfully, and Granny’s face flashed through her mind.  _That wasn’t me.  I will_ not _be like that again!_

Guinevere laughed softly.  “You’re the Dark One.”

“So?  That doesn’t mean I have to give into it.”  Emma forced herself to take a step forward, even as her instincts screamed at her to flee.  _I will not run away, either._   “I’m not _just_ the Dark One.”

“Oh, no.”  Another smile, this one softer but no less terrifying.  “You’re so much more…malleable than most of your predecessors.  All those good intentions, all that bravery—it all adds up into something quite extraordinary, doesn’t it?”

Somehow, Emma didn’t think that was a compliment.

“Are you just here to pontificate, or is there a point to this conversation?” she snarled, unable to stop herself.  _Stop her now while you can,_ a female voice whispered, every word biting and bitter.  _Take her wand.  It won’t be enough, but you might have enough of an edge with it.  Maybe._

_Wand?_ Emma wondered, taken aback.  _Why would Guinevere have a wand?_   But the darkness did not answer, could not.  Even if she had the strange feeling that—for once—the Dark One inside her actually wanted to protect her.

“Oh, I’m quite finished.”  Guinevere smiled gracefully, turning to go.  Only then did she glance over her shoulder.  “Keep that dagger close, Dark One.  You wouldn’t want the wrong person to enslave you.”

Hot and dangerous fury exploded within her.  “I’ll kill anyone who tries!”

“Of course you will, dear.”  Guinevere disappeared into Modern Fashions, leaving Emma on the street.

Unsettled and suddenly frightened, Emma didn’t think about where she wanted to teleport to; she just _left_.  The darkness was screaming within her, howling for blood and murder and freedom, going on about the hat, about Excalibur, about a million things other than the dangerous woman who could not _possibly_ think she could actually get the dagger.  Emma needed to know how Guinevere and Arthur had acquired it the first time, which meant that she should, if she was smart, head to Rumplestiltskin and ask him if he knew.  That morning’s meeting had made it clear how they each seemed to have half of the story, and Emma knew she needed the rest before it was too late.

But she was too upset for logic, and the darkness was too loud.  It didn’t _like_ the Sorcerer, but it did like someone who she had spent a great deal of time with.  So, Emma was only a little surprised when she found herself landing on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ , shivering wildly in cold that had nothing to do with the air temperature.  She needed, _burned_ , to wrap herself in someone and feel safe and wanted.  She didn’t care about the consequences.  She just didn’t want to think about anything for a little while, didn’t want questions or caring conversation.  She needed to quiet the raging voices.

_You cannot face her on equal terms!  You must find more power, or you_ will _be enslaved._ Would they dare take Henry?  Would they try something else?  Emma kept the dagger on her person almost all of the time, so they couldn’t just _take_ it—

“Emma?” Killian hadn’t been on deck when she arrived, but he came out of his cabin quickly enough, wide-eyed and confused.  “What brings you to my humble—are you all right?”

_Take her wand.  Take the Hat.  You can gain more power.  Take the Sorcerer’s woman, and drain her power from her.  You_ must _have more!_   Emma tried valiantly to shove the voice aside, but it only changed pitch, growing deeper and more masculine.  _Take the power or she will take you._

“No,” she whispered.  “I just need it to stop.  I need it all to stop.”

“The voices?”  He stepped forward, and seemed to want to put a hand on her arm.

_He wants you.  You want him.  Take what you want._

“Yes.”  Emma closed her eyes tightly.  “I can’t make it stop.”

“This from the woman who said she had control of herself, now?”  Killian looked worried, even with his light tone.  “What happened?”

_Don’t tell him.  Don’t tell anyone.  If he thinks you’re losing control,_ someone _will take the dagger._ Usually, Emma could fight those thoughts back, but the idea of Guinevere so much as _looking_ at the dagger was strangely terrifying.  Unbidden, an image of Merlin kneeling at Guinevere’s feet came to mind, and she could _feel_ his misery, could feel him fighting and losing and hating this woman whom he had also trusted.  _You always lose the ones you love.  They always betray you._

“Nothing,” she snapped, forcing her eyes open.  “And I _am_ in control.  I won’t let it force me to do anything.  It just won’t shut up.”

She shouldn’t have come here.  Emma’s conscience was starting to make noise, and it was right.  She had asked for space, and Killian deserved better than her coming here like this.

“Why did you come here?” he asked as if he could read her mind.

“Because I’m cold.”  The words—honest though they were—came out on their own.  She met his eyes, and she could feel the desire for her burning there.  “Because I don’t want to be alone.  Because I want something simple.”

_Something easy.  Someone who doesn’t_ think _when I offer, someone who I know won’t refuse me because it’s the right thing to do._

“I don’t think anything about this is—”

Emma cut him off with a kiss, stepping forward and pressing her body against his.  _Take what you want,_ the darkness whispered, and she did.  Killian hardly objected—he seemed as lonely as she was desperate—but empty sex did nothing to fill the terrifying loneliness roaring through Emma’s heart.

* * *

 

Henry might have been thirteen, now, but he still really liked learning how to use swords.  Gramps had been teaching him, but ever since Grandma Snow had died, Gramps had been distracted and busy.  He and Regina were running the town, which meant Henry was often left without his favorite teachers (his mom had been teaching him to ride when they had a few spare moments, but it was amazing how many disasters Storybrooke could pack into a small space of time).  Now, however, his dad was back, and Neal—or Baelfire, now, he supposed—wasn’t stuck playing local government.  It turned out that he was pretty handy with a sword, too.

Unfortunately, his dad _also_ insisted on using wooden practice swords instead of real ones.  Bae had probably gotten that idea from David, and Henry really wished they’d let him use a real one.  He’d gone to Camelot, after all, and he’d survived all kinds of dangers there.  And he’d survived Mordred trying to kill him, too!  He wasn’t some helpless kid; Henry was thirteen and he knew what he was getting into.  He just wished the adults in his life would get that through their heads.

“You’ve got to move your feet with your hands, kid,” his father told him, and Henry stopped to cock his head quizzically.  “Moving like Frankenstein’s Monster only throws your balance off and makes you suck.”

“You know, Dr. Whale’s brother wasn’t that clumsy,” Henry felt honor-bound to point out.  “Or at least he didn’t seem to be in my book.”

Baelfire laughed.  “You know, I keep forgetting there are people from worlds other than the Enchanted Forest here—or Camelot, now, I suppose.  That’s just weird.”

Henry shrugged.  “Not really.”

“I think I need to read that book of yours.”

“You mean _my_ book or the one that Gramps and Grandpa are conspiring to get me to get from Isaac?” he couldn’t help asking.  Henry _knew_ that his grandfathers were working together to keep him out of trouble, and he would have been annoyed if it wasn’t so cool.  He really did like the fact that Prince Charming and Rumplestiltskin were becoming friends again; they probably both needed it.  So, he’d humor them and look.  Besides, getting a book on Camelot—or at least information out of the last Author—would be interesting.

“Both, probably.  You want me to come along when you—okay, never mind that, we’ve got company.”  The look on his dad’s face shifted from joking to deadly serious, and Henry spun around to follow his gaze.

“Oh, crap.”

Mordred was walking their way, a blue stone suspended around his neck and _glowing_.  A chill ran through Henry, and he felt his dad’s hands on his shoulder. 

“C’mon.  We’ve got to get you out of here.  Fast.” 

“Yeah, good idea.” Henry was brave enough, but he knew that Mordred was dangerous, and he really didn’t want to be used against his mom again.  _Or anyone in my family, for that matter!_

_Crash!_ Even as they turned to go, a giant rumbling and roaring noise filled the air and an earthquake shook the park.  They’d been sword fighting right by Henry’s castle, and the ground beneath that shuddered and vanished as Henry watched in horror.  He was so focused on his castle being destroyed _again_ that he actually didn’t notice the ground giving way right under his feet until it was too late.  Immediately, Bae dragged him back, almost pulling Henry right off of his feet.  He stumbled into his father, struggling for balance as dirt and dust filled the air round them.

Coughing wildly, Henry and Bae backed up another step.  He could barely see the chasm in front of them through the sudden gloom, but it looked _big_.  Big and deep; Henry couldn’t see the bottom even when he tried, and the other side was further away than he could jump.  Maybe fifteen feet?  He’d done the long jump in school just last week, and he hadn’t made it nearly that far.

“You okay?” His dad sounded worried, so Henry nodded.

“So far.”

Together, they turned back to face Mordred, and Henry tried not to be annoyed when Baelfire stepped in front of him.  Parents did that, he knew, even when you were thirteen.  He supposed that he couldn’t complain that he _had_ a dad at all, let alone one who wanted to protect him.  It was even a little nice.  _Except for the part where I know Mordred probably wants me,_ Henry thought, reaching in his pocket for his phone.  He wasn’t going to play this game.  Not again.

“There’s no need to be so worried.”  Mordred sounded smug.  “I don’t want to hurt the boy.”

“I have a name,” Henry snapped before he could stop himself, glaring at Mordred from around his father.  _Idiot.  Don’t draw attention to yourself!_ He needed to be like Grandpa right now, not like Gramps.  Picking a fight or swinging his wooden sword—wherever he’d dropped it—wouldn’t save the day.  He needed smarts.

Fortunately, Mordred ignored him.  Unfortunately, his eyes were on Baelfire, who had already spoken up, with: “Then what the hell do you want?  And I’m sorry, we haven’t really been introduced.  Name’s Baelfire, though I used to go by Neal Cassidy.  Names are kind of confusing in this town.”

_Okay, being like Dad will work, too, because I know he’s distracting Mordred._ Quickly, and keeping his motions hidden behind his father’s back, Henry pulled his phone out and hit one of the shortcuts on the home screen.  He’d learned to be prepared after the _last_ time he was kidnapped, and Henry didn’t even bother to put the phone to his ear.  Once the recipient picked up, hearing whatever Mordred had to say would probably be enough of a warning.

“I don’t care what your name is,” Mordred replied coldly, and Henry could feel the cold chill of magic filling the air as the pendant he wore _pulsed_ with power.  “You should not be here.”

“I hate to disappoint you, buddy, but the park is public property.  That means it’s open to everyone.”

 Mordred scowled rather fiercely, and Henry bit back a laugh.  Mostly.  “You should not be _alive_.  You were in the Vault of the Dark One.  Whatever you were before you went in there, you are now irrevocably tainted by its evil.”

“Really?  _That’s_ your line?”  Bae snorted.  “C’mon, man, I know you’re kind of religiously obsessed with destroying the Dark One and all, but at least you can come up with a better reason that that.  Yeah, I was an idiot and didn’t think about the price of magic before I tried to resurrect my dad.  Desperate souls and all that—it makes you dumber than you should be.  But at least come up with something more original, like the fact that I dated the current Dark One and had a kid with her.  Or blame my dad if you want.  Most people do.”

Even as his dad spoke, Henry’s phone stopped ringing as the recipient picked up.  He heard his own name, faintly, once and then twice, and then the recipient fell silent, clearly listening to Mordred snarl:

“This is not a game!”

“Yeah, I got that memo, thanks.  Assuming you’re talking about killing me, that is.”

Mordred drew himself up, stopping about ten feet away from them.  “It is a regrettable necessity.”

“Wow.  You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“I am done talking to you.”  Clearly Mordred had learned something at the Vault of the Dark One, where he’d lingered too long having conversations and Henry’s grandpa had shown up to help his mom kick Mordred’s ass.  Mordred stepped forward menacingly, the pendant pulsating all the while, harder and faster, and so bright that it hurt Henry’s eyes to look directly at it.  Two steps later, Mordred’s right hand snaked out, aiming for Bae’s heart.  Henry tried to shout a warning, but his dad didn’t even try to dodge.

Mordred’s hand bounced off.

“What is the meaning of—” Mordred cut off, trying again, and then Baelfire snickered.

“My dad’s the Sorcerer.  Do you really think he wouldn’t protect me from some idiot ripping my heart out?  My ex-girlfriend is the Dark One.  We’re playing it safe.”

Mordred gaped; Henry laughed a little, but his laugh died in sheer delight when he _felt_ something in the air, and a new voice interjected:

“You know, I’m not sure why I spent the morning telling people that you aren’t the biggest threat we face,” Rumplestiltskin mused, stepping forward.  “Because you’re turning out to be quite the problem, _dearie._ ”

The last word was as sharp as a whip-crack in the air, and Henry shivered as he thumbed the text button on his phone.  He was sure that his grandfather had Mordred handled, but it was probably a good idea to let his moms know.  _But which one?  Emma’s more powerful, but Regina’s less likely to do something crazy._   As odd as that thought was, Henry decided that his first instinct was right.  He always thought to call Regina when he was in trouble, anyway, and there was no reason to break that habit, now.

Mordred’s answering smile was cold.  “I was rather hoping you’d show up.”

“Is that so?”

The air between the two seemed thick with magic, and Henry took an instinctive step back even as he texted Regina quickly.  _In the park, Mordred showed up.  Grandpa’s here, I’m okay._   His dad had backed up, too, because there was something really scary in the air.  Mordred looked arrogantly confident, stony faced and unworried.  Rumplestiltskin stood only a dozen feet away from him, and he looked sharply focused, more dangerous than Henry thought he’d _ever_ seen him—yet they were strangely alike.  Watching the pair made Henry blink; they stood in the same loose manner, had the same sharp cheekbones and the exact same eyes.

_I have those eyes._ Dad _has those eyes._   Henry blinked hard.  _I have_ got _to be imagining things._

Didn’t he?

“You don’t have the advantage anymore, _Sorcerer_ ,” Mordred spat.  “Not that you’re worthy of the title.  Even Merlin was more suited to it than you—at least he was _tricked_ into becoming the Dark One.  You seem eager to ally with that demon.”

“If you think that, you don’t know me very well at all.”  Rumplestiltskin was doing _something_ ; Henry recognized the way the fingers on his right hand twitched, ever so slightly.  And Henry could almost feel it, like he could almost feel most kinds of magic.  They were just a little far away, not quite something he could wrap his mind around.  “Like you, I want to destroy that darkness forever.  But _unlike_ you, I’m not prepared to sacrifice a brave woman to do the deed.”

“You’re as gone as she is.  I have the power to trap her—and that darkness!—forever.  But you won’t let me do that, will you?”  Mordred gestured at Baelfire and Henry.  “And you’ll protect this _abomination_ that you call your son, too.”

“With my dying breath.”

Mordred sneered, and part of Henry wondered if Mordred knew _anything_ about family loyalty.  He didn’t seem to understand why they’d all fight for one another, that was for sure.  But he didn’t get to think too much on that before his phone vibrated in his hand, and he didn’t need to look down to know that Regina had texted back.  Emma would probably flip out if he didn’t text her, too, but he could apologize later.  Two out of three parents had to be good enough, right?

“You’re a corrupted fool if you can’t see what’s right in front— _aawwwh!_ ”

Magic slammed into Mordred, cutting him off and twisting him high into the air, golden tendrils wrapping around him and _burning_ brightly in the air.  Henry watched in fascination as his grandfather stood, arm extended and eyes intent.  He was the Sorcerer, Henry knew and _no one_ had magic like he did.  Mordred should have thought twice before he tried to go after anyone in their family.  Really, Henry thought that Mordred should have known better.  Why would he pick a fight that he couldn’t win?

Then Mordred was somehow gone, teleporting to the side and suddenly free of the magic wrapping around him.  Snapping his hands up, he attacked with a brilliant blue wave of magic that slammed right into Rumplestiltskin.  Henry’s grandfather didn’t quite fall, but he stumbled back a step, and then two, struggling for balance as a second spell hit him.  The pendant was in Mordred’s hand, now, and it made a strange singing sound as Mordred worked magic through it.  _This_ Henry could feel, like a thick band of heat and power sitting heavily and dangerously in the air.  Mordred’s next spell was orangey-blue, and it boiled out of the pendant, but Rumplestiltskin’s left hand batted it aside.  The edges of his suit jacket smoldered, but he remained otherwise untouched, and now back on balance.

Mordred, however, was sneering.  “Can’t overcome me so easily now, can you?  You’re nothing but a former Dark One with delusions of grandeur.  Hardly a true sorcerer.”

“Didn’t I defeat you when I was the ‘mere’ Dark One?” Henry’s grandfather countered lightly.  Rumplestiltskin’s hands came up before Mordred could react, and thunder cracked as power filled the air.

The ground even shook under Henry’s feet, but this time there was no earthquake.  It was as if time was standing still; Mordred seemed to be moving in slow motion, even as he tried with obvious desperation to break the magic surrounding him.  Even Henry felt like he was underwater.  Nothing seemed quite right, and although he could breathe just fine, moving his limbs was almost impossible.  Rumplestiltskin, however, seemed quite unfettered by the spell, and he strode forward purposefully, not even breaking stride before grabbed Mordred by the front of the shirt.  Power crackled around the pair, trapping Mordred in a new and different way.  The other sorcerer’s hands fell limply to his side, but somehow he kept a grip on the pendant, useless though it seemed when the stone wasn’t even glowing.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Rumplestiltskin said very softly, and the magic released.  Henry staggered, grabbing on to his dad for balance, but he never took his eyes off of his grandfather.

“Papa…” Baelfire spoke quietly, as if the word was more of a reminder that they were there than any plea for Rumplestiltskin to stop.  Part of Henry wanted to say that heroes didn’t kill, but it was different when the villain kept trying to kill your family, wasn’t it?  Mordred was too powerful to stop, wasn’t he?  _But there has to be another way.  There’s_ always _another way._

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flicked to meet his son’s briefly, but he didn’t respond.  Mordred, however, clearly couldn’t let the opportunity pass by.

“Not espousing Merlin’s moral codes, are we?” Mordred asked mockingly.  “Your roots are _showing,_ ‘Sorcerer’.”

“Hardly.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “But you’ve tried to kill my grandson, and now you’re trying to kill my son.  I’ve no great love of killing, not now, but you’re not leaving me with many options.”

“Fine then.  Do it.  Prove that you’re no better than that Dark One you’ve been sheltering.”

“Mordred!” A new voice snapped across the park, and suddenly Morgan le Fae strode into their little island, somehow stepping across the chasms around them with no apparent effort.  Mordred scowled guilty upon seeing his mother, but Henry felt Bae put a hand on his shoulder and pull him away from her.

“It’s okay, Dad.  That’s Mordred’s mom.”  He figured that Bae hadn’t been back long enough to know that, and besides, Morgan had been rather nice to him when they’d met.  If there was any way to defuse this situation without resorting to killing, Morgan could probably manage it, and Henry really didn’t want to see his grandfather have to become a killer again.  Not like this.  Not when he was doing so much better.

“Yeah, but whose side is _she_ on?” Bae asked in an undertone, and Henry had to shrug.

“Hopefully the good guys.”

His dad snorted, sounding eerily like his own father.  “Not according to the stories I know.”

“Yeah, but Arthur’s supposed to be a good guy, too,” he pointed out, which made Bae shrug.

Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin had turned to look at Morgan, his face coldly expressionless.  “Morgan of Cornwall, I presume?”

“I thought I told you to stay out of this, Mother,” Mordred hissed at the same time.

Morgan stopped a few feet away from the pair; clearly aware of the fact that Rumplestiltskin still held her son both physically and magically.  Her brown eyes—just like Henry’s own!—were dark with anger.  “I am _not_ going to stand by while you try to kill your nephew.”

“My _what_?”  Mordred went ashen. 

Rumplestiltskin’s reply came only a heartbeat later.  “His _what_?” 

“Papa, what the _hell_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Eight—“In Lonesome Silence”, in which Morgan tells (almost) all, Zelena gets sneaky, Danns’ uses Archie to remove an obstacle, Emma faces up to her selfishness, and Rumplestiltskin has to face his mother. While you’re waiting, please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think!


	48. In Lonesome Silence

Looking like this really cramped her style, but Zelena figured she could live with it.  _As long as I can make Regina miserable, I can do anything_ , she told herself, tossing her hair back. She still felt like she had her lovely red curls, even if the face in the mirror showed Regina’s dark hair instead.  She pouted.  “It’s so straight and _boring_.”

No one answered, of course.  She was alone because Mordred was off trying to kill Rumple’s idiot brat, but that suited Zelena well enough.  She had a mission to accomplish, and a sister to make miserable.  And Mordred’s arrogant father had given her the _perfect_ way to do that, too.  He had his little squire rolling around town, working on this and that, gathering allies and being a general nuisance.  What was the little moron’s name?  _Grif,_ Zelena remembered.  She had seen him from a distance, and Mordred had had some choice words to say about Grif’s unwavering blind loyalty to Arthur.  By now, everyone in Storybrooke new that Grif was Arthur’s number one choice to get something done, and Zelena was going to take advantage of that.

Taking one last look at her reflection, Zelena brushed hair away from her face—well, _Regina’s_ face, technically, but it was hers for now even if it made her want to vomit—and squared her shoulders. 

“Time to go find Arthur’s little lapdog,” she cooed to her reflection.  “And time to make _you_ pay, sister dear.  Now everyone will see you for what you truly are: grasping, power hungry, and always _evil_.”

* * *

 

“Papa, what the _hell_?”  Bae’s voice rang out in the emptiness, but Rumplestiltskin barely heard him.  His eyes were too focused on Morgan, wide and shocked.

He was pretty sure that his heart had simply _stopped_ beating.  After all, Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not intelligent, and he was perfectly capable of following where that line of reasoning could lead.  If Baelfire was Mordred’s nephew, as Morgan had just insinuated, that meant _one_ or the other of Bae’s parents was related to Mordred.  And Morgan, by extension.  Of course, it could have been Milah, but he’d known both of Milah’s parents.  He even had vague memories of her grandparents.  Milah’s entire family had lived in Hamlin, and…

“I did not want you to find out like this,” Morgan said, turning to face _him._   Rumplestiltskin felt like the world had stopped spinning, like he couldn’t breathe.  “I…I meant to tell you, but I…”

“You what?” he asked when she trailed off, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears.  

“I was too afraid of your reaction.”  Morgan winced, and she might have gone on had not Mordred spoken up.

“Mother, what is going on?  What _are_ you saying to these people?  That—that _abomination_ is not my nephew!”

Fury rose within Rumplestiltskin like it hadn’t since his days as the Dark One, boiling through his blood with the force of an exploding sun.  It fed his magic immediately, making his left hand—the one that held Mordred by the front of his shirt—spark with dark and powerful magic.  Mordred yelped, but the other sorcerer was fast, and Rumplestiltskin felt Mordred begin channeling magic through the Greater Sapphire once more.  The stone was unbelievably strong, held most of _Circe’s_ power, and Mordred used it expertly.  Combined with his own power, it almost gave him the strength of an original power, but Mordred wasn’t quite Rumplestiltskin’s equal. 

So, he snapped out his right hand, his proximity to Mordred lending his spell additional strength as Rumplestiltskin straight up smothered the attempted attack.  The resulting _crack_ filled the air like thunder, rocking the ground under their feet and making Mordred cry out.  Rumplestiltskin tightened his grip on the other man’s shirt, reining back his anger with an effort.  He could use that fury, but only if it was properly shaped and harnessed.  Mindlessly destructive fury was dangerous, and not just to his enemies.  He would _not_ indulge that anger and let it run wild.  He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Yet that didn’t mean he had to let Mordred get away with trying to kill his son, either.

“My son is not an abomination,” he said softly, holding his temper back with supreme effort.  “And if you ever even _think_ of trying to harm or kill him again, I will—”

“Don’t,” Morgan cut in again, her voice cracking.  “Please.  If you make an oath of that sort with so much magic present, you know you will be held to any promises you make.”

“Oh, I know that.”  He felt the smile crease his face, dark and cold.  Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have minded having his own magic bind him to such a promise.  It was one worth making.  Yet he found it very interesting that Morgan was not pleading for her son’s life—she was asking him not to allow magic to hold him to such an oath was…interesting, to say the least.

“You don’t strike me as a fool.”  Morgan stepped forward, and before Rumplestiltskin or Mordred could react, yanked the pendant right out of Mordred’s hand.

“Mother—!”

“Be quiet, Mordred.”  Her eyes flashed, and then she turned back to Rumplestiltskin.  “You already know what I am going to tell you.  I am your mother, and Mordred is your half-brother.   I should have told you much sooner, but I was afraid to.”

Those words startled Rumplestiltskin into letting go of Mordred and stepping away from his half-brother.  _Mordred is my half-brother._   He hadn’t wanted to think about that, hadn’t wanted to face the fact that he knew exactly what Morgan had been saying.  Yet the small child inside him, the boy who had asked his father about his mother, who had hoped against foolish hope that his mother might arrive to take him away from the deadbeat swindler who he loved despite himself. 

“Why should I believe you?”  The words didn’t come out with as much confidence as he wanted them to; instead, his voice shook helplessly.  Rumplestiltskin was three hundred years old, and he was supposed to be past wanting a mother.

He _was_ past that.  Whoever she was, even if Morgan _was_ his mother, that didn’t matter.  Rumplestiltskin was finally in a good place in his life, finally had family that he was willing to fight for—and that would fight for him!—and he would not let her ruin that.

“I would say something along the lines of the fact that you know I’m speaking the truth, but that would be clichéd.  The bottom line is that you walked through his blood magic’d wards, and I can show you the spells I worked to confirm it was you.”  Morgan sounded dispassionate until her voice broke when she added: “The child that I abandoned, I mean.”

“Why?”  Surprisingly, it was Baelfire who spoke up, his voice harsh as he and Henry both stepped up to his father’s side.  “Why leave him with that worthless son of a bitch?”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come.  Part of him was stuck centuries in the past, as a boy whose father had traded him for youth and immortality.  The rest just watched his son dumbly.

“I could not take him with me.”  Morgan’s expression was curiously pained, but Mordred just looked incredulous.  “I…I thought he would be better off with his father.  I fear I was wrong.”

“You can say that again,” Bae muttered, and Rumplestiltskin felt like he was being sucked down by a vortex.  His mother— _his mother!_ —had thought he’d be better with _Malcolm_?  Was she mad, or blind?

This woman was his mother.

_Morgan of Cornwall_ was his mother.

“You…” He cleared his throat nosily, struggling against the terrified tightness in his chest.  “How long have you known?”

“Ten days.”  Morgan met his eyes squarely; at least she didn’t try to prevaricate.  “I found you once as a child, growing up with two spinsters who seemed to love you dearly.  But I never expected you to live centuries beyond your expected lifespan.”

“You never checked?” Henry demanded, and a distant and broken part of Rumplestiltskin was unspeakably grateful that his son and his grandson were so clearly on his side.

Morgan grimaced.  “I spent the years leading up to the second curse in a crystal cave where time did not run concurrently with the rest of the realms.  I emerged because—”

“You knew for _ten days_ and you didn’t tell me?” Mordred interrupted, his voice harsh.  He was staring at his mother— _their_ mother!—incredulously.

“Given your prejudices against a former Dark One, I thought your brother should know first.”

“He is unworthy of the Sorcerer’s power—you know what he was!  He has allied with the Dark One, and _he_ denied me the chance to rid the world of that darkness forever!”

Listening to Mordred protest finally snapped Rumplestiltskin out of his shocked lethargy.  “You really didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”  He snorted.  “Even if that Vault was not _easily_ opened from the outside, and even if you never lost the dagger—which you would—locking any Dark One away would only give the darkness an unlimited feast upon that human soul.”

“Emma hasn’t been consumed yet,” Bae put in.  “But that would do it.”

Mordred rolled his eyes, scowling.  “Of course she’s been consumed.  They _all_ get consumed.”

“You really don’t know much, do you?” Henry looked at his newfound great-uncle like he was an absolute idiot.

Mordred merely glared back, and Rumplestiltskin was suddenly very glad that Morgan had taken the Greater Sapphire away.  He could feel Mordred’s anger, could feel the magic crackling in the air.  _My own half-brother has now tried to kill both my son and my grandson_.  Somehow, Rumplestiltskin did not doubt that Morgan was telling the truth about his parentage.  Any relationship between them would be too easy to verify…and Morgan had already come to Belle and expressed a desire to talk to him.  No, this wasn’t a trick.  Morgan was too smart for that.

“Mordred.”  She spoke softly, but there was a core of steel in her voice that made part of Rumplestiltskin shiver.  “I know this is unexpected, but these men—and this boy—are family.  You will not harm them.  You cannot.”

Rumplestiltskin expected Mordred to argue, or to flat out ignore his mother.  But Mordred’s glower only deepened, and his posture turned stiff.   He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he obviously wasn’t prepared to press the point, at least not in present company.  Instead, Mordred’s expression finally closed off, familiar brown eyes growing dark.

“I will speak to you about this later.”  Mordred stepped back, and then vanished in a cloud of smoke.

After a moment of watching the now-empty space where Mordred had stood, Morgan turned to face Bae and Henry.  “Would you…give us a moment, please?”  She sounded like a woman who did not enjoy appearing hesitant, but Rumplestiltskin could see the uncertainty in her posture.

“Pop?”

Rumplestiltskin glanced at his son and grandson; he felt like he was underwater again.  “It’s all right.”  Uneasy though he felt— _terrified_ though he was—Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer.  He could handle anything that Morgan could throw at him, at least magically.  “Shall I send you both to the library?”

Bae picked up the hint right away.  “You want me to tell Belle?”

“Please.”  Was that the coward’s way out?  Rumplestiltskin didn’t know, but Belle needed to be told.  Fast.

His son nodded, and Rumplestiltskin twitched his hand, teleporting Baelfire and Henry away…and leaving himself alone.  With his mother.

* * *

 

Regina had been all set to head out to the park—to _Henry!_ —when Grumpy texted her.  Apparently, Zelena had been seen out by her farm house, along with a couple of flying monkeys, which meant this was the perfect time to put the hammer down on her dear sister.  But Henry had to come first, which meant she found herself looking at her phone yet again.  _In the park, Mordred showed up.  Grandpa’s here, I’m okay._   She could trust Rumple to look after Henry, couldn’t she?  He was the damned Sorcerer, and he should be able to take care of the two-bit king from Camelot, even if it was the magical one of the two supposed kings.

_Sure you’re all right?_ she texted him back quickly.  Regina’s sense of responsibility as mayor warred momentarily with a mother’s worry, but Henry replied right away.

_Yeah.  Mordred got his butt kicked.  Family tree just got more tangled._

What the hell was that supposed to mean?  Regina felt her eyebrows go up, but at least that meant Henry was safe.  She might not always see eye to eye with her old teacher, but now that he didn’t have that darkness munching on his soul, he seemed like a lot better person…but just as likely to kill for his family if necessary.  _At least we agree on_ that _, unlike some other people in our tangled family tree,_ Regina thought, letting out a breath.  Henry was all right.  He’d been with his dad, anyway, and as weird as it was having Neal—or Baelfire, now, she supposed—back in the land of the living, she knew that Rumple’s son would protect Henry with his life. 

Once, she would have hated the idea of sharing her son.  Now she was rather happy that he had so many parents and family members who loved him.  _I suppose that means I really have changed, huh?_   Smiling to herself, Regina started to text Henry again, only to have a new text from him arrive.

_At the library with Dad and Belle now.  Lots of news for you later._

Well, that was interesting, but if Rumple had sent them to the library, she could go after Zelena without worry.  _Going to chase Greenie,_ she replied to the text.  _Love you.  Will ask lots of questions later._

Henry sent her a smiley face in return, and Regina slipped her phone into her pocket before teleporting out to the farmhouse’s front drive.  Grumpy was waiting, giving her a look that left no doubt how he’d wound up with _that_ name.

“Took you long enough, sister.  What’d you have to do, paint your nails, first?” He glared at her, but it seemed to be one of his proving-I’m-a-grouch glares rather than one that was actually angry.

“No, I had to make sure that a lunatic from Camelot wasn’t hurting my son.  I trust that’s a worthy distraction?”

“Is Henry okay?”

“Yeah.  Rumple showed up.”  And wasn’t it a weird world where _that_ was considered a good thing?  Judging from the look on Grumpy’s face, he agreed.

“Doc spotted a bunch of flying monkeys heading into the barn earlier.  We thought it might be a good idea to bring someone with magic along.”  He gestured at the barn where Zelena had once constructed her time travel spell.  “Figured it might not be a good idea to shoot them if they might be our friends.”

She hadn’t noticed the other three dwarves standing nearby: Doc, Happy, and—okay, not a dwarf, but a downsized giant—Tiny all waited with various weapons in hand.   Tiny had a ridiculously small crossbow, but the other two carried pickaxes, which really wouldn’t work against flying monkeys.  Regina couldn’t help rolling her eyes, even though a part of her was touched that they actually believed in her enough to back her up.  Not that she’d ever admit it.

“Great, I get to join dwarves’ club.  Just what I always wanted.”

“Don’t knock it, sister,” Grumpy shot back.  “We’re handy in a pinch.”

“And Doc makes a mean bruschetta,” Happy volunteered cheerfully.  “We eat it at all our dwarves’ club meetings.”

Regina just groaned.  “If I’d known there would be appetizers, I’d have come hungry.”  She headed towards the barn, dwarves—and giant—in tow.  “Let’s go deal with the damned monkeys.  I hope you’re up to keeping them off my back while I deal with Greenie.”

“You can count on us,” Doc promised, and somehow, Regina felt that she really could.

Of course, it turned out that Zelena was nowhere to be found and the seven monkeys were in a particularly vicious mood, which wound up with Happy’s arm broken, Grumpy’s nose busted, and Tiny having shot Doc in the leg with the crossbow.  All in all, it turned out to be a ridiculous comedy of errors and an absolute waste of time, but at least nobody got killed.

* * *

 

“Mordred sent you, didn’t he?”

Zelena giggled aloud, but part of her seethed.  Did all of these Camelot people assume that a woman couldn’t make decisions on her own?  She hadn’t even told Mordred that she was planning on doing this, because it didn’t involve him.  _Mordred_ still thought her sister was desirable, probably, and he probably wouldn’t approve.  Though Zelena did doubt that Mordred would mourn Arthur’s obnoxious little squire, he really didn’t need to know what she was up to.

“Mordred doesn’t control me.  _No one_ controls me.”  Zelena smiled wolfishly as the helpless squire flinched.  She’d caught him outside the shoe store, grabbing his arm to make him stop just as the sun went down.  Grif had tried to pull away, but Zelena had used magic to hoist him into the air, where he kicked wildly like a trapped animal, red faced and terrified, and she allowed herself a little gleeful wiggle as he fought impotently.

“”Then what do you want?” Grif’s voice was strangely high-pitched, but at least he was smart enough to fear her.  So many people weren’t.

_I’ll teach them!_

“Oh, I don’t know,” Zelena purred, reminding herself to act like Regina.  So much ego was hard to fake, but she could do it.  “Maybe I don’t like the way your so-called king is trying to take over _my_ town _._ ”

“It’s not Arthur’s fault!”

“Oh, I think it is.”  She reached up and tore Grif’s heart right out of his chest, smirking as he let out a hoarse cry.  That was Regina’s signature move, after all.  “And I think this will send quite the message, don’t you?”

Grif was starting to panic, shaking like a leaf.  “Let me go.  Please, I haven’t done anything, and I can pass on any message that you want.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Down the street, someone started shouting, but they weren’t close enough to stop her.  _It’s about damned time.  Do people in this town_ never _notice things until it’s too late?_   Not scoffing took all of Zelena’s self-control.  Several people _finally_ started rushing their way from near the library, and that was exactly what Zelena wanted.  She couldn’t have asked for better witnesses, either.  One of Arthur’s knights was there, as was August, the asinine wooden puppet—those two had seemed to be in a serious conversation, but now they had their full attention on “Regina”.  Maleficent and her daughter weren’t far away, either, and while Lily seemed to find the whole thing amusing, Maleficent didn’t appear to agree. 

_Perfect.  That’s_ just _what I need._ Her plan was working out exactly as Zelena had known it would.  There were others around, too, coming in their direction and shouting at her, but one of Arthur’s allies and Regina’s old friend would do nicely. 

Maleficent’s voice carried across the distance, crisp and clear.  “Regina, what are you—”

Zelena crushed the heart.

Grif collapsed like a sack of limp potatoes, and Zelena let him fall to the ground.  Several people in the crowd gasped in shock, so she turned to face them with her most evil smile in place.

“ _No one_ challenges me and gets away with it,” she answered Maleficent with a sneer.  “This is _my_ town.”

She teleported herself away in a cloud of smoke, but not before she heard August mutter:

“So much for her playing on the heroes’ side.”

* * *

 

The former cricket was proving more useful than Danns’ expected.  Oh, her time as Widow Morton told her how open people were with Archie Hopper, but she had underestimated how _easily_ Archie could appear anywhere.  The town counselor didn’t even know she had his heart, and she hardly needed to control him all of the time—she often just _watched_ people talk to him and learned from that.  Today, of course, being able to control Archie was far more important than simply observing.  Particularly where Lancelot was concerned.

She’d already sent Archie to talk to her favorite knight once, and had learned that Lancelot’s typical meticulous nature was working in her favor.  Being Lancelot, he wouldn’t share her true identity with anyone until he knew he could _prove_ those outlandish accusations—he’d learned that lesson the hard way back in Camelot.  Back then, of course, she’d had control of the (secret) Dark One, and had sent Merlin to smack Mordred down when Arthur’s bastard tried to make an issue of things.  _Such a shame,_ Danns’ thought, looking at Lancelot’s pretty face through Archie’s eyes.  He really had been one of her more pleasing lovers, at least before he’d betrayed her.  _Now he is trying to turn my granddaughter against me, and Lancelot has stretched what remains of my goodwill beyond tolerance._

He was on his way to the library.  Undoubtedly on his way to tell _Belle,_ to betray her again.  She didn’t need Archie to ask Lancelot what he had planned; she could tell.  Undoubtedly, Lancelot was on his way to share truths with Belle that Danns’ did not yet want revealed.  Her granddaughter was all she had left of Colette, and Danns’ was not going to let _anyone_ take that away.  So she twitched her finger, focused her will, and sent Archie after Lancelot.

A few minutes later, she teleported herself to where Lancelot lay bleeding on the ground, sealing the head wound up with a flick of her wrist.  Then she turned to a still-dazed Archie and erased his memory of having bashed Lancelot in the back of the head with a brick.

Danns’ could hear voices speaking in the library, but Belle had no idea how far she was willing to go to protect her.  Yet.

* * *

 

Henry had thought he’d heard something, though maybe his head was spinning too wildly to tell.  He’d always known—or at least after his dad turned out to be Rumplestiltskin’s son—that his family tree was twisted and confusing, but this really took the cake.  Morgan le Fae was his great-grandmother!  He remembered talking to his grandfather about his mother a few days earlier, but Henry had never imaged that she might still be alive.  Rumplestiltskin had been convinced that she wasn’t…but now she was.  Henry was as excited as he was shocked, and he was _so_ curious.  But he knew why his grandfather had sent them to the library.

His dad and Belle were talking, now, both seeming as shocked as he was.  They were adults, though, which meant they needed to talk about it a _lot_ more, and Bae in particular looked like he didn’t know what to say or do.  Belle was sitting next to him, though, which freed Henry up to investigate the odd _thump_ he thought he’d heard outside the windows facing the Second Avenue.  It was probably nothing, or maybe some kids playing around, but he was antsy enough that Henry wanted to check.  So, he ducked out the side door, turning right and squinting in the waning light outside.  He hadn’t realized it was so dark, so he took a step forward—

Only to find himself face to face with Archie Hopper.

“Dr. Hopper?”

Blinking, Archie stumbled as he turned to face him.  “Henry…?”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so, yes.”  Archie looked around in confusion, staring blankly at the library.  “I…don’t remember how I got here.  Last I remember, I was—I was—”

Archie swayed, and Henry reached out to catch him before he could fall.  The older man looked at him with wide and confused eyes, but Henry’s attention was taken up by the fact that his hands had landed on something warm and sticky when he grabbed Archie’s arm.  Confused, Henry looked down, only to see that there was blood on Archie’s right sleeve.  There was a big splatter there, which Henry’s hand had landed right in, but the bulk of the blood was on Archie’s hands.

“Archie?” Henry snapped his head up to look at his old shrink’s face.  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t really know.  I was at home, and then suddenly I was here.”  Archie looked down at his hands and went pale.  “How did I get blood on my hands?”

“I think we’d better go see my grandpa.  And probably my mom.”

Encountering no resistance, Henry took Archie by the arm and started to lead him towards the sheriff’s station.  He’d seen the bloody brick on the ground, too, and Henry knew what had to be going on.  Either Archie had turned murderous lunatic with no warning—something that wasn’t likely, even in Storybrooke—or someone had his heart.  But he needed to get Archie away from the scene before someone else found him and decided that Archie was guilty.  _Or, worse yet, they blame Emma._ Henry might have only been thirteen, but even he could sense that the mood in Storybrooke remained ugly.  Archie had brokered the truce between the town and Emma, which meant everyone who’d been furious with Emma before would want to blame her now.

Besides, he knew that Emma couldn’t have done this.  She was fighting the darkness, and he believed in her.

* * *

 

They ended up going to his shop.  Rumplestiltskin wanted privacy, not to stand in the middle of a field for his first real conversation with the mother who had abandoned him.  He hadn’t even known what she _looked_ like until now, but Rumplestiltskin knew that Morgan couldn’t be lying.  Yet he was still dreadfully uneasy, or maybe downright terrified.  He didn’t know what to do or what to say, beyond inviting Morgan back to the shop to talk.  Once they arrived, however, he had no idea what to do.

Turning towards his workbench, Rumplestiltskin reached out uneasily to fiddle with the Mickey Mouse phone he’d been working on.  Geppetto had brought it in the week before, and there was some sort of wiring problem inside that he’d kept meaning to fix—

“I suppose this is very unfair to you.”

Morgan’s voice made him spin around, gulping guiltily.  He didn’t know _why_ he felt guilty, only that he did.  But that was ridiculous.  She was his mother, yes, but Morgan hadn’t ever been part of his life.  He didn’t need to worry about what she thought of him.  He didn’t need to jump when she spoke, and his heart had no reason to be in his throat.

Belatedly, Rumplestiltskin realized that he needed to open his mouth and say _something_.  “It’s, um, not exactly what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”  Morgan cocked her head curiously.

“Nothing,” he said bluntly, and then shrugged.  “He told me you left.  That you left me with _him_.”

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t meant to sound bitter; he’d thought that he’d put that aside after he’d killed his father, but apparently there were some lingering feelings that he hadn’t been able to suppress.  Morgan, however, took the blow well enough, sighing quietly before she nodded.  “Because I did.”  She took a deep breath.  “I thought…I thought I was giving you your best chance.  But I believe I was wrong.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard; he didn’t know what to say.  He just folded his hands uneasily, glancing down at them and trying not to fidget.  He felt like he was seven years old again, faced with the fact that his father wasn’t coming back.  Back then, he’d never thought about his mother, having assumed that she was long dead.  But now she wasn’t, and Morgan was _here_.  His mother.  He still didn’t know what to do with that.  For so many years, he’d been a man who always knew what to do, what to say.  He was the man who the heroes turned to when they couldn’t figure out what to do, so why couldn’t Rumplestiltskin decide how to speak to his own mother?

_I’ve never had a mother before.  Maybe that’s why._

“I am sorry.  I did not have magic enough to keep you alive if I brought you with me…and I did not think you would ever have magic of your own.”

“I didn’t.”  His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears.  “Not until I became the Dark One because a murderous duke’s wars would have murdered my son, otherwise.”

“And now you are the Sorcerer.”

A shiver ran down his spine.  Was that pride or disgust in her level voice?  He couldn’t tell.  “I am.”

Morgan grimaced.  “He was a terrible father, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t move past that, try though they did.  Rumplestiltskin’s voice turned angry as old hurts welled up within him.  “He gave me up for youth, immortality, and rule of a useless little island.”

“Neverland.”  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up.  “He became _Pan_?”

“Clearly his reputation preceded him.”

“I…” Morgan’s expression was unguarded, full of grief and shock, though Rumplestiltskin had the feeling that she was not normally so open.  “I know I cannot make up for what I have done to you.  And I cannot replace the years lost.  But I would hope for a new beginning…if you are willing.”

Every instinct inside him told Rumplestiltskin to say no.  Years of experience, of heartbreak and loss, told him to back away from this woman, to be cordial but distant, and to never, _ever_ let her into his heart.  Everyone he had ever loved—with the startling exception of Baelfire and Belle—had cast him away or betrayed him.  Even his own mother had left him as a squalling babe, however logical her reasons had been.  He knew not to trust, had learned that the hard way.  Better to protect his heart, wiped clean though it had been, than to risk being hurt still more than life had already broken him.  And yet…was he still that man?

The man Rumplestiltskin had been as the Dark One would have turned his back on Morgan.  But now he was re-learning how to trust, cautiously and carefully.  What would Belle tell him to do?

_Belle would tell me that love is always worth the risk._

“I would like that,” Rumplestiltskin whispered around the lump in his throat. 

“As would I.”

Morgan’s smile was hesitant, and for a long moment, Rumplestiltskin thought she might reach out to him.  Her hand fluttered in the air briefly before drawing back, and they both fell silent.  They were too much alike, Rumplestiltskin knew instinctively.  They were plotters and planners, good at thinking strategically and managing the grand scheme of events.  Yet neither knew what to do when things touched them too closely.  Both were slow to trust and slower to open up, and yet here they were, trying so hard.

There were a thousand and one questions he wanted to ask, yet somehow the words would not come.  Finally, Rumplestiltskin managed to whisper: “What now?  _Why_ now?”

“Because the war that began almost nine centuries ago in Camelot has begun anew.”  Clearly, she found the second question easier to answer than the first; now Morgan looked Rumplestiltskin in the eye, and he could see her back straightening and her gaze growing fierce.  “I do not know what you learned from Merlin, but I think you have begun to understand what is at stake.  Centuries before I was born, the Blue and Black Faeries warred over dominion of _all_ magical realms.  Merlin stood between them, and he was the balance that kept them from destroying all of us between them.  But the Black Fairy broke the balance when she tricked him into becoming the Dark One.”

“I knew much of that.”  Between his own studies of history and having seen several of Merlin’s memories, Rumplestiltskin had a basic understanding of the Foundation Wars.  But Morgan had _lived_ through the second one, and if he could trust her, she could tell him _everything_.  Morgan had already told Belle that the Black Fairy was here in Storybrooke; did she know more?  Perhaps it was his turn to volunteer something.  “I have seen some of Merlin’s memories.”

“Good.  Then you know what is at stake?  You wife told you?”

“She did.”

“It is worse than you know.  Mordred’s obsession with stopping the Dark One stems from a prophecy my grandmother made and I foolishly shared with him—that one of my line would eventually destroy the darkness.  He believes it is him.  I am no longer certain.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his jaw dropping open.  “You…you think it might be _me_?”  The alternative was Hook, of course—or perhaps Bae or Henry, who were both also descendants of Morgan’s—but he doubted she would be looking at him so seriously if she meant someone else.

“Yes.  You are the Sorcerer, and you have earned the Dark One’s trust.  Such a situation has not existed since Merlin and Nimue, and she lost herself far too quickly.  You did not.  Neither has this Emma Swan.   _You_ may have the chance Merlin squandered when he chose to trust Danns' a'Bhàis.  But you must do it quickly, lest Danns’ gain control of the Dark One once more.  That power added to her own may well doom us all.”

“Is Mordred trying to prevent that, or is he simply so narrow-minded that he would destroy the Dark One—host and all—at all costs?”  Now that he knew Mordred was his brother, Rumplestiltskin figured he should try to be fair to the other man, but knowing that Mordred had tried to kill both his son and grandson made that hard.  _As well as Henry’s mother, the woman whom I know Bae still loves._

Morgan sighed heavily, glancing down at the pendant in her hand.  “I fear it is the latter.  Particularly now.  The Greater Sapphire has power enough to corrupt even someone who has the best of intentions, and Mordred has corrupted himself aplenty already.  He has been slipping for a long time, and I was a fool not to see it until now.  This stone only makes it worse.”

“Are you saying that what remains of an original power is enough to corrupt any soul?”  If she was, what did that say about him?”

“No.  And yes.  You are unique.  Fighting that darkness for years gave you an advantage.”  His mother looked him straight in the eye.  “Merlin chose well when he passed that power onto you.  Mordred does not have your steel.”

“My _what_?”  Rumplestiltskin gaped.  “I’ve been a coward all my life!”

Abruptly, Morgan reached out and laid a hand on his arm.  “You are no coward.  I have seen you fight twice now.  Feeling fear does not negate bravery, Rumplestiltskin.  It merely makes it more true.  And I have seen your bravery.”

All Rumplestiltskin could do was stare at her hand, barely processing the words that she’d said.  Yet those began to slowly sink in as his heart beat faster and faster.  His father had always told him how worthless he was, yet here was his _mother_ , telling him that he was not a coward.  So, he stared at that hand on his arm, trying to understand why this small sliver of affection warmed his heart so much.

“Rumple?”

Startled, Rumplestiltskin turned to find his wife coming through the curtain from the front of the shop, her eyes full of compassion and concern.  Belle came immediately to his side, glancing warily at Morgan.  Her none-too-subtle protectiveness finally helped Rumplestiltskin find his voice as Morgan pulled her hand away from his arm.

“Hey.”  Smiling for Belle was easy; his heart always felt more at ease in her presence. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”  _I think so_.  He didn’t have to say the rest; Belle clearly understood, anyway.  She took the arm that Morgan had let go of, squeezing gently.

“I will leave the two of you to talk,” Morgan said softly, glancing between the two of them.  Her eyes settled on Belle.  “We must speak soon of your grandparents.  Not now, but there are things you must know.  Or you can ask Lancelot—I suspect you would trust him more.”

Belle frowned.  “I’ve looked for him, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“That is worrisome.  Let me see what I can find.”  Morgan hesitated, and then continued:  “We have not much time, but this can wait a few days.  I think he needs them.”

Part of Rumplestiltskin disliked the fact that his wife and his mother were talking about him like this, but the rest of him felt oddly warm and cared for.  He shouldn’t trust this, shouldn’t trust Morgan, but damn it all.  He _wanted_ to.  So he watched his mother leave with a strange sense of loss, the little boy within him wanting to shout at her to come back while the man he’d become was beyond grateful for Belle’s warm presence at his side.  He hadn’t been this confused in years, and had Belle not been there to anchor him, Rumplestiltskin felt like he might have blown away.

* * *

 

She waited until he was asleep before fleeing.  Emma _knew_ that coming to Killian like this was wrong—and even more importantly, it wasn’t fair to him.  But she’d let her own desperation and loneliness drive her, had let the lust-filled darkness guide her hands, and somehow she’d sought out the man who she had so recently walked away from.  _I’m still angry_ , she’d told Killian as they kissed a little while earlier, but the truth had been that she was selfish.  She’d wanted something simple.  Something easy.  But how did she deal with Killian when she’d just slept with him days after telling him that she needed space?

“Is this how it is, then, Swan?” His voice reached her back just as Emma paused in the doorway leading out of his cabin, and Emma froze.  “Is this your version of space?”

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have come here.”  _Don’t apologize!_ the darkness railed at her, sounding angrily like Nimue.  _You told him what you wanted.  It’s his fault if he’s too stupid to remember that.  He wasn’t exactly objecting, either._

Emma didn’t turn, but she could hear Killian climbing out of the bed.  “I want to love you, Emma.  But you’re making it damn hard.”

“I know.”  Swallowing, she forced herself to turn around, squashing Nimue’s furious objections as she did so.  “But you’re not exactly making it easy to trust you, either.”

“I did what I thought was right!” 

She could see the desperation in Killian’s eyes, but Emma held up a hand.  “I don’t want to go through this again.  I can’t just _forget_ that your actions—however you meant them—almost got Henry killed.  Because you didn’t want _me_ to know what you were up to.”

“I didn’t want the Dark One inside your head to stop me.  There’s a difference.”

Emma hadn’t know that hearing those words again could hurt so much.  “Then you don’t trust me to be in control.  Why should I trust you if you don’t trust me?”

“I’m not the one with a bloody elemental darkness knocking around inside my skull trying to _force_ me to be darker.  The old you would have—”

“The old me is gone!  Why can’t you see that?” Emma just wanted to shake him, and again, she started to wonder what would come after this.  Being the Dark One would _always_ stain her soul, even if she were rid of the darkness tomorrow.  Could Killian accept that changed Emma, or would he always want the pure and good Savior back?

“That’s not true, love.  I see you in there.  I see you fighting every day.”  Killian stepped forward, reaching for her hand.  Against her better judgment, Emma let him take her left hand in his right.  His touch was gentle, and a part of her just wanted to lose herself in it.  _I can’t take that easy road.  I have to be strong for myself; I can’t depend on someone else to do it for me._

“Then why don’t you believe I can win?” she whispered, hating how weak her voice sounded.

_Because he hates you.  He hates all of us._

“I do think you can win.  I just remember what happened to the Crocodile, and I worry.”

“ _I_ am the Crocodile, now, Killian,” Emma pointed out, her voice hard.  “That darkness that drove Rumplestiltskin to crush Milah’s heart is in _me,_ now.  Not him.”

He let go of her hand as if burnt, and Emma could see the pain in his eyes.  But Killian had always refused to face that fact, had always absolved her—automatically!—of anything he would have blamed her predecessor for a thousand times over.  Emma had taken comfort in that, in the beginning, had believed him when he said that he didn’t fear darkness, had wanted to think that he was her road to redemption.  But she’d been wrong to lean on him, wrong to depend upon Killian to show her the way to the light.  Emma had always fought for herself, and she needed to remember that.  Having love and support was important, and made fighting _so_ much easier, but no one could fight these battles for her.

“You’re not like him.”

“I am.”  Emma hated saying the next words, but she knew they were true.  “I had even less reason to kill Granny than he did Milah.  I lost control just like he did.  That _same_ darkness is inside me.  I just have more people who care about me and want to help me.  That’s the only thing that keeps me from becoming like Rumplestiltskin at his worst.”

Killian looked stunned, or perhaps even a little sick.  Part of Emma hated herself for saying this to him, but he’d always wanted to turn a blind eye to the fact that she was now the being he had hated for so long.  Emma couldn’t lie to herself any longer, not if she wanted to keep control.  Understanding that had taken her a long time, but she wasn’t going to make excuses—or allow anyone else to do so for her.  But she truly did hate herself for the pain she saw in Killian’s eyes.  A part of her would always love him, and she’d always be grateful for the way he’d stood by her when she’d been lost and alone, but Emma couldn’t let gratitude or her own confusing feelings dictate her actions.  Not even when Killian looked so broken.

“Is that why you came here, then?  To prove that you can hurt people as much as he ever did?”

“No.”  She bit her lip.  “I came because I was selfish and alone.  I shouldn’t have.”

“That’s it?  No other reason?  Nothing about a devilishly handsome pirate who you just can’t stay away from?”

Emma knew what he was looking for, and her heart twisted painfully in her chest.  “I still need space, Killian.  I can’t trust you when a part of you will always believe that I’m a monster.”

“It’s hard not to when you’re bloody determined to shove it in my face, Swan,” he snarled, finally goaded to anger.

“Because I’m not going to lie anymore!  I’m not going to hide, or to pretend.  If I do that, I’ll just lose myself and let the darkness win.  If you want to love me, you have to love _all_ of me—not just the pieces you pick and choose.  You have to trust all of me or none at all.”

Killian’s face closed off.  “You’re the Dark One.  That rather implies that you are, by nature, _anything_ but trustworthy.”

“And that’s why I need to leave.”  Emma swallowed hard, and steeled herself.  “If I come back, remind yourself of what we both just said, and tell me to go away.”

She would do her damnedest not to let herself be so weak again, but knowing how the darkness would push her was hard.  Emma was fairly certain that Nimue had nudged her into seeking out Killian, or maybe it had been her own fears after listening to Guinevere imply that she would take the dagger.  Either way, she’d been a fool, and now she’d hurt Killian because of it.  But there was no taking back what she’d done, so she turned as quickly as she could and left his ship.  This time, she didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Nine—“But in Her Web She Still Delights”, where Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire deal with the aftermath of these family revelations, Henry takes Archie to see Charming, Zelena continues to wreak havoc, Regina runs into trouble, and Arthur demands justice for Grif’s murder.


	49. But in Her Web She Still Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voting is open for the TEAs! This story has been nominated for Best AU!OUAT, Best Season Rewrite, and Danns' has been nominated for Best OC (Under her first fic, Original Powers). This story's parent series, Ruins & Battles, has also been nominated for Best Series. If you're on tumblr and so inclined, please head on over and vote for some of the awesome stories there.

“Are you okay?”

It took Rumplestiltskin a long moment to realize Belle was talking to _him_ ; had she asked that question once, or three times?  He’d stood in silence and shock ever since Morgan had walked out, and he still had no idea what to make of _any_ of this.  He had a mother…and he didn’t hate her.  Or, at least he didn’t think he did.  He wanted to know more about why Morgan hadn’t been able to take him with her, wanted to know why she thought Malcolm was anything approaching someone good to leave a child with.  Truthfully, he couldn’t really blame her for the latter.  He’d heard the whispers, growing up in Hamelin, and the story of his conception _never_ painted Malcolm in a sympathetic light.  Everyone had always said that his mother—whoever she’d been—had been down and depressed, and Malcolm had bought her drink after drink to worm his way into her bed.  Most people were decent enough not to tell the story where a  young boy could hear it, but a few hadn’t been.

Besides, Rumplestiltskin had seen his father with women in taverns.  He couldn’t usually afford to pay for any of them, and no decent woman would have put up with him for more than ten seconds.  Malcolm’s game had always been to wait until the woman in question was too drunk to make good decisions, and he usually didn’t care how much they objected even afterwards.  There was a reason that Rumplestiltskin had _always_ been so careful to treat women with respect, and it hadn’t just been because his aunts had raised him right.  Even as the Dark One, he’d never imagined forcing himself upon anyone; he’d willingly slept with a grand total of three women in his life, and he’d been married to two of them and meant to marry the third.  The idea of sleeping with any woman against her will sickened him, even before Zelena—

“Rumple?”

Belle’s hands squeezed his arm gently, and he finally tore himself free of the sinkhole his thoughts had wandered into.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his wife whispered, tugging him over to the cot.  Rumplestiltskin sat down automatically, still feeling so overcome by emotion that he was almost numb.  “But will you talk to me?  You’ve stood there in silence for almost twenty minutes.”

“Has it been that long?”  He forced himself to blink and then look at her.  Belle squeezed his hands and nodded.

“It has.”

“Oh.”

“Are you all right?  Bae told me that Morgan said she’s your mother.  You don’t seem to doubt it.”

Only the feel of Belle rubbing her fingers over the backs of his knuckles kept Rumplestiltskin grounded, and he let out a long breath.  “I don’t think she’s lying.  It’s too easy to confirm, and it explains how I could walk right through Mordred’s wards.  I’ll want to do a few spells to be sure, but…but I think she’s telling the truth.”

He didn’t know if he was all right, and he was very glad that Belle didn’t ask again.  Instead, she continued in her gentle way, prodding him to be as honest as he’d learned to be since having the darkness pulled from him:

“Tell me more?”

“I…I never knew my mother.  He always said she dumped me on him.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted humorlessly.  “I always thought that meant she died.  I guess it was more complicated than that.”

“She didn’t say anything cruel, did she?”  He could hear the protectiveness in his wife’s voice, and it made Rumplestiltskin smile.

“No.  Rather the opposite, actually.  I would have known what to do with a parent who was cruel.”  The last sentence escaped on its own, broken and quiet, and Rumplestiltskin was too lost in his own childhood memories to notice before Belle’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“Oh, Rumple.”  Lips touched his hair, and Rumplestiltskin let himself slump into her as Belle rubbed his back. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly.  “Or even what to feel.  It’s so… _much_.  I have a mother.  I have a half-brother who has tried to kill Bae and Henry, and who probably sees me as the epitome of evil because I survived being the Dark One.  And, even more ironically”—the laugh that escaped was a little unhinged—“Killian Jones is my nephew.”

“Don’t forget that my grandfather is your step-uncle, or something crazy like that.”

Now his giggle turned a little high-pitched; Rumplestiltskin felt like he was going a little crazy; there was just too much to handle and everything had happened so damned fast.  He was good at strategy, good at planning on the fly, but Rumplestiltskin hadn’t had something hit this close to home in a long time.  He’d never been good at coping with family problems, because he’d so rarely _had_ family that would stand by him.  He’d tried to be the kind of parent for Bae that he’d never had—and that Milah would never even try to be—but he’d messed that up, too.  And now, just when he’d thought his family was straightened out, just when he was in the best emotional place of his entire life, _this_ happened.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, sweetheart,” he whispered once he managed to stop laughing brokenly.

“Well, you’re not going to have to find out.”  He could hear the brave smile in her voice.  “Because I’m going to be here, no matter how crazy this gets.”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in her presence.  Just being this close to Belle was soothing, helped him distance himself from the emotional maelstrom inside him.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Belle squeezed him one more time.  “Now, let’s close the shop and go home.  If anyone has some sort of emergency, they can come to the house.  I think you’re done for the day.”

She didn’t have to say that twice; Rumplestiltskin knew he couldn’t deal with some other ridiculous crisis at the moment.  His own was quite enough for him.

* * *

 

“Gramps?”

David turned, surprised to see Henry leading a visibly shaken Archie Hopper into the sheriff’s station.  Archie looked more than a little lost, not even wearing his customary smile, and was that _blood_ on his hands?  David was on his feet in an instant, heading towards the pair.

“What happened?”

“I don’t really remember,” Archie admitted, looking ashamed.  “One minute, I was waiting for my last appointment of the afternoon to show up, and the next I was standing outside the library with a bloody brick in my hands.  I…I think I hurt someone, David.”

Those were words David had thought he’d _never_ hear from Archie Hopper, and they took a moment to swallow.  “Was anyone there?”

Archie shook his head numbly; Henry added: “I heard a thump from inside the library, but by the time I got there, Archie was alone.”

“Well, at least it’s hard to prove there was a crime if there’s no victim.”  David took a deep breath.  “Do you remember anyone coming by that had magic?  Someone that might have put a spell on you?”

“No.  There was no one.”  Archie spread his hands.  “I know you want to think of magic, David, but it might not be that.  I might have had some sort of psychotic break, or—”

“Not you,” he cut Archie off firmly.  “We’ll have Whale take a look at you, of course, but I’d bet my life on someone having enchanted you or taken your heart.  This isn’t you, Archie.”

“I have been losing track of time a lot lately,” Archie admitted softly.  “I thought I was just getting sick.”

“That’s someone taking your heart,” Henry said bluntly.  “Gramps, we’ve got to find out who and get it back.  Fast.”

“I know.  But first, let’s get Archie to Whale and make sure he’s all right.  Then we’ll work on finding his heart.”

They had to find out who had Archie’s heart first, of course, and David was already trying _very_ hard not to suspect his own daughter.  Emma had been doing so well—surely it couldn’t be her!  But there were other options, weren’t there?  He’d already heard about Mordred attacking Baelfire and Henry; perhaps Mordred was the guilty party.  But for the life of him, David couldn’t imagine a reason why Mordred would want Archie’s heart.  _I can’t think of why_ anyone _would want to take Archie’s heart. He’s the only one in town who everyone likes!_

* * *

 

Still glamored as Regina, Zelena found her next victim as he left the town records office.  There weren’t as many witnesses, and it was dark, but there were still enough to see ‘Regina’ do her killing.  King George was more indignant about being murdered, but after a good dozen people had seen Regina threaten him the week before, convincing people that her _dear_ sister had done the deed would have probably been easy even if there had been no witnesses at all.

But there were a few, so Zelena played it up for her audience, sneering at George and telling him that she’d _warned_ him about trying to take power in ‘her’ town.  George, of course, helped her cause by blustering and telling her that she wasn’t stupid enough to kill him.  That only made Zelena grin harder and play with him a little while longer, but in the end, she stepped away from his body with a dismissive sneer.  _You really have no idea how stupid my sister is, do you?_ she wanted to say aloud, but stopped herself.  Instead, she teleported herself away in a swirl of purple smoke, moving out of the way before people could rush over to the dead man’s body.  She landed in front of her mirror again, and spent a moment admiring the perfection of the glamor she wore.

 “Let’s see how much they love you now, _sis_.”  Zelena allowed herself one last sneer at Regina’s reflection.  “They’re going to see you for who you really are, and they’ll _hate_ you for it.”

She twitched her hands and restored her own appearance.  That was much better.  Now she just had one last thing to do, and then _everyone_ would blame Regina.

 

* * *

 

She’d had it with letting Zelena hide away.  It was bad enough that Emma had let Zelena out when they’d had her safe and secure inside the asylum, but Zelena only made things worse.  How in the _world_ could she not give a damn about the safety of the child inside her?  Regina had cursed herself to barrenness because she’d been bitter and angry, and that had become the decision she regretted most in a lifetime of very bad decisions.  Zelena claimed to want the child she carried, yet she blithely took that child into danger every chance she got.

Regina was done allowing that.  That child belonged to Robin every bit as much as he or she did Zelena; more, really, since Robin was the only responsible parent between the two of them.  _Not to mention the method Zelena used to conceive.  Robin has such a big heart that he’ll never hold it against his child, but we’ll both hate her forever for that._   But her feelings weren’t important right now: saving the child from Zelena was.  Unfortunately, there was a slight stumbling block in the way of locking her sister back up.  Namely, the man who currently sheltered Zelena, insanity and all.

So, Regina arrived at Mordred’s castle, figuring she could kill two birds with one stone.  She desperately wanted to strangle Mordred—at the very least!—for trying to kill her son, but Regina had grown enough to know that violence wasn’t always the best _first_ option.  It would be far more fitting to twist Mordred around her little finger and get revenge that way, so she was going to go undercover and figure out his plans.  Mordred hadn’t hidden the fact that he found her attractive, and while Regina had no interest in ever cheating on Robin, that didn’t mean she couldn’t lead Mordred around by the nose, particularly if it got him to abandon Zelena.

Oddly, there seemed to be no one around when Regina strode through the castle’s front gates.  In fact, the place was something of a ghost town as she walked through the halls, making her way towards Mordred’s overblown presence chamber.  Once there, she found the so-called king pacing and fuming, with broken bits of several somethings strewn around on the floor at his feet.

“And I thought _my_ temper was ferocious,” she commented idly, ignoring the waves of furiously dark magic ebbing and flowing around Mordred.  Regina wasn’t afraid of dark magic.  She’d swum in those waters too often herself.

“What do _you_ want?”

“Well, I came for a chat, but if you’d rather indulge in some good, old-fashioned destruction of property, I’ll wait.”

Mordred glared. 

Regina shrugged.  “What?  Though if it’s my sister who pissed you off, I could have told you that would happen.  She’s rather talented in that respect.”

“What?  No.”  His scowl told her that Mordred wasn’t his usual canny self, and Regina forced back the urge to smile.  _Angry men are talkative men.  I learned that a long time ago._ Sure enough, Mordred didn’t prove her wrong.  “It’s my _mother_ ,” Mordred spat.  “I can’t _believe_ she chose _him_ over me!”

“Chose who?”

“My long-lost brother!  She didn’t even have the decency to _tell_ me.  Instead, she simply waltzes in, takes what is mine, and then takes _his_ side!”  Flinging a hand out, Mordred shot magic across the room, and Regina watched with interest as three vases shattered into a picture frame, dotting the painting with flower petals and tearing the canvas.

“It sounds like you’re having trouble in familial paradise,” she snorted.  “And there I thought you were lucky enough to be spared the town’s usual hereditary gymnastics.”  Later, Regina would learn how ironic those words were, but at the moment, it was merely a shot in the dark.

“I have no cause to discuss my family with you.”  Mordred clammed up, and Regina checked a mental sigh.  _So much for that idea._

“I really wasn’t here to talk about your family, anyway, so let’s stick with my insane sister,” she replied.  “You _do_ understand what she is, don’t you?”

“She’s my ally, not my friend.  If you’re here to change that, don’t bother.  She’s proven useful.”

“Useful?”  Regina couldn’t help gaping just a little.  “Usually, people call her annoying.  Or batshit insane.  Not ‘ _useful’._ How is she _not_ driving you nuts already?”

Mordred snorted.  “I fail to see how any of this is your business.”

“It’s my business because she’s carrying the child of the man I love.  _After_ impregnating herself under false pretenses.  And now she’s endangering that child by running around as your crazy little proxy.”

“It’s her child.”  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, and his utter disregard threw gasoline on Regina’s already-smoldering temper.

“You know, I’m not sure if you’re any better than Zelena,” she snapped before she could stop herself.  “Between whining about your mommy issues and your utter inability to care about _anyone_ other than yourself, maybe you two are a match made in heaven.”

Mordred went red in the face.  “You know nothing!”

“Yeah, and now you’re reminding me of her, too.  That’s scary.”  He opened his mouth to say something else, but Regina cut him off, letting her mouth run away from her common sense.  _Far_ away.  “Tell you what.  I’ll come back when you want to have an adult conversation.  If you just want to bitch and moan, stick with Zelena.  It looks like you two have something in common after all.”

She’d teleported herself away before Regina realized that she’d doomed her chances of going undercover and fishing out Mordred’s secrets, but by then it was far too late.  Still, she was too busy kicking herself to notice the jet of green magic that appeared behind her, hitting Regina between the shoulder blades and making the world go black.

* * *

 

“We could call it Operation Cricket,” David suggested the next morning, after Henry had rather predictably pointed out that they needed to give their new quest a name.

He and Henry had spent most of the previous evening at the hospital with Archie, and Henry had filled him in on the _rest_ of the family drama while they’d been there.  Learning that Morgan le Fae was Henry’s great-grandmother (and Rumplestiltskin’s mother!) was a lot to swallow, particularly when they had another—presumably unrelated—mystery on their hands.  For now, David figured that he’d let Rumplestiltskin deal with that while he tried to figure out who would dare use the one man everyone in town liked.

“No way.”  His grandson gave him a long-suffering look.  “That’s _way_ too obvious.”

He shrugged.  “Well, that was my best go.  What’s your idea?”

Henry’s grin was sudden.  “Operation Grasshopper.  It’s close, but not _too_ close.  And I bet Mom will help.  I miss doing things like this with her.”

David almost asked which mom Henry meant, but he figured from context that Henry was referring to Emma.  Besides, Regina seemed busy trying to find Zelena; no one had really seen her since the afternoon before when she’d told Robin that she was going to find her.  Apparently, Regina had indicated that she might be gone all night, but David still figured she was too busy to help with this one.  _Besides, if Emma helps us, it means people won’t be so quick to blame her.  I hope._

“Well, then let’s—”

The door opening cut David off in mid-sentence, and he tried not to sigh as Arthur strode in like he owned the place.  “I need to report a murder.”

That got David’s attention.  “A murder?”

“My squire, Grif.  He was murdered by your supposedly reformed Evil Queen.”

“ _What?_ ”

“People saw it happen.  Sir Lamorak was nearby and recognized her.”  Arthur looked furious, but part of David was entirely too relieved that no one was blaming Emma.  That thought made him feel horrible, but at least Regina would be easier to defend.

“Look, if Regina did do something, I’m sure she had good reason to do so.  Did your squire threaten her or someone else?”

“No!  Of course not!  She murdered him in cold blood!” 

“She wouldn’t do that!” Henry broke in before David could say anything else, glaring back at Arthur.  “I think you’re just lying because you want to take Storybrooke over, and my mom is in your way.”

Arthur glanced down at Henry like he was insane, rolling his eyes dismissively.  “Why would I bother lying when there were witnesses?”  Camelot’s king looked back up at David.  “Do children determine who receives justice in this town, or are you going to investigate this heinous murder?  Grif was _innocent_.”

“Of everything but—”

“Henry.”  David cut his grandson off as gently as he could, squeezing Henry’s shoulder to stop his heated response.  His grandson gave him a disgruntled look, but quieted as David answered Arthur: “Of course we’ll investigate, though in a town with so many magic users, I think we’ve all learned by now that not every crime is as it appears at first glance.  Let me call Regina and see what I can find out.”

Arthur glowered, but after a moment, he shrugged.  “Fine.”

Pulling out his phone, David hit the speed-dial button for his stepmother-in-law.  Much to his surprise, the phone rang four times and then shifted right to voicemail.  Frowning, David dialed again, and was opening his mouth to leave a message after the fourth ring when a scratchy voice finally picked up.

“Yeah?” Regina sounded hoarse, like she’d just been woken up.  But there was something else in her voice, something slightly off that David couldn’t quite identify.

“Hey, it’s David.  Is…everything okay?”

“Um.  I, uh, I don’t know.”  For once, Regina’s voice was utterly devoid of sarcasm.  “I just woke up.”

David wanted to ask her if she’d had anything to do with Grif’s death—because he knew that if she had, Regina would have had good reasons for doing so.  He knew her better than that these days, trusted her far more than that.  So, he ignored Arthur’s pointed look and asked as lightly as he could: “Sleeping in after hunting for Zelena?”

“If you call waking up in the middle of a field sleeping in, sure.”  He could hear some sort of scuffling in the background; was Regina getting up?  Judging from the softly disgruntled noise she made, she definitely wasn’t feeling too well.  “What the hell happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“Would I ask you if I did?” she snapped, and David could almost picture Regina getting ahold of herself.  “Nevermind.  Look, I’ll call you back.  I’m—well, I don’t know where I am, but _someone_ obviously hit me with something magical.  And whoever it is, I’m going to make them pay.”

It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t put the phone on speaker.  Henry might have been close enough to hear, but Arthur really didn’t need to hear Regina vowing vengeance.  Not after he’d accused her of murder.

“Come by the sheriff’s station when you have a minute, okay?  There’s some stuff going on.”

“Yeah, sure.  Let me go home and check on things first.”  _Click._  

David didn’t try to argue or call her back; he just slipped his phone back in his pocket and looked at Arthur.  “We’ll look into it.  Please send your witnesses my way and I’ll start putting the pieces together.”

“My word isn’t good enough for you?” Arthur’s scowl was dangerous, but Henry got in before David could reply.

“You might want to read up on modern justice systems before you form a lynch mob,” the thirteen year old suggested.  “I’ve got a textbook you can borrow if you want.  I think it’s from fifth grade—”

“Henry!” David couldn’t laugh, even if Henry’s comeback had been funny as hell.  No matter what he thought of Arthur—and his opinion of the other king was steadily going downhill—Arthur still had a decent amount of power, and the last thing David wanted his grandson to do was piss him off.

Apparently, it seemed too late to prevent that, though.  “I’ll send Lamorak to you,” he snapped, and spun on his heel, striding out of the sheriff’s station.

David looked down at his grandson and tried to sound stern.  “You can’t say things like that to people, Henry.”

“Why not?  He’s being kind of medieval.”

“Whatever happened to you emulating the so-called ‘clever’ side of your family?” 

Henry just shrugged. “I’m mom’s kid, too.  And _both_ of them are _really_ blunt.”

David only sighed.  “You can say that again.”

* * *

 

Regina stood in the clearing for a long moment after hanging up, blinking in confusion.  Her head was fuzzy and her magic didn’t want to answer her call, which told her that _someone_ had definitely dropped a sleeping spell or something worse on her.  At the moment, she couldn’t figure out what, and she was a little afraid to teleport herself, too.  She hadn’t wanted to tell David that on the phone, but Regina still felt like crap.  And she had no idea where she was.

The back of her head was bleeding, too, like someone had hit her with something hard _after_ knocking her out.  Regina staggered a step before noticing the bloody tree branch to her right, and that made her sigh.

“Maybe I should just have asked David to come pick me up,” she muttered to herself.  Robin still was only so confident in his driving abilities, and besides, he had Roland to worry about.  David had finally worked out daycare for little Neal, but Roland needed to head to preschool in the mornings, and Robin usually walked him there.  So, after a moment of debate, she decided to text Emma.  Asking the Dark One for help would be a little embarrassing, but Emma probably wouldn’t tell anyone that she’d been dumped in the middle of nowhere and she was too dizzy to make her magic work properly.  And Emma could fix her head, too—

“Looking lost, sis?”

Hearing Zelena’s voice made her whirl around, and Regina’s hands came up automatically, but her magic fizzled and sputtered, the effort making her head spin.  Dizziness rolled through her, and Regina staggered.  Zelena giggled, and listening to that just grated on Regina’s last nerve.

“Let me guess, I have you to thank for this little sleepover.”  Something still wasn’t right, but Regina could bluff and bluster with the best of them.

“Awh, now what gives you that idea?” Zelena cocked her head, but the way her eyes were dancing answered Regina’s question.

“Well, there’s always the fact that you hate me for utterly stupid reasons.”

“I’m going to _ruin_ you!”

“You keep saying that, but you know what?  Every time you try to ruin my life, I keep coming back.  You might have missed the memo, _sis_ , but I’m resilient.  I screwed up my own life worse than you ever could, and I’m fighting my way back,” Regina snapped.  “Threaten me all you want.  I have a life worth fighting for, and I’m damn well going to live it.”

Her determination made her head clear a little, and Regina was ready when Zelena’s rage-filled ball of green fire sailed her way.  Regina just swatted it aside contemptuously, though doing so took more effort than she wanted to admit.

Zelena looked extremely put out over the fact that she was able to defend herself, and her face went red with anger.  It was a worse look on her than green had been, which was really saying something.  “Maybe I’ll just kill you right now!”

“Make up your mind, will you?  I thought you wanted to ruin my life, not kill me.”  She grinned nastily, ignoring the way her vision tried to jump around.  Instead, Regina forced herself to concentrate and sent a spell of her own Zelena’s way, one that she hoped would hit her sister hard enough to knock her out but wouldn’t harm the child at all.

“Maybe I just like to keep you guessing.” Zelena dodged her spell easily enough, firing back with one of her own that slammed Regina down onto her back—which, of course, landed on the damned tree branch and made her cry out in pain.  Zelena giggled victoriously, but Regina managed to roll out of the way of her next attack, flinging an arm out to block it with a brilliant flash of light magic.

“And maybe you’re just insane,” she growled, climbing back to her feet.  Her old fury bubbled up within her, but Regina forced it down.  Dark magic would harm Robin’s child; she needed light magic, which would do as it was told and no more.  “They’ve got pills for that, you know.”

“ _I’m_ not the one people are hunting down for murder,” Zelena gloated, and that jerked Regina up short.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Zelena’s grin was huge.  “You’ll see.  Have fun with it!  Ta, ta!”

She disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving Regina scowling.  _Robin was right.  We’ve got to get that baby out of her, one way or another.  And fast._   She needed to talk to Emma about that, and since she still couldn’t teleport without leaving pieces of herself behind, she figured no time was like the present.  Regina pulled her phone out again, and begrudgingly texted Emma for help.

* * *

 

Robin was almost at the sheriff’s station when he ran into trouble.  Or, more specifically, Lily and August—a pair that his instincts screamed were up to no good.

“How can you just walk around town like nothing happened?” Lily stepped right in his path.  “Your lover the queen killed two people yesterday, and I bet you went home to her and made sweet murderous love, didn’t you?”

“ _What?”_   Robin must have heard her wrong, but August piled on right away:

“I guess everyone always knew that whole ‘redemption’ ploy would only hold as long as no one challenged her power, but how can someone like you stick with someone like her?”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”  He was damned glad that he’d already dropped Roland off, because the look on August’s face made Robin want to pick a fight, and he’d promised himself never to do that with his son around.

August looked genuinely shocked.  “You haven’t heard, have you?  Regina murdered Grif and King George yesterday.  Right where people could see her.  And all because they were _threatening_ her control over this town.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute here.  There’s no way Regina would do that.  She’s not like that any—”

“Was she with you, yesterday?” Lily demanded.

“No, she was looking for Zelena.”

August snorted.  “Yeah, that’s a likely story.  You know, there’s nothing worse than a villain who pretends to be a hero.  You should probably have a chat with her, before, you know, something else happens.  Otherwise, people will start to think you’re as guilty as she is.”

Robin could hardly believe his ears, and he hadn’t managed to summon up a response before August and Lily sauntered off, two troublesome peas in a pod.  No, he hadn’t seen Regina last night.  Yes, she’d told him she’d probably be gone all night, so he hadn’t really been worried.  He had been planning on calling her after he got to the station, but now a painful knot of doubt was forming in his stomach.  Robin _knew_ Regina wouldn’t kill anyone without good reason—but he also knew that Regina would kill if she was threatened.  Would she do it for power?  He didn’t think so, but if she’d been pushed…

No.  He needed to give her the benefit of the doubt, but first he needed to find David and figure out what the hell was going on.  There had to be a lot more to the story than August and Lily were sharing, and he wasn’t going to question Regina—or let anyone _else_ question Regina—without finding out all of the facts first.  So, he hurried to work, hoping against hope that David already knew who had killed George and Grif, and that it wasn’t Regina.

Unfortunately, David was as confused as he was, but did pass along the message that Regina would be in soon…and that something seemed to have happened to her the night before.

* * *

 

Bae had spent the previous evening avoiding talking about his grandmother and all the ridiculous relationships that Morgan brought with her.  His dad had seemed to need time before tackling that one, so he’d let Belle take the lead, which had wound up with the three of them playing Scrabble instead of talking about anything serious.  It had been kind of nice to just relax, even when they all knew there was a giant storm cloud hanging over their heads, but he knew that they couldn’t avoid the subject forever.  So, he’d gone to the shop with his father and puttered around dusting stuff while Rumplestiltskin inventoried something or another, until Bae could handle the silence no longer.

“So, are we gonna talk about this?” He put the guitar he’d been dusting back on the wall, wondering why his dad even kept this stuff around.

“About what?”

“Papa.”

Rumplestiltskin had the good grace to grimace.  “Sorry.  What do you want to talk about?”

“Leaving aside the obvious ‘is she my grandmother’ question?”  Bae shrugged. “I dunno.  How about what we’re going to do from here?  Is ‘Uncle Mordred’ going to try to kill me again, and which one of us is going to tell Killian that he was sleeping with his, um—what would this make Mom to him, anyway?”

“I didn’t even think about that,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, and Bae couldn’t help snorting in amusement.

“I think it’d make her his aunt, actually.  Isn’t _that_ awkward?”

His father finally scraped up a stern look.  “Baelfire.  That’s not even remotely funny.”

“It actually is, when you think about it.”  He couldn’t help a little laugh.  “But it’s really creepy and kind of sad, too.  But, uh, you want me to tell Killian that he and I are cousins now?  Something tells me he’s not going to be in a hurry to hug Uncle Rumple.”

“Please.”  Another grimace, this one deeper than the last.  “I’m not sure how ready to stomach that one I am.”

Bae nodded, and then turned serious.  “Everything go okay when you talked to her?  Morgan, I mean.  Belle told me you needed a bit of time to deal with it, but I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Compared to his father, after all, he’d had a pretty stable childhood.  And even if his mother had run off with a pirate, he’d always known that his father had wanted him and loved him.  It had been the Dark One who had let him go.  At the time, Baelfire been convinced that the darkness had simply consumed his father, and that he’d never see his _real_ papa again.  He’d never cease to be glad that he had been so very wrong about that.  These days, however, he knew enough about his father’s past to be worried about him.

“I think I am.”  The way his father answered slowly indicated that Rumplestiltskin was being honest, and Bae made himself stay quiet until his father continued: “It’s a bit much, but—”

Rumplestiltskin cut off as the door opened, and both men swung around in surprise as Guinevere walked in.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Her expression was mildly curious, but Bae couldn’t look at her without thinking about what Emma had said.  This woman had controlled Merlin when he was the Dark One, and Emma had made some sort of deal with her.  Something ominous, though she couldn’t say what.

_Emma thinks she’s more dangerous than Arthur,_ he thought, watching Guinevere carefully.  _I really need to get her to talk to Papa about that again._

“Not at all.”  Rumplestiltskin’s answer was smooth, and Bae saw that his father seemed to have pushed his discomfort aside easily enough.  “What can I do for you?”

“This might be…very forward of me, but please believe that I’ve only come by out of concern for you and Belle.  I heard the news.”  Guinevere’s smile seemed hesitant, but it was almost too perfect.  It was like she was acting out a role instead of feeling the words she was saying, but if Bae hadn’t spent a lifetime around con artists and liars, he’d never have been able to tell the difference.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrowed.  “I didn’t think it got around so quickly.”

“Mordred told Arthur, I’m afraid.”

Damn.  Bae had forgotten that Mordred might be angry enough to go to his _other_ parent, even though apparently those two hated one another enough to try murder on a regular basis.  _That’s a really bad sign, now that I think about it.  But Mordred_ did _seem furious with Morgan._   He hoped his father was picking up the same vibe he was; given how expressionless Rumpelstiltskin was at the moment, it was hard to tell.

“Did he?” The response was flat, but he could see the way his father’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You know, I’m kind of new in town, but I seem to recall hearing about how those two tried to kill one another,” Bae put in, just to see what Guinevere would say.

“That was Morgan’s doing.”  Green eyes turned serious.  “She always tried to drive a wedge between them, no matter how hard Arthur tried to reach out to Mordred.  Mordred sided with her, of course, because she was his mother.  She raised him.”  Guinevere shrugged eloquently.  “I believe he’s beginning to see her for what she is.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Bae could feel his father’s suspicions increasing.  _Mine, too._

“She’s a manipulator.  Morgan doesn’t want overt power—she wants to be the power behind the throne.  She tried that with Arthur, and when he would have none of it, she replaced him with Mordred.”  Guinevere grimaced.  “I won’t lie you.  She and I have never gotten along, because I have always supported Arthur.  I wouldn’t be here if not for Belle, but you are dear to her.  I don’t want to see you hurt, or caught in one of Morgan’s toxic webs.  She will only use you.”

“I appreciate your concern, and I’m sure Belle does as well,” Rumplestiltskin said slowly.  “Though I get the feeling you’re more than a bit biased where Morgan is concerned.”

“Of course I am.  There’s an enormous amount of bad blood between us.”

Yet again, Bae was reminded of the most accomplished liars he’d encountered in his life.  Telling the truth was an enormous part of lying successfully, after all; you just twisted it so that the other party misunderstood the _actual_ truth.  He could tell his father was thinking the same way from the steady gaze he was giving Guinevere.  Someone who didn’t know Rumplestiltskin so well would have missed it, but manipulating a master manipulator was hard.

“So, we should just take you at your word?” Bae asked, leaning on the counter casually.

Something flashed through Guinevere’s eyes as she looked his way, and Bae didn’t think it was friendly.  “You should make your own choices.  I simply want you to have all the information.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure most people in Storybrooke agree that none of us really want to get involved in your leftover Camelot spats.  That goes for us, too, despite the fact that Belle’s your granddaughter.”

“Belle is more than our granddaughter.  She is our heir.” Guinevere swung to look at Rumplestiltskin again.  “We will do anything to protect her, no matter _who_ threatens her.”

His father didn’t so much as twitch, but the electricity and the power in the air was suddenly heavy and terrifying.

“I trust you understand that I’ll do exactly the same.”

Guinevere’s smile was slight and dangerous.  “I would hope so.”  She inclined her head.  “Now, I have places to be.  Good day.”

They watched her walk out together, and Bae didn’t need to ask what his father was thinking.  If they had to choose between Morgan and Guinevere, there really was no contest, was there?  Bae only hoped that Belle agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the news is out and everything is beginning to change. What do you think Belle’s dangerous grandparents will do next?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fifty—“To Weave the Mirror’s Magic Sights”, in which Regina tries to figure out who is killing people in her name, Killian offers to spy on Mordred, Rumplestiltskin and Belle talk about their families, Mordred has a temper tantrum, Bae tells Killian they’re related, and everyone tries to help Archie.


	50. To Weave the Mirror’s Magic Sights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been nominated in this year's TEAs! It's up for Best OUAT!AU and Best Series Rewrite. “Ruins & Battles” has been nominated for best series, and Danns' a'Bhàis has been nominated for Best OC (under her first story, ‘Original Powers”). Voting ends Saturday if you have a tumblr and you’re so inclined, and thank you to everyone for the nominations.

Two days later, Storybrooke continued to hold its breath.   Everyone seemed to be waiting for the next shoe to drop or the next disaster to strike; half the town seemed to think Regina was guilty of murder, while the other half thought the murders extremely suspicious.  The dwarves had come out in support of Regina immediately, as had Tiny, but even they could only account for her whereabouts during the first murder.  Regina’s own statement about where she’d been when George was killed was paper-thin, and most people raised their eyebrows when she claimed to have been unconscious in a field all night.  The fact that David had spoken in support of Regina seemed to help a little, though Arthur’s constant grandstanding about how guilty the mayor was had a few people up in arms.  Frankly, Regina was surprised that the entire town wasn’t calling for her head; in her life’s experience, people didn’t support her.  People didn’t _like_ her, and even though the town had asked her to serve as mayor once more, Regina hadn’t expected them to believe in her.

It was all more than a little surprising.

“So, if you didn’t do it, who did?” Emma asked bluntly.  They’d met to discuss the charges, not to mention the rest of the mess in Storybrooke, including the fact that some brainless meddler had stolen _Archie Hopper’s_ heart.  Even at her worst, Regina had never been that stupid!  Archie was the one person in the entire town who would put out practically any fire with a smile and some kind words.  They _needed_ him, but now he was shaken, without the gentle self-confidence that was Archie’s hallmark.  Regina had gone with Henry to see him that morning, before dropping her son off at school, and Archie had been quiet and withdrawn.  Even worse, she hadn’t been able to figure out who had his heart.

“Not me,” she grumbled, shooting Emma a glare that didn’t have any teeth.  Robin reached out to put a hand on her arm, and Regina was grateful for that; it helped ground her, helped her pull her temper back and not say something regrettable to people who really did care about her.

She cared about them, too, even if she was crap at saying so.

“We know that.”  David sighed, crossing his arms.  “But every witness I’ve talked to swears up, down, and sideways that it was you.  Just like Grumpy, Doc, and Happy swear that you were with them when Grif was killed.”

“Then _someone_ was using a glamour.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Is there any way to find out _who_ did it?” Robin asked.  “Granted, it had to be someone with magic, but there are a lot of that type running around Storybrooke these days, and we have no idea who _else_ from Camelot might have magic and is keeping it secret.  I mean, it’s not like we haven’t seen this before.”

Something dark whipped across Emma’s face, and watching her scowl so deeply distracted Regina enough that she nearly missed David’s response:

“Common sense says that it’s either Arthur’s doing or Zelena’s.  Normally, I’d blame Zelena, but Arthur was too quick to jump in and blame Regina.  He wants power, and I don’t think he’s above having his own squire killed to get it.”

“And we all know how Zelena hates Regina.”  Robin sighed.  “Gina, is there any way to use magic to tell who was disguised as you?”

Even as she shook her head, Robin’s casual use of Roland’s nickname for her made Regina smile.  Roland had started calling her that weeks ago, and somehow or another, Robin had picked it up.  She’d thought she’d _hate_ having her name shortened by anyone, but Regina found herself feeling oddly warm every time Robin called her Gina.  It was theirs, and theirs alone, something no one else in town would ever dare call her.  Her mother had discouraged Regina from using an ‘undignified’ nickname when she’d been small, so she’d never had anyone call her that before Robin and Roland.  With an effort, she pulled herself back to the present conversation.

“No.  Not unless we catch them in the act, anyway.  It’s far too late, now.”

“Damn.”

“So, we do this the old fashioned way.”  Emma looked almost relieved that there wasn’t a magical shortcut, and wasn’t that a change?  “Sooner or later, whoever did it is going to screw up, and we’ll get them then.”

“What about Archie?” David asked.  “Regina said her spells couldn’t find his heart.  Could yours?”

Emma’s scowl deepened.  “No.  Something’s blocking me.”

“Me, too.  That means whoever’s done it has an awful lot of power. Since we can figure that it isn’t Rumple, that doesn’t leave a lot of people.”

“Zelena?” Robin suggested, and now it was Regina’s turn to reach out and take his hand.

“No way.”  Emma’s snort was derisive.  “She’s not powerful enough.”

“Then who is?” David asked, getting up to pace.  Regina could see his impatience, and she felt it, too.  It had been a long time since she’d run into a brick wall like this, and it wasn’t pleasant at all.

“I’m betting on Mordred, if it’s not Arthur.  When I talked to him three days ago, he was pissy as hell.  He’s got that damned Greater Sapphire—or did before his mother took it away—and that’s got enough power to pull it off.”

“Arthur did say that Mordred is out for power, too,” David mused.  “If he’s been playing a quieter game in the shadows while he was trying to destroy Emma…”

“Are we trusting Arthur, now?” Regina rolled her eyes.  “That’s a ridiculous thought.”

“It makes sense, though.  The two _have_ to be connected.  We know Zelena’s working with Mordred, and if she’s killing to make you look bad, it supports his bid for power.”  Robin’s theory sounded reasonable, but why did Regina think there was more to it?

Judging from the look on Emma’s face, she agreed.  David, however, seemed to be with Robin.

“Then how to do we find out what Mordred’s up to?  He’s holed up in that castle of his.”

“Maybe I can help,” a fifth voice spoke up from the doorway, and they all twisted to look at Hook.  Emma, Regina noticed, immediately looked away, a mixture of discomfort, anger, and shame on her face.  “He’s my uncle.  He’ll trust me.”

The original plan had been for _Regina_ to go undercover with Mordred, to use his desire for her as a way in.  But Hook had an even better route in, and if Regina was reading the situation correctly, he was desperate to find a way back into Emma’s good graces. 

“You up to that, Captain Obvious?” she asked archly.  “Last time you tried trusting your uncle, it didn’t work out so well for you.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.”  His eyes were on Emma, but she looked out the window instead of responding.  “I know which side I’m on.”

“That’s great, but I didn’t ask if you’d made a decision that everyone in this town has to make.  I asked if you could actually outsmart Mordred this time, or if he’s going to run rings around you again.”

Hook glared.  “Said by the woman _doesn’t_ actually have an alibi for the murders she supposedly committed, because you left your little foray with the dwarves right before Grif was killed.  Right now, I think I’m the more trustworthy of the two of us, don’t you?”

“What the hell are you implying?”  Regina shot to her feet as the words tore out of her, furious magic boiling through her veins.  She’d _proved_ herself.  She’d _changed_.  She wasn’t that person anymore, and Killian Jones damn well knew that!

“Oh, I’m not implying that you’ve gone back to your old ways, _Your Majesty_ ,” he retorted without blinking.  “Just a little humility wouldn’t hurt.  I’ll do my part.  You do yours and keep the bloody town from falling apart.”

David intervened before they could continue arguing, and slowly—with David and Robin pushing things along when Regina felt the need to snarl at the angst-ridden pirate—they hashed out a plan.  It wasn’t a perfect one, but Hook _could_ fill in for her as their agent inside Mordred’s camp, and meanwhile, the others could keep working on the rest.  The giant wildcard was Rumple now, of course—his relationship with Morgan le Fae could also give them an insight on what Mordred was planning, assuming that Morgan and Mordred were still aligned—but their original plan seemed to remain intact.

Mostly.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had done a lot of thinking over the last two days, and even more planning.  At first, he’d been set adrift by the fact that he had a _mother_ , one who apparently actually _wanted_ a relationship with him.  He hadn’t known what to make of that, and he’d careened  wildly back and forth between accepting Morgan and rejecting her.  Belle and Bae were undoubtedly sick of his mood swings, which had been both violent and heartbroken, and had made the first day after meeting Morgan miserable for all of them.  But then he’d started _thinking_ , and he’d come to several conclusions.

He’d also searched for some of Merlin’s memories to try to confirm his suspicions, but those only seemed to arrive when _they_ wanted, and nothing came to his call.  That was frustrating, but hardly a crippling blow.  No, the major hang up would be Belle.

“Emma came by to talk to me yesterday while you were at the library,” he told Belle right after they finished another magic lesson.  Both had planned to go to work late today, and he didn’t want to talk about this in the shop or the library.  Rumplestiltskin knew the Sorcerer’s House was secure; he couldn’t be too certain about anywhere else, even his shop.

_I know that the Black Fairy is here somewhere, and I know she stole her wand from me.  But if my suspicions are correct…_ That thought made him want to shudder, but he managed to stop himself.  He needed facts before making _that_ accusation.  Belle deserved that much.

“About what?”

“Your grandmother, actually.  Emma knows things about her that she can’t share—she made a deal she’s magically bound to keep.  But she could say that Guinevere is dangerous, and that she’s more or less threatened to take the dagger.”

Belle might be kind and loving by nature, but she was sharp as that cursed dagger.  Her blue eyes narrowed.   “Right after she tried to turn you against Morgan.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one moving chess pieces, sweetheart,” he said quietly.  “There’s more to your grandmother than meets the eye.”

“I’m starting to think that, yeah.  I really wish Lancelot was around to talk to.  My mother trusted him; she told me more than once that he was more her father than anyone else had ever been.”  Belle frowned.  “But he’s nowhere to be found, and no one seems to know where he was staying.”

Rumplestiltskin hesitated for a moment; trusting was always hard for him, and _this_ more than anything else.  “I think we need to ask Morgan what she knows.”

“Do you think she’s too biased?”

“I don’t know.”  Most people would instinctively believe in their parents; Rumplestiltskin was the exact opposite.  “Merlin…Merlin trusted her.  I think.  I keep trying to dig into his memories, but it’s coming up blank.”

“You’re still not really okay with this, are you?” Reaching up, Belle stroked the back of his neck, and Rumplestiltskin let his eyes slid shut briefly.  She always knew how to soothe him, knew how to chase the demons of his past away.  Belle was the one person he could really talk to, the one person who had seen his fears and weaknesses and still stood by him.  Why he had _ever_ decided to hide things from her was a mystery to Rumplestiltskin.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” he whispered.

Her lips touched his, startling his eyes open.  “I love you, Rumple.  It doesn’t matter if my family is evil, or if yours is.  You and I, what we are, doesn’t change.  We’ll face whatever comes together.”

“Together.”  The word was a promise, one he _knew_ he could keep.  Rumplestiltskin was no longer the Dark One, and his choices were his own.  No matter where this led, no matter what happened, he would choose love.  He would choose his family: his wife, his son, and his grandson.  Nothing mattered as much as they did.  _Nothing._

* * *

 

“You chose _him!_ ”

“Mordred, you’re being ridiculous.”  Two days had passed before Morgan could even get her eldest son to talk to her; Mordred had chosen to avoid her like the child he hadn’t been for centuries.  He had always been prone to dramatics, particularly in his younger years, but this was really a bit much.  Now, however, she’d finally cornered him in his castle, after beginning to despair that he’d talk to her at all.

“Hardly.”  Now he went cold and angry, sneering at her like she was an enemy.  “You should have told me, Mother.”

“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would call your nephew an abomination or try to kill your great-nephew again.  And you proved me right.”

Mordred looked at her like she was insane.  “That entire line is unworthy.  You ought not call them family, and you know it.  Rumplestiltskin may be the Sorcerer now, but his actions _prove_ he was irrevocably stained by the darkness—as I have _long since_ told you.  And his son, my ‘nephew’ as you call him, was resurrected out of the Vault of the Dark One.  You can’t tell me that doesn’t make him unworthy of remaining in this world.  There is a _reason_ necromancy is a dead art, and the fact that he was trapped with the very _essence_ of the darkness only makes it worse!”

“You may well be right, but—”

“Then why did you _stop_ me?  I could have destroyed them both!”

“Because you may also be wrong.  Humans are complicated and imperfect beings.  We are light, and we are dark.  None of us are perfect, and none of us unstained by our actions.  You know that.  It is the crux of everything we fought for, or have you forgotten that?” Morgan met her son’s angry eyes, trying to ignore how very much he reminded her of his father.  Arthur had always been the narrow-minded one.  Arthur had willfully blinded himself to truths because they did not suit his ambitions.

She had raised Mordred to be better than that, hadn’t she?  _Or have I been away for him for too long?_

“Of course I haven’t forgotten.”  Mordred crossed his arms petulantly. 

“Then stop sounding like a certain fairy who thinks human beings are automatically corrupted by power and thus unsuited to deciding their own fates.”

“I’m hardly characterizing the entire human race as children.  I am not Reul Ghorm.”  Now he looked offended, but maybe that meant she could get through to him.

“No, but your obsession with destroying the Dark One has blinded you to the fact that your brother is no longer the Dark One.  His _son_ is not, either.  And as for—”

Mordred’s snarl took her aback: “He is no brother of mine.”

A long moment passed before Morgan could find her voice, and then it was thick with emotion.  Visions tried to dance before her eyes, but she pushed them back with an effort.  “Do not do this, my son,” she whispered.  “Do not go where I cannot follow.”

“So you _are_ choosing him.”

“No.  I’m choosing _all_ of my family.  I’m choosing humanity.  And I know you don’t like to admit it, Mordred, but the Dark One is _human_.”  She reached a hand out to him, but Mordred yanked away.  “Our ultimate battle is not with the Dark One.  You know who the real enemy is.”

“She’ll use that darkness in a heartbeat,” Mordred snapped.  “ _You_ know that.”

“Then we stop her.  The answer is not to destroy a human soul in the process.  I was against your attempts to do so with Merlin—“

“Because you were in love with him!”

Morgan fought the urge to roll her eyes.  Was that _still_ an issue?  She had thought Mordred long over his adolescent hatred for her relationship with Merlin.  “But I am assuredly _not_ in love with Emma Swan.  And it is still wrong.”

“One soul is a small price to pay to rid the world of that darkness,” Mordred scoffed.

“Normally, I would agree.”  Morgan, after all, had always tried to look at the big picture, and she _had_ sacrificed the last Truest Believer to stop Danns' a'Bhàis.  _Not that I will ever stop hating myself for stealing that child’s heart, but it was a price that_ had _to be paid_.  _Or at least we thought so,_ she remembered heavily.  Yet she had grown since making that soul-rending choice, and she had learned that _how_ you won sometimes mattered as much as coming out on top.  “But you have done too far in this quest.  You were willing to kill a child, and you were willing to abuse the trust Gwaine’s son gave you as well.  This isn’t you, Mordred.”

Yet he’d been willing to kill a child before, hadn’t he?  Colette had been just a child when Morgan had stopped her eldest from killing his own half-sister.  Would her newfound daughter-in-law be next?  Mordred would undoubtedly think Belle was as tainted by her grandmother’s as he believed Colette had been.  _Or he will realize that she has a better claim to the throne he burns for_. 

Mordred was silent for a long moment, his face closed off and distant.  Finally, he spoke coldly: “You taught me to do what must be done, Mother.  That is what I have been doing—for _all_ of humanity, not just a chosen few.”

“Are you truly serving humanity, or is it merely that damned Pendragon ambition?”  The moment the words were out, Morgan knew that they were a mistake; Mordred took pride in his lineage, and in many ways, he was too much like his father.

“Do you think I would dare use the Greater Sapphire simply out of ambition?” he snapped.

_We both know that you have always wanted to become the Sorcerer_ , she didn’t say.  Instead, Morgan reached for her son’s hand again, and was glad when he didn’t pull away.  “I hope not,” she said honestly.  “But you must not use it again.  You cannot see it, Mordred, but that power _will_ corrupt you.  For all that it began as Circe’s power, there is no humanity left in that sapphire.  It was tainted by Danns' a'Bhàis when she killed Circe and forced what remained of an original power into that pendant.  There is a reason I never used it.”

“You never used it because you’re afraid of it.”  Another sneer; Mordred pulled away again, this time less violently.

“As should you be.  Promise me you won’t try to use it again.  Please.  I worry for you.”

Mordred hesitated, but he finally looked her in the eye and nodded.  “I promise.”

Morgan felt a cautious smile warm her face; perhaps she had been wrong about Mordred’s obsession ruling him.  She could not prevent his death, but perhaps she could delay it.  _Perhaps I can help him back onto the right path._ “Help me against Danns' a'Bhàis,” she said softly.  “Help humanity remain free.  Let go of your quest to destroy the Dark One and turn against our true enemy.”

“I will try.”  Mordred sounded hesitant, and she could see the anger still deep in his eyes, but he was at least willing to meet her in the middle.  Morgan was so proud of him, and her smile turned unrestrained.  Her firstborn would always be proud and troublesome, but so was she. 

Neither of them noticed the silent figure slipping away while they spoke.

* * *

 

Henry stopped by after school, only to find Archie still fretful and unhappy.  Archie, normally so warm and so giving, couldn’t stop pacing, and Henry was pretty sure he hadn’t been eating, either. 

“I don’t think someone has my heart,” his old therapist said nervously.  “I think I’ve had some sort of mental break.  Maybe it’s the stress or the—”

“You’re not crazy, Archie.  _Everyone_ knows that.”

“Do they?  I attacked someone!  And no one knows who.  For all I know, that person is dead in a gutter somewhere, and it’s all my fault.”

“If there was a body, someone would have reported it by now,” Henry tried to tell him, but Archie just shook his head.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I believe in you.  We _all_ do.  And if you’re acting like this, it has to be someone else’s fault.”  He tried to catch Archie’s eye, but only succeeded for a moment.  “Please trust us.”

Sighing, Archie finally sank down onto the couch, dropping his head into his hands.  “I’ll try, Henry,” he whispered.  “But it’s very hard.”

“I know.”  Henry sat down next to him and hugged him.  “But you don’t have to deal with this alone.  We’ll help.”

Archie hugged him back after a brief hesitation, but Henry kept worrying despite his reassurances.  Neither of his moms could figure out who had Archie’s heart, and it was tearing Archie apart.  They had to do _something_ , but what?

* * *

 

“This could split them apart, My Lady.” Accolon finished his tale with a knowledgeable air and a smug smile.  “I know Morgan is worried about it.”

Danns’ snorted softly.  _Because she tells you so much, does she?_   Even Accolon knew what Morgan saw in him: someone handsome who provided a simple relationship, good sex, and not too much emotional investment.  She had always agreed with Morgan that type was the best sort of lover to take, but it only worked when said lover did not have foolish ambitions of his own.  _And he is a fool indeed if he thinks he’ll survive betraying Morgan.  She’ll find out eventually, and I doubt I’ll be able to save him._   Not that Danns’ would try terribly hard.  She was loyal to her creatures, but only to a certain extent.  Accolon should have always known the risks of bedding and betraying Morgan.

“Morgan always worries,” she replied.  “What she does with those worries is what concerns me most.  Mordred still refuses to acknowledge Rumplestiltskin as his brother?”

“Utterly.”

“Good.”  She could use that, though she sensed that the new Sorcerer had been suspicious when she’d pressed too hard concerning Morgan’s untrustworthiness.  Perhaps she should have waited, but Danns’ had not been able to let such an opportunity pass her by.  She had always known that Rumplestiltskin was Morgan’s son—she had had several fae tracking him from the moment he was born—and she _had_ hoped he’d remain the Dark One once she returned to power.  Controlling Morgan’s lost son would have been so very sweet, but that was not to be.

And now he was Belle’s husband, so perhaps it was for the best that she did not.  Still, she was hardly going to let Rumplestiltskin ruin her plans; if he did not willingly choose to ally with her, she would have to force him. 

“If I may, My Lady—”

“You may not.”  She had almost forgotten Accolon was there, and Danns’ waved a hand to dismiss him.  He was undoubtedly dying to talk about his ambitions, about future rewards, and she had no interest in such foolish things.  “Speak to the king.  He will reward you in due course.”

Accolon bowed, and then—finally!—departed, leaving the Black Fairy to plan.  She would have to keep a close eye on Rumplestiltskin and make sure he did not cleave to his mother.  Fortunately, his past would help her with that, and if he _did_ prove troublesome, well, she could always dust off the method she had once intended to use to hold Merlin against his will.  She’d never needed that, not after Merlin had become the Dark One, but the same power lived in her grandson-in-law.  She would have to break him to her will more quickly than she preferred, however, because Belle did love him.  _Belle cannot know,_ she decided.  Danns’ had learned enough about her granddaughter to know what a soft heart she had.  Belle would not be loyal to anyone who hurt her True Love, which meant Danns’ would have to find someone else to blame.

It was time to reclaim the dagger of the Dark One.

* * *

 

Tracking down Killian proved harder than Bae expected, but he eventually found the pirate on the deck of a very familiar ship.  Killian seemed to be watching the waves crash in the harbor, but his attention didn’t really seem to be on the storm gathering out to sea.

“So, do I ask permission to come aboard, or do I knock, since this kind of seems to be your house?” Bae asked when Killian failed to notice him.

The only answer was a shrug.  “You’re always welcome here.”

“I might not be once you hear what I have to say.”  But Bae stepped on board, anyway.  Henry had told David, Emma, and Regina about his newfound paternal relations, but Bae had gathered from Emma that she wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with Killian again.  That meant that Killian had no idea what had happened, and Bae really wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

“It can’t be worse than some conversations I’ve had lately,” Killian replied philosophically.  “Rum?”

Bae took the offered flask.  “That makes everything go down better, yeah.”  He took a swig, and managed not to cough.  Barely.  “You know you can buy better stuff than this, right?”

“It’s an acquired taste, lad.”

“Don’t ‘lad’ me, man.  We’re way too close in age for that one.”

“And I forget that you want to be all grown up.”  Killian’s smile was teasing, even if it was a bit strained.  He shrugged.  “Baelfire, then.  What brings you to my ship?”

“I could say that I just wanted to visit a friend, but that’d be a lie.”  _Get on with it, man.  This isn’t going to get easier._ “So, I’m just gonna spit it out.  You know how Morgan le Fae is your grandmother?”

“A hard fact to ignore, aye.”

“Yeah, well, she’s mine, too.”

Killian’s head snapped around, blue eyes going wide.  Under other circumstances, Bae might have laughed at his expression, but this was just too weird.  “ _What_?”

“Yeah…it turns out that she’s my dad’s long lost mother.  And that means that your dad and mine were half-brothers, though they were born a couple of centuries apart.”

For the first time in his life, Bae witnessed Killian Jones struck absolutely speechless.  His mouth just kept opening and closing as he blinked in shock, and Bae knew exactly how he felt.  Just when he’d thought Henry’s family tree couldn’t get any more confusing, it gained a whole new branch.

“So, you and I are cousins.  Welcome to the twisted family tree, man.”  He tried a smile on for size as Killian swallowed the news, but it felt crooked as hell.

“That’s… Tell me you’re joking, Bae.  _Please_ tell me you’re joking.”  Killian didn’t even say something sarcastic, which really meant he was shocked.

“I wish I was.  Your crazy uncle is my crazy uncle, too, and he tried to kill me the other day.  That’s when our mutual grandmother showed up with the news.  It was kind of ugly, but everyone’s alive.  So far.”

“I—I don’t know what to say.”  He still looked dumbstruck, but Killian being Killian, he came back on balance quickly enough.  He’d always been a man to roll with the punches after all.  They were alike in that, which was probably why they got along despite the betrayals, tensions, and sometimes on, sometimes off, affection between them. 

Bae shrugged.  “It took me two days to scrape up the courage to tell you, so you’re hardly alone in that.”

“Normally, I’d mock you for that, but I think that I’ll pass.  Today only, you mind.”  Killian’s answering smile was crooked, but Bae couldn’t blame him.  “And there I thought the bloody crazy uncle was a lot to take.  Now I’ve got an Uncle Crocodile, too.  I need a drink.”

They laughed together, uneasy and strained though the laughter was, it was also kind of comfortable.  They’d had their differences, beginning back when Killian handed Bae over to Pan, but they’d also had some moments where they’d been allies.  Killian had saved him from Pan more than once, killing Rufio before Rufio could kill Bae (slowly and nastily, too; Pan’s games weren’t always something Pan could control, particularly where Rufio had been concerned.  Felix had psychotic too, but Rufio made Felix look nice and cuddly).  That had started an odd friendship between a boy who couldn’t grow up and the man who had loved his mother, but their friendship had changed when they’d met again as adults.  And now they were cousins.

“You want me to promise not to mention that my mom was your aunt?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying teasingly. 

“Bite your tongue!”

Bae snickered.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Killian just lifted his flask and took a long swig, offering it to Bae after a moment.  Bae had never been the biggest rum fan there was, but yeah, this occasion merited a drink.

Or maybe ten.

* * *

 

“You’re supposed to be good at this, you know.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “Isn’t that what the whole ‘Sorcerer’ title means?”

Rumplestiltskin bit back the desire to snap back at her.   “It’s a bit more complicated than that, dear.  As you well know.”

“If I knew what to do, I wouldn’t be here.  So will you just get on with it?”

Regina really _was_ getting desperate if she came to him and straight up asked for help; Rumplestiltskin hadn’t even gotten the usual sarcastic banter from her, at least at first.  No, she’d straightforwardly asked him for help finding Archie Hopper’s heart, going so far as to bring several items belonging to the therapist to his shop.  Unfortunately, Rumplestiltskin’s first spell had failed as miserably as Regina’s had.

“I _am_ getting on with it,” he said quietly, his eyes on Archie’s scarf.  He’d tried one of Merlin’s locator spells, one with a lot more power behind it and a far different magical construction than a normal locator spell, yet the scarf still wasn’t moving.  Even though he’d been very specific with the magic, narrowing it down so that the scarf could find nothing other than Archie’s heart.  “Someone’s blocking every angle.”

“Who the hell could do that?  Henry says that Mordred doesn’t have that sapphire anymore.  And what is that thing anyway?”

“All that remains of another original power.”

Her head snapped around to stare at him in alarm.  “What?  You mean Merlin wasn’t the only one?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, sighing and turning away from the scarf.  That spell wasn’t going to work, and he wasn’t sure he had another that could break through whatever shielding Archie’s heart-taker had used.  “No.  There were four in the beginning.”

_“Four?”_

“Relax, dear, the other three are all dead.  That pendant is all that remains of Circe’s power, and Morgan took it back.”

“Your mother, you mean.”  Regina gave him a pointed look, but Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  He thought he knew how he felt, now, but he was still suffering from emotional whiplash.

“Yeah.”

“Is that all you have to say?”  Suddenly, Regina’s voice turned incredulous—and then surprisingly gentle.  “You mean you didn’t know?  You had no idea she was your mother?”

“How was I supposed to know?  She left when I was born.”  He couldn’t stop himself from glaring briefly at Regina, but the unexpected compassion in her eyes made him look away.  He wasn’t ready to deal with that right now.  Not even from his old friend.

“Sorry.”  The words hung between them, awkward and uneasy, until Rumplestiltskin nodded tersely.  Then Regina swiftly changed the subject.  “So, that pendant.  Is it dangerous?”

“Terribly.”  He took a breath to steady himself.  “If…what Morgan tells me is true, the power in it can corrupt the user, or burn right through them.  I think it may actually do both; the burnout simply begins with your soul and then continues outwards.  Either way, in the wrong hands, that pendant could be nearly as destructive as the Dark One.”

“That inspires _great_ confidence in me.”

“Yes, well, you asked.”

Regina scowled.  “Do you think that’s what’s blocking you, then?”

“It could be, but there’s another complicating factor.  Morgan told Belle that the Black Fairy is here in Storybrooke…and her wand disappeared from my shop.”  Long habits of keeping secrets made that information hard to share, but Rumplestiltskin knew he should.  They had too many enemies, ones both known and unknown, and they had to stand together.  _If we don’t, we’ll fall one by one._   Knowing that his power might not be enough to protect those he loved was unsettling, and having to depend upon others was even less palatable.  But Rumplestiltskin was slowly learning to trust.  These people _were_ his family, and they were depending upon him for help, too.

For once, the exchange truly did work both ways.

“Because we didn’t have enough enemies already.”  Regina gestured angrily at the rack of wands on the counter—useless wands, those, unless you wanted to do a pinch of fairy magic.  _Fairy, not fae,_ a voice inside him pointed out, and Rumplestiltskin almost stopped breathing when he recognized the echo of Merlin’s memories.  Merlin himself was gone, but something remained.  Regina’s next question startled him enough that he almost jumped.  “You have any idea who she is?”

“Suspicions.  Nothing more.”

“You going to _share_ those suspicions, O Secretive Sorcerer?”

“Not yet.”  Rumplestiltskin hesitated, shaking himself free of a few images that whipped through his mind, of helpless townspeople dancing to death, of faces glowing against a deep darkness.  “I need confirmation first.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

He laughed softly, the sound a reflexive way of pushing Regina to a safe emotional distance.  “I didn’t know you cared so much, dearie.”

“Stop it.” She glared, but it didn’t have a lot of bite.  “You’re my oldest friend.”

What _was_ it with Regina being more open these days?  It still made Rumplestiltskin uncomfortable, and he didn’t know what to do other than shift uneasily, glancing back down at the scarf and _willing_ his spell to work.  It didn’t, of course.  Whoever had stolen Archie’s heart had enough power to keep him from discovering the location of said heart without embarking upon some major magical work that Rumplestiltskin barely knew where to start.  Regina, however, just gave him an understanding smile in return for the awkward and shy one he finally gave her.  Then she was kind enough to change the subject.  _Regina being kind.  The world really has changed._

“So, it’s still not working.” 

“Alas, no.  If I’m going to come up with something, it’s going to take days.”  _And I’m either going to have to read up on possibilities…or ask my mother._   That last thought made him gulp.

“I’ll ask David to go see Blue about the Black Fairy, if you want,” Regina volunteered unexpectedly.  “Blue should know what she looks like, right?”

“That…that might work.  Reul Ghorm certainly wouldn’t tell you or I, but David might just get answers.”

Regina grinned.  “That’s the idea.  See?  I can learn politics.”

“I never thought you couldn’t.”

The next smile they shared was far less awkward, and something inside Rumplestiltskin stirred.  Thinking of these people as family was hard, but maybe thinking of Regina that way wasn’t.  He’d always tried not to look at her as the daughter he might have had—he’d _never_ have been able to turn her into his monster if he’d let himself—but she really was.  He didn’t regret not marrying Cora, because if he had he would never have met Belle, but he did regret what had happened to Regina.

Someday, perhaps he’d even give her a real apology for that.  For now, however, they understood one another well enough.  And there was work to do.

* * *

 

A month ago, Emma had been the ultimate evil in Storybrooke, mistrusted, hated, and reviled.  Now she was almost being treated normally, almost like she was the Savior, and it was beyond weird.  People still gave her wary looks from time to time, wondering if she’d do something nasty, but she’d had a good grip on herself since that fight with Rumplestiltskin sixteen days earlier.  There had been some moments where she almost let loose, but so far, the deal she’d made with him seemed to be helping her hold herself in check.  Combined with the victory she’d scored over the darkness at the Vault of the Dark One, Emma felt as much like herself as she figured she could while still the Dark One.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still avoiding Killian, though.  She hated herself for being weak and running to him after Guinevere had rattled her; Emma had _such_ a hard time trusting any man, and she honestly wasn’t sure if she could ever trust Killian again.  He’d meant well—when not so angry, she could acknowledge that—but she was pretty sure that he would never, _ever_ accept her as she was now.  One only had to look at Rumplestiltskin to know how the darkness left a stain on your soul, and Emma was finally in a position to understand how very deep those scars ran.  Fortunately, Killian wasn’t her only lifeline; she had a family full of people who would help her and who wouldn’t try to make choices for her.

“Hey, Gramps!” Henry greeted David cheerfully as they came into the sheriff’s station, with Emma trailing behind her son every bit as uneasily as she had during her first days in Storybrooke.  She didn’t think taking over her old position was sheriff was right—not when she had the darkness constantly whispering in her mind—but it was still strange to see her dad doing _her_ job.

“Hey, you two.”  David’s face split into a grin.  “Everything okay?”

“Yep!  Mom’s here to help with Operation Grasshopper.”

“Operation Grasshopper?” Emma asked before she could stop herself, giving her son an incredulous look.  “Really, Henry?  That’s about as obvious as it gets.”

Henry shrugged.  “Gramps wanted to call it Operation Cricket.”

“Hey, I’m new at this operation stuff, okay?” David laughed.  “This is my first time.”

“You’ll do great.”  Henry’s grin was infectious, and Emma found herself wandering over to stand next to her father.  David was like a rock, solid and steady, and so very comforting when she felt lost.  He glanced over to give her a smile, but didn’t press, and damn it was nice to have a parent.

Losing her mother would always burn, and Emma would _never_ forgive Arthur for that—but she was not going to drift away from David just because she’d lost Snow.  _You should still kill Arthur,_ the darkness reminded her with that thought.  _Teach_ her _a lesson by taking away her precious human king._   Startled, Emma tried to figure out what Nimue meant by that, but the voice she’d learned to recognize all too well volunteered nothing more.  A shiver tore through her, though, one born of fear and unease she couldn’t quite explain.  David put a hand on her arm, and made her jump.

“Sorry.”  Emma felt her face flush in embarrassment.  _I’m in control,_ she told herself firmly.  _They can whisper all they want, but they can’t_ make _me do anything._

“You all right?” her father asked quietly.

“Yeah.  Just a cold chill.”  There wasn’t another way to explain it, anyway, and she didn’t feel like going into details.  Squaring her shoulders, Emma focused on the subject at hand.   “Let’s talk about Archie.  Regina called and told me that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t locate his heart, either, so I think we’ve got to turn Archie loose and see what happens.”

“No one’s keeping him prisoner.”  David looked a little offended at the implication.

“No, I get what Mom’s saying,” Henry piped up.  “We’re always stopping by, talking to him and looking out for him.  We’ve got to stop doing that, make it look like everything’s okay.  Right?”

Emma nodded.  “Yeah.  It’ll probably take a few days, maybe a week, before whoever has his heart is comfortable enough using it again, so we’ve got to back off and just see what happens.”

David frowned immediately.  “Archie isn’t doing so well.  If he feels like we’re abandoning him, he’s only going to feel worse.”

“He’s not going to feel better until he’s got his heart back.” Emma shrugged when her father gave her a sharp look.  “This is the fastest way to get it back.”

“But not the kindest.”

“Do you have a better idea?”  Looking at the situation dispassionately, Emma supposed maybe she was being a little cold-blooded.  But sometimes being cold-blooded was the _right_ answer, because it kept you from jumping into something based on emotion.  Being the Dark One was good for her in that respect; Emma had always wanted to smash problems.  Now she was able to distance herself, at least when the problem didn’t fall close enough to home to get her temper up.

“No.”  David frowned.  “But I still don’t like the idea of leaving him alone when he’s so shaken.  _Someone_ has got to keep an eye on him.”

“Fine.  Then we make it someone who doesn’t look threatening, like Henry.”  She shifted her glance to her son.  “And you can’t go by too often, either.  Otherwise, whoever has his heart might _never_ use it again.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” David asked.

Emma snorted.  “Only if you want Archie to never get it back.  And what happens if whoever it is gets bored and just decides to crush it?”

Henry winced, and David scowled, but Emma really didn’t understand why they both gave her such horrified looks.  She was just stating facts, and she was trying to help.  After all, she was going to do the hard work and track Archie once their unseen heart thief started using him.  She wasn’t going to let Henry take any part in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Nine—“For Often Thro’ the Silent Nights”, in which Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire deal have a heart to heart, Maleficent shares important information with Regina, David goes to see Blue, Mordred starts looking for allies, Emma and Baelfire talk about friendships and romance, and Morgan tells the truth about “Guinevere”.


	51. For Often Thro’ the Silent Nights

Baelfire caught Rumplestiltskin coming out of the bathroom that morning wearing nothing but a pair of pants.  Belle had gone to the library very early, wanting to help Tiny with the shipment of books that had just come in (getting shipments in from the outside world was complicated enough that it didn’t happen often, and Belle had been waiting for this one for weeks).  That left Rumplestiltskin spending the morning without her, which still left him a little off-kilter.  A week had passed since he’d met his mother, and he still felt the need to cling to Belle for balance, even if he was able to _act_ normal enough.  Having his son back helped, though, even when said son barged into his bedroom with no warning.

“Hey, Pop, I was thinking—what the hell is that?”

“What’s what?”  Rumplestiltskin looked around quickly, but he couldn’t find anything that might have alarmed his son so much, until he looked back at Bae and found Bae staring at his side.

“You look like someone stabbed you with the world’s biggest thorn covered in Dreamshade.  And like they jerked it around a few times before stitching it up.”

“Oh.  That.”  It took Rumplestiltskin a moment to swallow his son’s analogy, but Bae had lived on Neverland for centuries, and he supposed that the secondary power-poisoning _did_ look a bit like Dreamshade.  Or at least it did now, anyway, a month after he’d been stabbed.  The wound was actually closed, now—after Whale had stitched it up a third time two weeks ago—but it still looked black, ugly, and dangerous.

“Yeah, ‘that’.  You gonna explain?”  Bae stepped forward for a closer look, and it took everything Rumplestiltskin had not to flinch away.  Fortunately, his son didn’t try to touch the wound, which still hurt like the devil.

He sighed.  “I suppose Emma didn’t tell you that she stabbed me with the dagger when we got in a fight last month, did she?”

“Yeah, she might have left that out.  What the hell were you two fighting about?  You seemed to be on pretty good terms by the time I came back to life.”  He could see Bae doing math in his head.  “Sixteen days ago.”

“We are.  I was trying to stop her from killing—oh, it doesn’t matter.  She has control of herself now, and that’s what matters,” Rumplestiltskin replied, choosing not to go into the bloody details of how Mordred had goaded Emma into anger and endangered a crowd of innocent (and not-so-innocent) bystanders in the process.  That was Emma’s story to tell.  “I let her stab me so that I could get the dagger.  I didn’t expect it to do this.”

Grimacing, he gestured at his side while said the last words, and he could see Bae trying to figure out what to ask first.  Unfortunately, instead of asking for details about the fight, he pointed at the healed wound again.

“You okay?”

“Mostly.”  He tried not to grimace again.  Bae didn’t need to know how the damn thing had burned for weeks.  “It still hurts a little, but it’s finally closed up.”

“So, did that happen because you used to be the Dark One, or is there something else I need to know?”

Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin wished his son wasn’t quite so smart.  But even when it was a pain, he was damned proud of him.  “No.  But before you ask why, decide if you want a short history of magic, because that’s what it’ll take to explain.”

“I’m game.”  Bae grinned, and Rumplestiltskin sighed.

“Let me put a shirt on first,” he said, walking out of the bathroom to do just that.  Bae followed him, though, clearly feeling that this was a perfect time to get said lesson.  It wasn’t that Rumplestiltskin minded explaining this—he was rather pleased that his son no longer hated magic with every fiber of his being, to be honest—but finding a way to condense facts he only partly understood was sometimes difficult.  _Merlin lived through the beginning of magic.  I didn’t._

Bae plopped down on the bed as Rumplestiltskin opened the closet, frowning thoughtfully.  “So, I’m figuring that it’s because you’ve got Merlin’s power, right?  That makes you—what Henry call it?—an original power?”

“Yeah.”

“So…what exactly _is_ an original power?  I think Henry got the cliff notes version and then got fascinated by something else.”

Rumplestiltskin let out a breath, lining up the facts in his mind to try to make this as concise and as understandable as possible.  Frankly, it was amazing that more people hadn’t asked this question, but no one really had.  Most everyone seemed content knowing he was the Sorcerer, without caring what exactly that meant.

“The first fully sentient beings with magic were the original faeries.  There were three of them: Reul Ghorm, Danns’ a’Bhàis, and Fionna Rèitear.  Blue, Black, and White.  After them came the human original powers, of which there were four: Merlin, Viviane, Circe, and Medea.  It was from those seven original powers, faerie and human alike, where human magic originated.”

“You said _fae_ rie, not fairy.  I’ve only ever heard of fairies, not ‘fay-ree’.”  Bae had always been quick, even when he’d been young.  “What’s the difference?  Is there one?

“I’m getting to that, but yes.”  Rumplestiltskin finished buttoning his shirt and came over to lean against a chest of drawers.  “The first to die was the White Faery—”,

“How the hell does someone kill a fairy—sorry, faery?  I mean, if humans didn’t really have magic yet, that sounds kind of hard.”

His son was probably the only one who could interrupt him without Rumplestiltskin feeling even slightly annoyed—or, well, Belle could.  But she already knew much of this.  He shrugged ruefully.  “It’s hard _with_ magic, or at least for one of the original fairies.  And I don’t know how she died; Merlin didn’t know, either.  Regardless, the Black Faery absorbed _most_ of the White Faery’s power—but not all.  Some of it escaped, and humans, who’d had no magic of their own, were able to absorb it.  That started what we now call the First Foundation War, where ‘normal’ humans went after both regular faeries and all six original powers, wanting to gain magic of their own.  When Medea was slain, all of her magic escaped, growing and changing with time.  That formed the foundation of all human magic.”

“You’re saying _one_ original power was enough to, um, power all of human magic?”  Bae’s eyes had grown huge.  “One of someone like you?”

“It was a beginning, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin hesitated, skipping over much of the history that he’d read in Merlin’s notes—or learned straight from Merlin, back when he’d been sharing his body with the old Sorcerer’s soul.  It wasn’t relevant right now.  “What killed Medea, however, was what we call a secondary power.  That’s a weapon or a tool created by an original power, and it’s the only thing that can kill one of us.  But the wound has to be immediately fatal, or you get things like this.”  He gestured at his side again, wincing at the memory of the pain.

“So, what happened next?” 

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help chuckling.  The question brought him back to telling his son stories when Baelfire had been little.  He’d always tried to tell a story to get Bae to go to sleep, but Bae had been asking _Papa, what comes next?_ pretty much ever since he could form sentences.  He shouldn’t have been surprised when his son failed to grow out of that.  “You never change, do you?” he asked fondly.

“Nope.”  Bae grinned.  “And, since it wasn’t curiosity that killed me so much as straight up dumbassery, I’m probably not gonna.”

How far had they come that they could joke like this?  Rumplestiltskin even found himself chuckling a little, because now he _could_.  His son was alive and well, and even living in his home.  Rumplestiltskin had his family, had a chance not to screw everything up again, and he was damned well not going to waste a moment of it.  So, he sat down on the bed next to Baelfire and continued:

“Medea’s death caused two things to happen.  First, it was the last straw between the Blue and Black Faeries, who had already been at one another’s throats over what to do with humanity, since they both blamed all humans for the select few who sought to steal their powers.  They split, creating what we now call the fairies and the fae.  Secondly, it allowed fourteen rebel sorcerers on the island of Lyonesse to gather enough power, which they then used to call for an elemental darkness.  They meant to split that darkness between all of them, but it escaped and unified, killing most of them and destroying Lyonesse.  The survivors went to Merlin, but by then it was too late to contain.”

“ _That’s_ what’s in Emma.”

“That’s how it started, yes.”

“So, Merlin created the Dark One instead of, I dunno, trying to stop it?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Instead, he actually managed to get the five living original powers together, and they trapped it in a vault that you are intimately familiar with.  Eventually, it escaped—twice—and then he created the Dark One.”

Bae scowled.  “Why not just trap it again?  If they’d done it once, they could do it again.”

“Except Circe died before it escaped the first time—the Black Fairy killed her when she had supposedly nearly murdered the Blue Fairy.  Her power is now in the Greater Sapphire, the pendant you saw Mordred with.  And Viviane died when the darkness was released the second time.”  Flashes of memories rolled through Rumplestiltskin’s mind, and he could _see_ them standing together at the vault.  Both faeries, Merlin and Viviane, united one last time.  There had been enough power, then, with the Black Fairy using the pendant and with Morgan serving as bait.  But when he blinked, the image vanished—yet it left knowledge in its wake, knowledge he knew he’d need. 

“So, three original powers weren’t enough.  Damn.”  He could see what Bae was thinking.  There were two original powers in Storybrooke: Blue and Rumplestiltskin.  And if what Morgan had told Belle some time ago was right, the Black Fairy made three. 

_Could that be enough, if someone could use the pendant?_   Yet Rumplestiltskin knew that using that much power would burn through even him; he was merely human, and his body could not contain two original powers.  _Danns’ could because she absorbed the White Faery’s power,_ the ghostly whisper of Merlin’s memories told him.  _Alone, no original power can withstand the force of combining with another._ Could four powers be enough?  It had taken five the first time, but careful preparation and spell work…

Rumplestiltskin had a lot to think about, and even more to study.

* * *

 

“Regina.”

Maleficent called her name just as Regina stepped out of town hall that afternoon.  It had been a frustrating day dealing with two accusations of murder, an electrical outage on the south side of town, and the fire department trying to go on strike, so Regina really wasn’t in the best of moods.  She would have snapped at anyone else, but Maleficent had always been a good friend, so she forced herself to stop and smile at least a little welcomingly. 

“I really hope you’re not responsible for the firefighters claiming they’re overworked,” she said mostly in jest.

One perfectly-sculpted eyebrow rose.  “Not that I know of.  Lily and I have been practicing out at sea.”

“I hope not too far.”  Regina snorted.  “If you cross outside of town and your magic fails, you’ll be in for a very long swim.”  Lily was an annoyance, but Mal was her friend, and Regina wouldn’t wish that on her friend or her friend’s daughter, even if Lily was a drama queen.

“I do have a better sense of direction than that, thank you very much.”  Maleficent’s smile was extremely thin, though.  “I did want to offer you a bit of help, though.”

“Help?”

The shrug was almost imperceptible.  “I was one of the people who saw young Grif’s murder.”

“Please tell me you know me well enough to know that’s not my style,” she replied dryly.  “Ranting and raving about people challenging my power isn’t something I’m interested in doing these days.”

“Oh, the performance was Vintage Evil Queen.”  Maleficent chuckled, and for a moment, her eyes danced.  Regina opened her mouth to object, but Maleficent cut her off.  “You _were_ rather dramatic in those days, dear.  Overblown, I’d say.”

“I had issues.  You know that.  _You’ve_ done the same, or was it someone else who cursed a second princess and her True Love just because you didn’t like her parents?”

“Relax, Regina.  I know it wasn’t you.  The performance was good, but not good enough to fool me.  I can confirm that the person disguised as you was using a glamor.  I managed to throw a quick spell at her—or him—before they teleported away.”

Regina’s heart skipped a beat.  The biggest problem with proving herself innocent was that she had no alibi; she’d spent the night passed out in a field, probably thanks to her sister.  And while her first instinct said to blame Zelena, there was no _proof._   Until now.  Still, she had to ask:  “That was nine days ago.  Why did you wait so long to _say_ something?”

“I’ve been busy.”  Another shrug.

“ _Mal_.”

“I’m sorry, Regina.”  But there was nothing else.  Just a simple apology from a woman who had once been her closest friend.  How had they drifted so far apart? 

“Did you at least get a look at who the culprit really was?”

“No.  I must have forgotten to check.”

“Forgot—?” Regina cut herself off, trying not to gape.  If Maleficent hadn’t checked—when she’d gone so far to determine that the person _was_ using a glamour spell—that meant that Maleficent hadn’t _wanted_ to check.  But if Mal didn’t want to help, why tell her at all?

“If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.  I’m sure we’ll see one another soon.”  Maleficent gave her a gracious nod before walking away, but Regina felt like she’d just been served notice.

_How did we become enemies when I wasn’t looking?_

* * *

 

“You know, I saw your dad with your grandparents at Granny’s the day before yesterday,” Bae said as he and Belle walked down the street together.  His dad had been absorbed in making something magical and had brushed off their attempts to drag him to lunch, so Bae figured he’d take his stepmother out for lunch.  It was Papa’s loss if he didn’t want to come along.

“Oh?”  Belle looked surprised, and Bae felt bad for bringing it up.  After all, he was the one who had told Belle how suspiciously Guinevere had acted when she’d come to the shop the week before.  His dad seemed cautious about such things, probably knowing how very much Belle valued family.  But Bae was blunter than Rumplestiltskin, which meant he hadn’t hesitated to tell her about that, either.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It was probably nothing, but they seemed to get awfully quiet when I walked by.”

Her only answer was a scowl, and that just made Bae feel worse.

“Look, if you want me to stop saying things like this, I will.  I know they’re your family—”

“ _You’re_ my family,” Belle cut him off.  “And it’s not what you’re saying that’s the problem.  It’s the fact that they won’t trust me at all.  They tell my father things that they won’t tell me, and they seem to think I’m some delicate little flower that needs to be shielded from whatever they’re doing.  I’m _not_ , and I don’t appreciate that.”

“You’re also worried that they’re hiding the truth from you because you won’t like it.”  He knew the look on her face.

Belle sighed.  “That, too.”  Her eyes searched his face.  “Am I wrong to be wary of them?  I don’t _want_ to be, but…”

“You’re not wrong.  Hell, I’m wary of my new family, too, if it makes you feel any better.  Probably would be even if Mordred hadn’t tried to kill me.  Though having Killian as a cousin is almost cool.  Or it will be once he stops thinking of me as some fifteen year old kid, anyway.”

“We share an uncle now, don’t we?”

That question made him stop cold.  “Are you…oh, crap, we do.  Man, how did my family tree get more twisted than _Henry’s_?  I didn’t think that was possible!”

“At least we’re not actually blood related.”  Belle laughed.  “Let’s see…my mother’s half-brother is also your father’s half-brother, and—”

“Stop it!”  Just thinking about it made his head hurt, but his stepmother only smiled sweetly.  At least he’d charmed her into a better mood, even if it meant she started teasing him in return.

* * *

 

It had been too long since David had been to the convent.  Actually, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been there, though it had _definitely_ been too long since he’d seen most of the fairies.  They seemed to keep to themselves these days, which was odd.  Back after the first curse had been broken, David saw a lot of fairies around town.  Now, though, they stayed here, away from the action. On the rare occasions anyone showed up, it was almost always Blue herself, or the whole flock together.  _How did I not notice that our relations with them got strained?_ he wondered as he walked through the front doors.  _Have things really gotten that bad?_  

Things had been busy, sure; there had hardly been a quiet period longer than a few weeks since the casting of the second curse, but that was no excuse.  Blue had been a good friend to his family, once.  Hadn’t she?  She’d always helped when Snow asked, at least, though lately she’d been more distant.  Had Snow’s death caused that, or was there something else?  As always, thinking of his late wife made a lump rise in his throat, and even though a ghostly hand stroked his arm, the pain was almost too much to bear.  Snow had been dead for thirty-seven days.  He’d counted every one of them, but he still felt incomplete.  David suspected that he always would.

“You okay?” Grumpy asked from his right, startling David a little.

“Yeah.”  He swallowed hard.  “I was just thinking of Snow.”

“We all still miss her,” the dwarf replied quietly.  “Things just aren’t the same without her.”

David found the next words hard to get out.  “No.  They aren’t.”

“You’ll see her again.  And she’d be proud of you, too, for everything you’ve done for this town.”  They passed a pair of fairies, and Grumpy exchanged greetings with them while David struggled to keep his composure.  “We’re all behind you, you know.  Just like we were behind her.”

“Thanks, Leroy,” he managed to whisper.  Their faith in him—him, a shepherd turned prince!—continued to shake David to his very core.  It had been one thing to follow him when he was Snow’s husband, because she’d always been by his side, and they’d been a _team_.  David had never had to lead on his own until he’d lost her, and he so often wondered if he was screwing things up.  Hearing someone say that they believed in him was kind of extraordinary.

Grumpy reached out to grasp his elbow with one calloused hand.  “Anytime.”

Reaching the door to Blue’s office relieved him of any need to respond, and David managed to push aside his neverending grief.  He was here for a purpose, to do something that really had to be done.  David had felt like smacking his head into a wall when Regina had called to suggest he talk to Blue about the Black Fairy.  Why hadn’t any of them done that before?  Oh, he knew why neither Regina nor Rumplestiltskin would have; Blue made her disapproval of those two rather plain.  But David could talk to her, which meant he should.

So, he knocked on the door crisply, half surprised that the chief fairy didn’t seem to already know he was there.

“David!”  Blue greeted him with a motherly smile, opening the door wide.  “And Leroy.  What brings you out to the convent today?”

“Can we talk?” David asked, feeling a little self-conscious.  He didn’t know why Blue always made him feel that way.  Maybe it was the fact that she’d always been the patron fairy of _Snow’s_ family, whereas his family had been forced to make deals with the Dark One when they needed help.  _Granted, that didn’t turn out too badly, but still.  It would have been nice to have a fairy to call upon._

“In private,” Grumpy added as bluntly as ever.

“Of course.”  Another soft smile.  “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Both did as they were bid, settling into the comfortable chairs across from Blue’s desk.  She sat behind the desk, of course, bringing to mind memories that David Nolan had had of stern visits to the principal’s office.  But he hadn’t really lived that life, which meant he pushed those aside as Blue asked, her maternal smile still in place:

“What can I do for you?”

“We need some information.”  David didn’t actually know who had told Regina about it since she’d been playing her cards close (though he suspected Rumplestiltskin, who seemed to be in on this), so he chose to be vague.  “A, um, source told us that the Black Fairy is here in town, and I remember Tink telling us about how you’d exiled her years ago.  We’re hoping you know more, specifically about who she is or what she might want.”

“I remember hearing stories about her back in the Enchanted Forest,” Grumpy put in, his expression stormy.  “Things about her enslaving humans for entertainment, about whole towns dancing until they died, and about people ripped from their families who never returned.  We’ve had enough of that type here in Storybrooke.”

“I agree with you, of course.”  Blue folded her hands calmly.  “The Black Fairy is a dangerous foe, but not one you need to worry about.  She is a fairy.  We will deal with her.”

Grumpy got in before David could open his mouth.  “We?”

“Surely you trust me to solve this problem, as I have done in the past,” Blue replied guilelessly. 

David frowned.  “You usually aren’t big on direct intervention.”

“The Black Fairy is my responsibility.”  Blue rose, her eyes slightly narrowed.  “I thank you for your concern, but no action on your part is required.”

“There’s got to be some way we can help.”  David stood with her automatically, even though Blue’s serenely _imperious_ body language threw him for a loop.  “Even if it’s just by keeping an eye on things—”

Blue reached out to take his hand.  “I thank you for your concern, David, but we have things under control.”

“You sure about that?” Grumpy was eyeing the senior fairy dubiously, which told David that his instincts had to be right.  Grumpy was usually one of the fairies’ biggest supporters, and if _he_ found Blue’s current attitude suspicious, David couldn’t be wrong.

“Very much so.”  Her smile could have melted butter, and what else was there to do?  David could only nod and accept Blue’s statement at face value.  She led them towards the door pointedly, and he exchanged glance with Grumpy, who looked more than a little concerned.

“Can you at least tell us who she is so that we can look out for her?”

Blue squeezed his arm gently.  “Everything is under control.  You have no need to worry.”

* * *

 

He had been caught by surprise too many times.  First, by the fact that Zelena _clearly_ wasn’t telling him everything—not that he could blame her; Mordred would have done the same in her place.  Still, knowing Henry’s link to everyone else in this damned town would have been useful before he’d kidnapped him, and Mordred didn’t appreciate being caught unawares.  The second unpleasant surprise had come via his own _mother_ , whose stance on her last son (got on her by a worthless con artist and who did not deserve to call himself the son of Morgan of Cornwall) was both alarming and disgusting.  He could do nothing about the latter, but he _could_ keep himself from experiencing nasty surprises because he didn’t have adequate local allies.

That meant Mordred had to branch out, and his own loyal courtiers had identified a few people worth talking to.  The first of those seemed to be August Booth, who had apparently once been friends with the Dark One before she took on her current mantle, but seemed to dislike her intensely now.  _That_ was someone he could use. 

Their conversation had started out amicably enough; August didn’t seem to approve of the current state of affairs in the town, which Mordred gathered had been going from bad to worse.  He _had_ been interestedly watching this kerfuffle with Queen Regina and the murders she was rumored to have committed.  He was no longer really intrigued by the woman, at least not in a romantic sense, because what Regina had said to him was utterly unforgivable.  But there were plenty of advantages for him if Regina’s control over Storybrooke started to splinter, and Mordred had no qualms about stepping into a power vacuum when it occurred.  _I was a fool to let Arthur put himself forward before I could,_ he knew.  However, Mordred had never been comfortable with playing politics to win himself allies.  _He_ was a king worth following and he shouldn’t have had to _convince_ people to do so.  They should simply have known.

Yet here he was, playing his father’s damned game of charm.  It was one thing to convince his nephew to follow him; Killian had been understandably hesitant.  Strangers, on the other hand…well, not gritting his teeth was hard.  _I must do this quietly,_ Mordred reminded himself, not forgetting the promise he had made his mother.  Morgan thought he’d lost track of the bigger threat, but he hadn’t.  And if he played his cards right, Mordred could gain the dagger and therefore turn the Dark One against the Black Fairy.  It was only a matter of time, and—

“You know, if you’re so determined to fight the darkness, you should ally with Blue.  The Blue Fairy, I mean,” August pointed out.  “She’s _always_ opposed the Dark One, after all.  Unlike a lot of people in this town, she’s not likely to give Emma a free pass just because she used to be the Savior.”

“That is…a truly interesting proposition.”  Mordred spoke slowly, but his mind was racing.  How had he never thought of that?  His mother hated Blue, of course, but recent events had proven Morgan remarkably obtuse.  He’d always thought that his mother’s judgment was better than this, but what if she was wrong about Blue?

August shrugged casually.  “Blue’s always on the right side.  Some people in town don’t like her attitude, but she’s the one person here who never compromises on that.”

“Thank you.”  Mordred nodded briskly.  “I will speak to her.  I can count on your support, as well?”

“I’m on Blue’s side.  If you are, too, then we can talk.”

* * *

 

It was another bust.  Emma had spent the morning following Archie around (both physically and magically, calling upon all of her old skills as a bailbondsperson), and yet he hadn’t done anything remotely suspicious.  Clearly, whoever had his heart realized that they’d caught on, and either they were using him _very_ carefully or not at all.  _The list of potential culprits is short,_ the darkness within her whispered, and Emma shook her head to clear it.  _You know who they are.  You know your enemies._   Scowling, Emma opened the bug’s door with more force than she meant to, ignoring as it creaked in protest.  She refused to believe that Regina or Rumplestiltskin was guilty of this—there was no _reason_ for them to be, even if the darkness was clearly trying to make her suspicious so that she’d ignore their advice.

No, it was either Mordred, Guinevere, or some new player in the game.  Emma just needed to figure out which one.  She slammed the car door in frustration and turned to stalk down the street.  Unfortunately, doing so was damned hard when Archie just—

“Hey, no need to run me over.”

Wheeling to face Neal, Emma almost said something cutting before she could stop herself.  The darkness within her snarled and spat, not liking Neal one bit.  _Shut up, you!_   Was it the darkness that made her feel guilty though?  She shouldn’t feel guilty.  She hadn’t even run into him.  “Sorry.”

His answering smile was lopsided.  “You okay?” 

“Yeah.  Just frustrated.”

“Henry said you’ve got a new mission.  Operation Grasshopper, he’s calling it?”  Neal chuckled.  “He’s really into the animal names for operations, isn’t he?”

“Regrettably.”  Emma sighed, forcing herself to relax.  Around Neal, relaxing was ridiculously easy; he called things like he saw them, and he didn’t take crap from anyone, even her.  Emma didn’t feel like she was walking on eggshells around him, or like she needed to pretend to be something she wasn’t sure she’d ever be again.  So, she let herself grumble a little.  “He’s apparently not into keeping secrets these days, though.”

“Ah, give the kid a break, Emma.  A, I’m his dad, and B, it’s not like I’m some super-secret spy for the bad guys.”  He shrugged.  “Hell, if I was, you’d have a lot more to worry about than me spilling the beans on Operation Grasshopper.”

“Good point.”  After all, Neal had no reason to betray them.  He’d been dead a few weeks earlier, so it wasn’t like someone could have corrupted him in the meantime.  And besides, Neal had flat out told her that Rumplestiltskin had put protections on him to keep anyone from ripping his heart out.  _Even me,_ Emma knew, and somehow that thought was more comforting than worrisome.  She didn’t like people trusting her.  Not like this.  She wasn’t sure she could always live up to it.

“Everything else okay?  You look kind of jumpy.”  Brown eyes met hers, level and easy, and Emma fought back the urge to tell him all kinds of uncomfortable truths.  _I’m too comfortable with him.  I can’t do this._

“Why would I be jumpy?  I’ve just got the voices of about twenty Dark Ones, plus an elemental freaking darkness from practically the dawn of time running around in my head.  _That’s_ nothing to be jumpy about at all.”

“Whoa, no need to bite my head off.  I’m just worried about you.  Friends are allowed to do that, especially when you share a kid.”

_You’re the Dark One.  You don’t have friends._ Emma swatted the voice aside, focusing on Neal.  “Is that what we are?  Friends?” 

“Yeah.  Unless you don’t want to be, yeah, we’re friends.”  He gave her a funny look.  “I thought we’d gone through this.”

“I slept with Killian.”  The words burst out without warning, and Emma looked away, her heart pounding against her ribcage.  _Why did I say that?  Do I_ want _him to hate me?_

“Kinda figured that.  You two were involved and all, and I really can’t complain.  Even if I hadn’t been dead, I don’t own you, Emma.”  Those words almost made her look at him, but Emma just swallowed hard instead.

“No, I mean last week.  After I broke up with him.”  She hugged herself tightly, wishing she knew what to say or what to do.  She _still_ felt terrible for doing that, but she also knew that walking away was the right thing to do.  The fact that she shouldn’t have gone back to Killian in the first place didn’t negate her need for space, or the fact that she was pretty sure that her relationship with Killian _wasn’t_ the balm for the darkness that she’d initially thought it was.  _And if he can’t trust me, can’t look at me and see beyond the Dark One when it comes to me making choices…I don’t know how to do this._

“It’s your choice, Emma.”  Neal put a hand on her arm, and it made her jump.  “Is that what you want?  Killian?”

“The darkness wants him,” she admitted softly.  “But I can’t trust him.  I ended it.”

“Again?”

She twisted to glare at him.  “It’s hard, okay?  I…loved him.  I _love_ him.  But now that I’ve taken a step back, I’m realizing that as good as he made me feel, I wasn’t being _me_.  I let things go.  I ignored things that were wrong because I wanted to be happy.  And now that I’m the Dark One, being with him is too _easy_.  He was trying to support me, but I abused that.”

“And then the mess with Mordred.”  Neal knew all those details by now.  Henry would have told him, even if Emma hadn’t.  Fortunately, she had.

“Yeah.”  Closing her eyes against sudden tears, Emma bit her lip to keep from crying.  “Maybe I’m better off alone.  I’m _stronger_ alone.”

Neal was quiet for a long moment.  “Does that mean you don’t want to have friends, too?  Or is it just a subtle hint for ex-boyfriends to get lost under all circumstances?”

“I seem to remember you wanting to be more than friends before you died.”  But she found herself giving him a broken smile when she opened her eyes.  Emma wasn’t ready for another relationship, she didn’t _want_ one right now, and she didn’t know why she’d opened up to Neal at all.

“What I want is you to be happy, Emma.  If that comes from you not being attached to anyone, then that’s that.”  He shrugged, looking self-conscious.  “And yeah, I wanted a second chance back before everything happened.  But hell, there’s no way to know if we’d have been any good together a second time around.  I know I hurt you, and if you can’t get past that, it’s cool.  I’d rather be your friend than ruin that by trying for another romance, particularly when you don’t want one.”

“Thanks.”  _I always liked the fact that you were always_ you _, and no one else,_ Emma didn’t say, but she almost did.  She just gave Neal a wan smile, and tried to be herself.

* * *

 

He hadn’t forgotten his promise to Emma.  Rumplestiltskin would _never_ forget that his sucessor had taken on the darkness when he’d proven unable to contain it, despite years of effort and a last-ditch attempt to rewrite their entire world to eliminate the darkness once and for all.  If he’d known then what he did now, of course, he _could_ have crafted a story that actually wrote the darkness out and left the bulk of their world intact, but he’d been too desperate.  Too dependent upon Isaac to do the work and come up with a satisfactory alternative.  He’d been a fool, but now it didn’t matter.  The pen was broken, as well it should have been. 

He had, however, promised Emma that he’d find a way to get the darkness out of her, and Rumplestiltskin was still working on how to contain it once he did.  He wasn’t sure such power could ever be destroyed—or even if it should be—but he did know that the day of the Dark One was over.  Unfortunately, such a task required knowledge even beyond his comprehension, and that in turn demanded research and time.  But while those ideas marinated and grew, he _could_ do something else about the darkness, could find a way to free Emma (at least in some sense) without cursing another.

Hence his current project.  It started as a simple amulet, one shaped like a swan.  It had been a largely magic-less little trinket from the collection of things Henry and Hook had brought back from Camelot, but the amulet was useful despite that.  He’d laid spell after spell upon it, carefully layering not a dozen or two, but over a hundred different enchantments into the small golden swan.  He wasn’t done, yet, but the piece was nearing completion after almost a month of work.   Once done, and when worn on someone’s arm, the amulet would actually block a magic user’s negative emotions.  Oh, it wouldn’t stop the person from _feeling_ those emotions, but it would stop those emotions from feeding into dark magic.  In fact, if the amulet worked properly, it would keep someone from using any dark magic at all.

Lifting his hand, Rumplestiltskin watched the swan burn briefly, glowing deep red as another enchantment settled in.  Emma would not find this amulet a burden; in fact, it would probably allow her to access her own actual magic, blocking away the Dark One’s power and allowing Emma to feel more like herself.  _He_ wouldn’t have been grateful for it as the Dark One, but then, Rumplestiltskin had jealously collected and guarded all sorts of power, having far too often experienced what it was like to have none.  Emma was better than he was, stronger than he’d ever been, and he was fairly certain that she’d wear it willingly.  He raised his hand to add another spell, only for the bell out front to ring.

Sighing, he rose from his workbench, lifting the swan amulet—the Peace Amulet, he’d chosen to call it—and slipping it into his pocket.  It would not do for people to see it before it was ready.  Some would want to dismantle and use its power, and others would prefer to put it on someone other than the current Dark One.  He wasn’t against that—there were at least two people who came to mind that Rumplestiltskin would consider putting it on—but he was making this for Emma.  _I know how hard it can be to stop yourself,_ he thought as he slipped through the curtain.  _If—_

He never finished the thought, because his mother was standing there, looking like she was trying too hard not to fidget.  Rumplestiltskin just stopped cold, his mouth opening as he tried to say _something_ , only to find no words came out.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Morgan said after a moment.  “I originally intended to give you more time…but there are things you must know, even if you hate me.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “I don’t hate you.”

She’d told him the truth nine days ago, and he’d _meant_ to find a way to talk to her since then.  Perhaps there was still much of the coward in him, though, despite the lessons he’d learned or what Belle—or even his mother!—said about him.  Rumplestiltskin had found excuse after excuse _not_ to seek Morgan out.  At first, he’d been too uncertain of his own emotions to do so, but now he was, more or less, in a better place.  He should have sought her out sooner, but he’d been afraid.

Morgan, however, looked more than a little shocked at his response.  And a little pleased, even, in a very hesitant and cautious way.  Her little smile was almost shy, if one could call a woman who was centuries older than _him_ shy.

“I’m glad.”  Her voice was extremely soft until she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.  “But I’m afraid that I’ve not come for familial purposes, much as I would _like_ the opportunity to get to know you better.  There’s something we must discuss first.”

Taking refuge in what needed to be done was much easier than tackling the emotional issues between them, even if part of Rumplestiltskin’s heart leapt traitorously when Morgan said she wanted to get to know him better.  _Focus,_ he told himself firmly, pushing the tidal wave of emotions aside.  “And what is that?”

“Your wife’s grandparents.”  Morgan met his eyes squarely.  “Specifically, her grandmother.  ‘Guinevere’ is not what she claims to be.”

“Yet you come to me instead of Belle.”  He eyed his mother suspiciously.  “Why?”

“I would prefer to speak to you both, as I told her some weeks ago.”

“Why _did_ you go to her instead of me?” He’d been wondering that ever since he’d learned who Morgan was.

“Because I wanted to know what kind of woman you had married.  Knowing what I do about her family, I was concerned.”  Morgan could certainly be blunt when she chose to be, and her shrug was utterly unapologetic.  “I saw the kiss you shared drive Merlin’s soul into hiding.  I understand you are True Love.  But I needed to know.”

Logical though that response was, it stung a little.  “And now you do.”

“Less rather than more, I think, but it will have to be enough.  She seems like a far better person that I would have expected, unburdened by the darkness that _should_ be her lineage.”  Morgan glanced away, her eyes growing unfocused for a moment, but when she looked back at him, her frank expression was back in place.  “I should tell you first.  If Belle is even half as kind as I believe her to be, she will take this hard.”

That made Rumplestiltskin blink.  Was Morgan being _considerate_ towards Belle?  If so, that was something he’d not expected at all, yet still very welcome.  He studied her for a few seconds, trying to discern if she was lying or not, but Morgan seemed to be direct by nature and not given to subterfuge.  _At least not in conversation,_ he reminded himself.  Morgan was a legendary chess master, the human woman who had squared off against the Black Fairy twice and outright defeated her the second time, not by force of magic or armies, but through guile and sneaky intelligence.  If stories were true, Morgan hadn’t exactly lost the first time, either; though she’d been forced to retreat, she still ensured that the Black Fairy hadn’t succeeded in dominating humanity, either.

_Don’t underestimate her, even if you_ want _to believe her,_ he warned himself.  Part of him burned to get to know Morgan, burned to have a real parent for the first time in his life, but Rumplestiltskin was too old to _need_ that, and he had to remember what was at stake.  His power and his responsibilities were too great for him to put such blind trust in someone he barely knew, even if she was his mother.

“Then tell me first.”  The decision was easy to make; Rumplestiltskin knew better than to keep the truth from Belle, no matter how painful it was, but if he knew what was coming he could at least soften the blow.  “And then you’ll stay to tell Belle, as well.”

“Of course.”  Was she surprised by his insistence?  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t tell.  Morgan looked grim enough already, and there was something in her eyes that made his throat close up nervously.  She met his gaze levelly.  “Guinevere is a lie.  As near as I can tell, she always has been.  The woman Arthur married is actually Danns’ a'Bhàis.”

“The Black Fairy.”

Rumplestiltskin felt only a flicker of surprise.  Every gap in Merlin’s memories, every _catch_ that didn’t quite make sense, suddenly clicked into perspective.  Emma had said that she believed Guinevere had controlled Merlin, and Rumplestiltskin _knew_ that the Black Fairy had picked up the dagger after Merlin killed Nimue.  He had seen that much in Merlin’s memories, had felt the rancid mixture of heartbreak, betrayal, trust, and terror that Merlin experienced every time he thought of his old ‘friend’, Danns’ a'Bhàis.  And Rumplestiltskin himself had felt the slight magical aura surrounding Guinevere; he’d known she was different from the beginning.  Something about her had always set him on edge, and his instincts had always told him not to trust her.  Yet this…this _should_ have been shocking.

Yet it wasn’t.  Was that Merlin’s memories bleeding through his consciousness, or had Rumplestiltskin merely instinctually recognized another original power?  He didn’t know.  The reasons were unimportant, anyway.  What mattered was _Belle._   Belle, who would take this terribly.  She had always been so good, so light, and to find that she was descended from the darkest of fairies, from the woman who legend said had named _herself_ “Dance of Death”, would hit her so very hard.  Morgan was right about that.  Somehow, it didn’t even enter Rumplestiltskin’s mind to be upset that he’d managed to marry himself to the granddaughter of the Queen of the Fae; Belle was Belle, and her lineage didn’t matter to him any more than his did to her.  No, his anger boiled up because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that “Guinevere” had been lying to Belle and cheerfully using her good nature.

“Arthur knows, I take it?” he asked after a moment, his voice hard.

Morgan nodded.  “We—Mordred, Gwaine, Lancelot, and I—once thought he did not, but he’s known all along.  My brother has always been ambitious, and he’s in just as deep as she is.”

Rumplestiltskin felt cold.  “Ambitious for _what?_ ”

“As near as I can tell, her goal has always been to rule over all magical realms, to combine them as one and re-forge all the worlds to her liking, enslaving humanity in the process.  There may be more to it, but that is what I know for certain that she wants.  But to do so, she needs two _complete_ original powers at her disposal.”

“She had Merlin when he was the Dark One.”

“She had the _Dark One._   Merlin managed to block off enough of his own power that it wasn’t enough.  And when she absorbed the White Faery’s power, she either lost some in the exchange or Fiona’s magic proved too incompatible with her own.”

Their eyes met, and Rumplestiltskin felt a strange kinship with his mother; he could see her mind working just like his, could see it tripping along possible pathways and racing through mazes of solutions.  He had always known that he couldn’t have gotten his tricky and strategic mind from Malcolm, though sometimes he had wondered if the darkness had enhanced it.  Now, however, he knew the answer, and seeing that before his eyes was a heady feeling.  He cleared his throat.  “Circe’s pendant…?”

“It might be enough. I’ve spilled enormous amounts of blood to keep it out of her hands over the centuries.”  Morgan grimaced.  “I’ve done many things I am not proud of, but at least I don’t cloak my actions in roses and claim people should be thankful for them.”

He caught the sideways reference to Reul Ghorm, but now wasn’t the time to throw insults in that direction.  Even if he wanted to.  “Would she help her sister?”

“Thankfully, no.  She’ll stop at nothing to return Danns’ to exile, though, and Reul will not care who she sacrifices to accomplish that.”

“I see.”  Idly, Rumplestiltskin drummed his fingers against the counter, letting his mind stretch and consider the vast number of possibilities and pathways before him.  _This_ was the battle that Reul Ghorm had tried to enlist his help in fighting, wasn’t it?  Rumplestiltskin had told her that he would fight for humanity, but he hadn’t understood what that meant.  That had been Merlin’s cause before he’d been tricked into becoming the Dark One—and _why_ that had happened suddenly made sense.  _Neither fairy wants a human original power alive and in full possession of both power and control,_ he realized.  Reul Ghorm wanted to control him as surely as his grandmother-in-law did.  How long would their subtle attempts last before either tried something more dramatic? 

“Will you stand for humanity?” Morgan’s quiet voice echoed his thoughts eerily well.  “Without you, we will lose.  Storybrooke is too small for me to nullify their power with time and distance.  There are too many people who will get caught in the crossfire, and one fairy or the other will dictate humanity’s fate if we cannot stop them.”

“You’re giving me the choice?”  The whisper escaped before he could stop himself. 

“Choices matter.”  Morgan smiled sadly.  “We are who we choose to be.”  _Even if we hate ourselves for it,_ she didn’t add, but he heard it all the same.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “I’ve already made that choice when Reul Ghorm came recruiting.”  He shrugged a little self-consciously.  “I am the Sorcerer.  I made that choice, too, when I could have let go.”

Would it have been better for humanity if Merlin was in his shoes?  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure.  Merlin had been burned out by the darkness, but he’d been a good man underneath that.  He’d meant well, and he knew the things that Rumplestiltskin possessed only hints about.  Perhaps the brave thing would have been to let go—but if choosing to fight for his own soul had been the coward’s way out, Rumplestiltskin was, for once, glad to be a coward.  He didn’t really know what to do from this point forward, how to fight this battle that had been raging for centuries before his birth, but he was damned well going to do his best. 

He’d learned that from Belle.

* * *

 

Belle hadn’t been expecting another visit from her grandfather, at least not so soon.  Her grandmother had already tried to turn Rumple and Bae both against Morgan, a warning that set Belle’s teeth on edge once Rumple shared it with her.  She’d been of a mind to go marching to her grandparents’ house and demand to know what they were playing at, but Rumplestiltskin had convinced Belle not to tip their hand so easily.  Trickery and subtlety, however, really weren’t in her nature.  Belle could understand the need for such subterfuge well enough, but playing that game herself was hard.  She wanted emotional honesty and truths out of those she cared for, but she was smart enough to know that making demands might not get her what she wanted.  Particularly when she learned that her grandparents had taken her father out to dinner two nights earlier.  They hadn’t even bothered to invite her, which didn’t offend Belle so much as it made her suspicious.

Just like Arthur’s arrival today did.  She wanted to believe that he meant well, and that her mother’s father wasn’t trying to seduce her _own_ father onto his side, but Belle really wasn’t sure.  Still, she tried to smile when Arthur came in.

“Grandfather.  How nice of you to come.”  She wouldn’t use any of the more casual terms of endearment for him, not until he earned them.  Belle found it very telling that _her_ family had immediately tried to turn Rumple against his own, whereas her one encounter with Rumple’s mother had been Morgan offering help.

“Belle.”  Arthur’s smile was almost guileless, but Belle was still on edge.  “I was hoping that we could invite you to dinner one of these nights.  Your grandmother and I would like to talk to you about family.”

“Instead of Grandmother warning my husband about his mother?” Her pointed response made Arthur blink hard.

“We didn’t mean to offend you, truly.  It’s only that I’ve known Morgan since we were children, and I appreciate how dangerous she is.  You can’t trust her.  She’ll only lie.  She’ll tell you things about your grandmother and me to turn you against us.”

“You could have told _me_ ,” she snapped before she could stop herself, feeling an angry chill whip up her spine.  “I’m not some delicate little flower that needs to be protected.  I make my own decisions, and I will not have anyone make them for me.”

“You’re so young—”

It was the exact wrong thing to say.  “Old enough to know that I would like to know the _whole_ truth, Grandfather, and not just from you.”  Belle squared her shoulders.  She had never had problems telling someone what she thought or what she wanted, and the fact that King Arthur was her grandfather didn’t change that.  “In fact, I’d like to talk to someone else who knows your story.  Where _is_ Lancelot, anyway?” 

Arthur looked taken aback.  “I—why would you want to talk to Lancelot?  He betrayed us, and—”

“And my mother spoke fondly of him,” she cut him off again.  “She loved him like a father.  He visited Avonlea, you know, and I could tell he cared for her.  And for me.  So, you can paint him as an evil man who stole my mother from you, but I know there’s more to it than that.”

“Such as the fact that Mordred tried to kill your mother?” Arthur countered, his eyes suddenly hard and hurt.

_“What?”_

“She was merely a child.  All of two years old, but she was in the way of his ambition.  The only good thing Morgan ever did for our family was stopping him.”  For once, Belle could see the truth shining out of his eyes, and it made her swallow. 

_Stay the course,_ she told herself firmly.  Arthur could throw painful facts at her, but she had already known that Mordred was willing to kill to achieve his ends—Henry and Baelfire stood witness to that.  Arthur was trying to distract her from the facts she needed to know, and Belle would not tolerate that.

“I still want to speak to Lancelot,” she said firmly.

“I don’t know where he is.” 

Arthur didn’t quite meet her eyes, though, and Belle knew there was more he wouldn’t say.  But that was fine.  She’d find it out for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Two—“Nothing But an Idea”, where Robin and Regina talk about a certain child, Belle is told the news about her grandmother, Henry and Baelfire go to talk to Isaac, Killian talks to Mordred about family, and Rumplestiltskin tells others about the Black Fairy.


	52. Nothing But an Idea

Robin’s phone chirped, and his heart sank a little.  Of _course_ Whale would have to text him now.  Things like this never happened at a good time, and Regina had just finally calmed down after ranting for twenty minutes about being framed for murders that she hadn’t committed.  Any mention of Zelena—who was almost undoubtedly behind the ruse, not that they could prove it—was likely to set her off again, and as much as Robin loved her, he really wasn’t in the mood for another tirade.  But if he _didn’t_ check the text, Regina would assume he had something to hide.  Which he did.

Unfortunately, she slid in next to him just as Robin opened the text.  He’d been sitting on the couch in her office, counting on Regina staying behind her desk…but Regina rarely did what he expected.  It was one of the things he loved most about her, even when it did bite him in the ass.

“Whale’s texting you?” she asked, leaning casually against his shoulder.  She didn’t sound concerned, at least not until Regina glanced at his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.  It’s not about me—”

Right on cue, his phone chirped a second time, and then promptly reported that it was downloading pictures.  Before Robin could think of what to say, images from Zelena’s latest sonogram popped up on the screen.  He shrugged helplessly, waiting for Regina to pull away, or for an angry reaction that never came.

“Is that her?” The softness in Regina’s voice indicated that she wasn’t referring to Regina, and Robin felt his heart melt.  _How could I ever underestimate Regina’s capacity to love?  I_ know _how big her heart is, and all the hatred in the world for Zelena won’t rub off on my daughter.  Not from Regina._

“Yeah.”  He felt his own smile turn dopey, but Robin didn’t care.  _He_ hated Zelena with a burning passion for how she’d become pregnant, but he could never hold that against his child.  And _this_ was his child.

“Does Whale say she’s healthy?” Regina asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

“She is, but Whale’s getting worried about Zelena’s antics.”  He grimaced.  “Truth be told, so am I.  Have you made any more progress on speeding up the pregnancy?”

Regina frowned, glancing away for a moment before answering.  “Emma and I talked about it last night.  The problem is getting Zelena to ingest the required potion.  She’s certainly not going to eat or drink anything I give her, and none of Emma’s ideas sounded likely to work out, either.”

“Too bad she doesn’t pop by Granny’s for a snack while she’s hiding in Mordred’s castle.”  He pulled a face, and then looked back down at the fuzzy image of his unborn daughter.  “These…risks you mentioned last time.  It won’t hurt her, will it?”

“The likelihood is low.”  Regina bit her lip.  “It’s actually good that Emma’s brewing the potion.  She might be the Dark One, but she’s, uh, given birth before.  That helps.”

Robin wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that kind of thing helped, but he was still glad to hear it.  Of course, he was still worried—both about what Zelena got up to with his child in her belly and the risks associated with magically advancing a pregnancy—but he was at least glad that he didn’t have to deal with this alone.  Regina had been such a rock, so damned supportive when she could have just turned her back on him, and he hated bringing up things that hurt her.  _I know she’ll love this child for my sake, but I wish it could have been_ our _child, not one conceived out of her birth mother’s hatred and spite._

“So, we need to find a way to feed Zelena the potion.  That sounds like a job for someone good at breaking and entering.”

“Mordred will fillet you if he catches you.”

Robin laughed.  “They didn’t call me the Prince of Thieves for nothing, you know.”  He reached out to cup her cheek gently, touched by the worry he saw in her eyes.  “Let me and the Merry Men scout the place out.  We’ll be careful.”

She gave him a hard look.  “More careful than when Rumple caught you, I hope.”

“Infinitely so.”  Robin kissed her to cut off her next objection, and he felt Regina’s smile against his lips.

“You’d better.”  She didn’t sound terribly fierce, though, so he just grinned.

“You and Emma handle the magical end.  I’ll handle the sneaky part once you’re done with the potion, all right?” He shrugged.  “Or, you could always catch her and I’ll help you poison her food.  In a manner of speaking.”

Regina laughed.  “It’s a deal.”

* * *

 

Belle had been glad that Rumple’s phone call interrupted her talk with Arthur.   Her grandfather continued to say that he didn’t know where Lancelot was and that Belle didn’t need to talk to him, and she was getting really sick of the lies.  So, she headed over to the shop immediately, only to find Morgan there as well.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t look particularly overwhelmed or emotional, but Belle did know that concerned frown all too well.  Hurrying to his side, she took his hand before nodding a greeting to Morgan.  _My mother-in-law.  I never expected to have one of those!_

Never mind the fact that Morgan was also her step-great-aunt, or something like that.  Belle really didn’t want to think about that tangled bit of her own family tree.  Bae had been right—this _was_ crazy.

“Is everything all right?” she asked her husband, noting the creases around his eyes and the way he held her hand a little too tightly.

“I’m fine.”  Rumplestiltskin’s answer was quick, but it didn’t sound like a lie.  “But…there’s something you need to know.”

Instinctively, Belle glanced at Morgan, figuring she had to be there for a reason.  Her mother-in-law spoke immediately, addressing Rumplestiltskin.  “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”

“You know the story.”

“You said that you wanted to talk about my grandparents last time you were here.”  Belle remembered that conversation vividly, even if that fact had gotten lost in the maelstrom of Rumplestiltskin’s near-emotional breakdown.  She’d meant to go to Morgan and ask, but she’d been too distracted.  _Yet somehow I think that Morgan is the_ last _person Arthur wants me to talk to…which means I_ really _want to know what she has to say._   Maybe between Morgan and Lancelot, Belle could scrape together some semblance of the truth.

“I did.”  Morgan hesitated, glancing at Rumplestiltskin briefly before going on.  “You have no reason to believe me, and I have no doubt that Arthur has tried to warn you against me.”

“He did.”  Belle wouldn’t lie about that.

“We were close as children, you know.”  Morgan’s smile was nostalgic and a little sad.  “I believed he could be a great king, and I thought his dreams of building a great kingdom where the law treated everyone equally were exactly what we needed.  I even believed he’d do it.  Then he married ‘Guinevere’.”

Belle listened silently, very aware of the way Rumplestiltskin shifted closer to her.  There was bad news coming; she could tell that from his body language…and from the way her heart wedged firmly in her throat.  Morgan continued:

“It’s that damned Pendragon ambition,” the older woman said heavily.  “It seems to be in their blood, and _she_ only made it worse.  Yet we didn’t realize how bad it was until the darkness encroached on Camelot.  At first, we thought it was merely an attack of some sort, not that our own queen was inviting it in.  The Fae came out of hiding, enslaving and abusing our people, and we thought Arthur would fight them.  We were wrong.  Instead, he lashed out at nearby kingdoms, conquering and burning, treating human beings in ways he had _never_ done before.  The walls between Camelot and the Enchanted Forest grew thinner, and then we discovered that _she_ had tricked Merlin into killing Nimue.  Merlin had been the Dark One for years, unable to tell anyone, bound to obey her every whim.”

Belle shivered.  She could picture it in her mind: the good king turning towards darkness, ambition and power becoming more important than human decency.  Morgan’s words evoked terrible images, and she was _descended_ from these monsters.  Yes, Morgan could be lying, but Rumplestiltskin’s body language told her there was worse to come.

“What aren’t you saying?” she whispered after a moment, determined to face whatever it was bravely.  But part of Belle just wanted to clap her hands over her ears, to deny everything she’d heard.  Arthur and Guinevere were her mother’s parents, and her mother had been a good person.  Surely that had to mean _something_?

“Guinevere has always been a lie.”  Morgan’s voice turned surprisingly gentle.  “We—Mordred, Gwaine, Lancelot, and I—learned far too late.  Her true name is Danns’ a'Bhàis, and she is the Black Fairy.”

For a long moment, Belle couldn’t speak.  She _must_ have heard wrong.  She’d read about the Black Fairy, knew about the destruction she had wrought in the Enchanted Forest three or four centuries ago.  The Black Fairy was the stuff nightmares were made of, the personification of darkness.  She had made it her mission to enslave all of humanity, and she had almost succeeded—only to be stopped by an alliance between Morgan of Cornwall and Reul Ghorm.  _She would know_.  But Belle still didn’t want to believe it.  Desperately, she turned to her husband.

“Rumple?”

“It fits with what I’ve seen of Merlin’s memories,” he answered softly, and Belle felt herself crumble.  Not physically, but emotionally; she wanted to weep but would not let herself.  Rumplestiltskin still reached out to steady her, and she was so grateful when his arm wrapped around her.  “And a part of me has always recognized the power she wields.  I think…I think my mother is right.”

The worst part was that Belle could see it.  “Guinevere’s” smooth lies and careful phrasing, the way she was protective yet demanding, and the way Arthur yielded precedence to her all _fit_.  Belle had been suspicious when her grandmother had attributed Colette’s magic to Arthur’s lineage, but she’d never expected _this_.

“I am sorry.”  Morgan’s voice filled the stillness, but Belle barely heard her.  Her mind was spinning too quickly, and her chest was unbearably tight.

“I’m…I’m descended from a monster,” she whispered.  _Is that why I hurt Rumple so badly?  I always wanted to be a hero, yet I’ve always failed.  Is that the legacy I’ve inherited, to hurt people when I think I’m helping._   “I’m…”

“It doesn’t change who you are.”  Rumplestiltskin’s hand gently lifted her chin, and Belle stared up at him, unable to stop her eyes from filling with tears.  “My father willingly became a demon, stealing children from their families and torturing them for sport.  Our parentage doesn’t define who we are.”

“But that much darkness has to leave a mark.  You’ve said that.”  She would not panic.  She would not cry.  Belle bit her lip hard, forcing herself to be strong.

He pulled her close, and Belle let herself retreat into the safety of her husband’s arms.  _At least he won’t hate me for this_ , she knew.  Rumple wouldn’t, but would everyone else?  He squeezed her tightly.  “It’s not _your_ darkness, sweetheart.”

“There may be something else at play,” Morgan said suddenly, and Belle turned to look at her.

“Something worse?” she whispered brokenly.

“No.  Your blood may be that of the Black Fairy, but she does not only bear her own power.  When her sister—Fionna Rèitear, the White Fairy—died, Danns’ absorbed her power.  Merlin told me that Fionna had hoped it would temper Danns’ darkness, _or that her power would be reborn in another._ ”  Morgan reached out, her movements extremely tentative, and touched Belle’s arm.  The contact was so brief that Belle almost thought she imagined it, but Morgan gave her a reassuring nod.  “I believe that is, or will be, you.”

_“Me?”_

Rumplestiltskin started, too; clearly, his mother had not told him this. 

“You would not be who you are if your soul was so darkened.  You could not share True Love the way you do, and you could not have fought for that love for so long,” Morgan answered as Belle shivered.  “I believe Fionna meant for the power to go to your mother, but Colette died too young.  She could have passed it to you in death, even unknowingly.  Magic always knows its own.”

Belle merely stared, speechless.  After a long moment, it was Rumplestiltskin who said to her: “We knew dark magic was a poor fit for you.  Do you think that would be true if your soul is as dark as you fear?”

“I guess not.”  The logic was hard to argue with, but Belle was still terrified.  What if Morgan was wrong?  What if she had that darkness within her, and it was merely waiting to come out and hurt _everyone_ around her?

What if that was what her grandparents wanted?

“If your soul had been born so dark, you would already know.”  Morgan answered the question she was afraid to ask.  “And neither Arthur nor Danns’ would be so careful to keep you in the dark.  I think Danns’ suspects what you will be.”

“Does that put her in danger?” Rumplestiltskin asked immediately.

“I don’t think so.  Danns’ is incredibly protective.  The one person she’d never hurt is Belle.”  Morgan snorted.  “I don’t think Arthur is safe from her, not if he strays from their goals, but Belle is.  She is her blood, just as Reul Ghorm is.  She’ll battle her sister from here until eternity, but neither will ever kill the other.”

Somehow, that didn’t make her feel much better.  But the possibility of _not_ being irrevocably tainted was at least a hope worth holding onto. _Maybe the two types of power mean I have a choice,_ Belle decided.  She wouldn’t run from her lineage; she would face it head on.  _No one decides my fate but me.  Not my grandparents.  Not even my husband, much though I love him.  This is_ my _life, and I choose to be me._   Taking a deep breath, she pulled back enough to face Morgan squarely.

“Did Mordred try to kill my mother?” While she was learning unpleasant truths, Belle figured that she might as well learn them all.

“Yes.”  Morgan didn’t hesitate.  “He takes after his father too much, sometimes.  Colette’s birth derailed his ambitions to rule Camelot.”

“You stopped him.”

Morgan met her eyes levelly.  “Yes.  I lost my own daughter as a child.  I would not wish that upon anyone, even my worst enemy.”

It went without saying that Danns’ a'Bhàis was indeed Morgan’s worst enemy, so Belle only nodded.  There was nothing to say to that.

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t really liked his grandfathers’ idea, and in the end, the only way Henry got her to agree with it was by promising to take an adult along.  Fortunately, Gramps had backed him up, and when Gramps wasn’t able to come (and neither was Robin, who had been his second choice, since Robin was kind of Gramps’ deputy these days and knew all about the asylum), his dad had volunteered.  Henry _never_ turned down the chance to spend more time with his dad, so he figured that it was a win.

Besides, Isaac hadn’t ever met Baelfire, and Henry had the feeling that any advantage he could have over the old author was going to be useful.  Particularly once he introduced the two and Isaac’s eyes went wide.

“Aren’t you, you know, _dead_?” the former author asked incredulously, and Henry bit back a laugh.

“Not anymore, no.  And it’s more like I was in cold storage.”  Bae shrugged from where he was leaning on the wall, and Isaac scowled.

“The Vault of the Dark One, right.  I didn’t think your thickheaded father would figure that out unless I spelled it out for him in neon lights.”

Henry could tell that his dad didn’t appreciate that dig, but Bae just smiled coldly.  “Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises.”

“We’re not here to talk about that,” Henry put in before Isaac could change the subject again.  “You’re locked in here because you tried to ruin everyone’s lives with your rewritten story, but if you want out, you have to help us.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes, leaning back against the wall behind his bed and crossing his legs.  “And why should I believe any promise a twelve-year-old makes?”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Fine, same question, just substitute in ‘thirteen-year-old’.”

“Because my mom’s the mayor.  _She_ can let you out, but only if you help us,” Henry shot back. 

Isaac just snorted.  “You must be really desperate to turn to me.”

“You know what, Henry?” Bae interjected.  “He’s not going to help.  I’ve been around plenty of con artists and liars, and he’s not even a good one.  This guy’s just full of hot air.  Let’s go.”

Henry caught on to what his dad was doing right away, and hopped up out of the chair he’d been in.  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They headed for the door together, and it took everything Henry had to restrain his smile.  _Three, two, one—_

“Wait!” Isaac spoke up right on cue, just as Bae knocked on the door to be let out.  “I might be able to help you.  Depending on what you want to know.  _And_ on what promises you make.”

“No.”  Bae crossed his arms as they turned around, and Henry copied the motion.  “That’s not how this works.  You tried to screw everyone over, so now _you_ get to put yourself out and help.  You’re not our only source of information, and we don’t need you. What’s in your head is just kind of nice to have.  So, you start spilling your guts, and if you’re helpful enough—and honest enough—then we’ll talk about letting you out.”

Isaac glared, but Henry knew they had him over a barrel.  It wasn’t like the old Author had any power now, anyway, but he’d hurt enough people with his alternate little world that they were going to make him work for his release.  Henry knew they had him, too, particularly when Isaac’s face split into an I-know-more-than-you-do grin.

“You have _no_ idea how much knowledge I have,” Isaac bragged.  “I even know who _his_ great-grandmother is.”

He gestured at Henry, but Henry only grinned.  “Morgan of Cornwall?”

That made his predecessor gape. “How did _you_ know that?”

“A lot’s happened since you got locked up,” he replied, going back to his chair and pulling out a notepad to take notes on.  “Start talking.”

* * *

 

“Is that Emma’s pirate?” Lily asked August.  She wasn’t sure when she and the former puppet had become friends; their backgrounds couldn’t be more different, yet they’d somehow become close in the last month or so.  Maybe it was because they were both creatures of the world, and neither tried to pretend to be some ridiculously “good” epitome of a hero.  She wasn’t remotely attracted to him—August was pretty, but he wasn’t her type, not with his constantly guilty conscience and fervent need for the Blue Fairy’s approval—but in some ways, he’d become the best friend she’d ever had.

Maybe that was because August didn’t expect her to be someone she wasn’t, and his parents (well, parent, in his case—or was that woodworker?) hadn’t stuffed _his_ darkness into her.  Emma had seemed angry about that at first, and they’d almost patched up their friendship, until Emma had done a one eighty and decided to forgive her parents for that and all their other faults, leaving Lily high and dry.  She didn’t appreciate being abandoned by someone she’d once sworn to be friends with forever, even if she _had_ screwed that relationship up as a teen.  Emma should have understood that, especially now, but Emma had barely said a word to her since they’d gotten back to Storybrooke.  Even before she’d become the Dark One, Emma had started ignoring Lily, and wasn’t that just typical?

Still, she’d decided that she’d make her own way in this town, despite its weird combination of magic and normal.  At least here there were some bright spots within the darkness that always surrounded her.  Her mother, scary dragon bitch though she could be, was pretty cool.  Maleficent seemed content with being her friend, offering advice—and lessons in magic—without being overbearing, and Lily basked in that attention despite herself.  She’d spent her life thinking that she didn’t need a mother, but she _wanted_ one terribly, and Maleficent seemed as lonely as she did.  August did, too, which was probably why they’d grown so close.  He’d been discarded by the heroes when he was no longer useful, too, so they tended to stick together now.

“Former pirate, from what I’ve heard.  Sounds like they’re on the outs.”  August’s response jolted her out of her musings, and Lily cast another glance Killian Jones’ way.

“He’s Captain Hook.”  An amused snort wormed its way out; they’d been sitting at Granny’s outside tables when Jones walked by, and somehow the fact that _Captain Hook_ was real had never quite sank in.  “How ridiculous is that?”

August threw her a droll look.  “Says the daughter of Maleficent when she’s talking to Pinocchio?”

“Yeah, but who keeps a hook for a hand when there’s so much magic around?” she countered.  “Seriously, he is—or was?—dating a damned sorceress.  _I’m_ almost at the point where I could conjure him up a new hand, so why didn’t he have her do it?”

“Maybe he’s got, uh, other uses for that hook?”

Lily rolled her eyes.  “Lame.”

“Well, he could—”

“It’s sharp, so don’t start getting kinky thoughts,” she cut him off, and they grinned at one another. August might not have been her type for a boyfriend, but she really did enjoy spending time with him.  Having a friend who didn’t judge her was damned nice, really.

Speaking of men who were her type, though, not watching Killian Jones was hard.  He was every bit as easy on the eyes as August was, but he had that dark edge that she found so very attractive.  There was a swagger to him that caught Lily’s interest, too, and she really liked the look of a man in leather.  _Hell, even if Emma’s not done with him, I could do worse than casting a line in that direction, myself,_ she decided.  It would serve Emma right if she lost her boyfriend to the all-too-dark Lily who everyone wanted to ignore. 

Frankly, anything that tore Emma down a peg or two was worth doing in Lily’s eyes.

* * *

 

Maybe he would ask David to teach him to drive. 

Walking across town all the time, now that he didn’t have Emma to drive or teleport him around, was really becoming annoying.  He’d heard that _real_ towns had public transportation, but even Killian knew that Storybrooke wasn’t typical for the Land Without Magic.  His one experience in New York was more than enough to keep him from venturing outwards again, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t learn to drive.  _Even if doing it one-handed would be complicated,_ he thought wryly.  Still, it was worth asking about.

Killian was still trying to figure out how he felt about Emma telling him that she needed space and then walking right back into his arms when she was shaken.  On one hand, he thought that was a good sign—she still needed him, even if she didn’t want to admit it.  On the other, Killian Jones was no fool.  He had plenty of experience with women, and he could always tell when a relationship was coming to an end.  Usually, that was his cue to end it before his romantic interest could, but he’d never been so attached to any of them as he was Emma.  _Except Milah.  Milah…_ Damn it all, thinking of her still hurt.  Even after all these years, he supposed a part of his heart would always belong to Milah.  He hadn’t been a good man when he’d been with her, but he’d been happy, and so had she.  Killian had always thought he could make a woman happy, though, so what had gone wrong with Emma?

He wished he knew.  But for now, he couldn’t afford to dwell on that.  Emma _wasn’t_ his only tie to the heroes, despite what Mordred had said.  With or without her, Killian was going to be a better man.  He’d done some soul searching recently, and he _liked_ who he had been since meeting Emma.  Once, he’d told her that he’d needed a reason to be better, and maybe he had.  _Then_.  Now he was closer to being the good man he’d been before his brother’s death, and Killian wasn’t going to stray from that path.  He had friends amongst the heroes—family, even, as strange as that was.  Thinking about being related to the Crocodile was still a bit too much for him, but having Baelfire as a cousin was actually rather nice.  That made Henry his first cousin once removed, and even if he didn’t have another connection to any of them, that was enough.  _Better than being related to Mordred, anyway._

Killian had little hope that his uncle would stop trying to kill Emma, or that he’d stop sheltering Zelena.  If Mordred did—and stopped the inconvenient habit he had of leaving crucial bits of truth out—Killian would be happy to build a relationship with him.  But he wasn’t a fool, and Mordred had tricked him once.  That _wasn’t_ going to happen twice.

“I didn’t expect you to come here.”  Mordred’s voice floated over to him almost as soon as crossed through the castle’s gates, and Killian turned to find his uncle leaning against the outer wall.

“Well, I hardly expected to find out that I had another uncle when you tried to kill the cousin I didn’t know about, so I think we’re even,” he retorted.

Mordred’s smile was crooked.  “Nor did I.”

“How could you _not_ have known?  She’s your bloody mother.  Doesn’t she keep track of how many babies she pops out?”  That was the part that Killian couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.  Either Morgan had known and said nothing, or she was a lot stupider than he’d taken her for.

“Apparently she neglected to tell me about the last one because she assumed he was dead for several centuries.”  Now his uncle’s face twisted up in an angry sneer.  “You’re not the only one who was in the dark about this.”

“Well, isn’t this just lovely company to be in?”  Killian snorted.  “By the way, you’re going to need a bloody map to keep track of the mess you’ve just become related to.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Henry.  The boy’s related to half the town and _all_ the blasted heroes.  Some of them twice over.”  _Let’s not even add in the part about how I was involved with one of his grandmothers or how_ your _father killed the other grandmother,_ he didn’t add.  That would have only confused Mordred, who looked plenty confused already.  “He’s your grand-nephew, in case you hadn’t figured it all out yet.”

“I know that part,” Mordred snapped, looking peevish.

Killian merely shrugged.  “I’d hardly blame you if you couldn’t keep it straight.  Took me months to work it all out, what with the lad’s adopted mother being his step-great-grandmother, which makes his adopted aunt his step-great-aunt.  His birth mother is _also_ his step-niece, if you ignore the—”

“Enough!”  Mordred looked like his head was ready to split open, and the first word was a shout before he made an obvious effort to contain his frustration.  “I’ve heard quite enough, thank you.”

“Glad to be of assistance.”  Killian couldn’t help grinning; needling Mordred was rather enjoyable, particularly after the heartache Mordred had caused him.  _Serves you right, Uncle Mine._

“This…complicates matters remarkably.”

He laughed.  “That’s the understatement of the year, Uncle.  Are you going to explain to Henry that you still want to kill or otherwise destroy his birth mother, who is, by the way, also now related to you through him, or shall I be the bearer of good news?”

Mordred glared.  “No.  I am finished with that.”  He took a deep breath as Killian blinked, unable to believe his ears.  “My mother has made a relevant point: we have a far more pressing enemy.  The Dark One can wait.”

“Excuse me?” Killian held up a hand, his eyebrows mating with his hairline.  “Did you just…change your mind on that?  Were you not the one calling the Dark One an ‘abomination’ and all that other… _stuff_?”

“The Dark One _is_ an abomination, but the Black Fairy is far more dangerous.  We must stop her first.”

“The black _what_?  She’s only a legend.”

“Oh, no.  She’s very real, and she’s here in Storybrooke.”  Mordred smiled grimly.  “There is much to be done.”

* * *

 

Emma still wasn’t used to getting texts from Rumplestiltskin.  She hadn’t been entirely certain that his antique flip phone _could_ send texts, but apparently it could, because she and Regina had received the same summons to the pawn shop.  Part of her—the part that was still Savior and sometimes forgot she was the Dark One—instinctively mistrusted him, even though she _knew_ better than that, now.  She was the one with the toxic darkness boiling inside her, listening to it whisper and try to pull her off track.  Yes, she was doing better these days, at least if she pretended she hadn’t been cruel enough to use Killian to make herself feel better, but she was still the Dark One.  And Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, which made the darkness inside her hate him, too.

Living inside her mind was becoming a confusing mess, and if Emma hadn’t had a firm grip on herself, it would have been worse.  _I’ve just got to stay away from Guinevere so she can’t set me off again,_ she decided.  _Too bad I can’t kill her, but trying that only got me into a deal that keeps me from helping the people I care about._

“You have any idea what this is about?” Regina asked as they appeared outside the shop almost simultaneously.

“I was hoping you did,” she admitted.  Emma couldn’t chase the tenseness away, and she didn’t know why.  She’d gone to Rumplestiltskin for help multiple times since becoming the Dark One, and he’d never done anything to earn this much mistrust.  _He’ll ally with his new brother,_ a voice inside her whispered, and it took Emma a long moment to realize those weren’t _her_ thoughts.  _Shut up,_ she told the darkness angrily.  This unease wasn’t _hers_.  She didn’t have to feel like this.

Regina paused before opening the door.  “You in there?”

“Yeah.”  Emma tried not to scowl.  “Let’s get on with this.”

Following Regina into the shop, Emma was only slightly surprised to find that Belle was there—but she _hadn’t_ been expecting Belle to look deathly pale or be standing so close to Rumplestiltskin.  But the brunette’s eyes were hard and determined, despite how disturbed she looked, so Emma shrugged off the startled look.  It wasn’t her problem, anyway.

Regina spoke up for the both of them.  “What’s the emergency this time?”

The Golds exchanged a look, and Emma did notice that Rumplestiltskin waited for Belle to nod before speaking.  “It appears we have a bigger problem than we previously knew.  Guinevere is not who she claims she is.”

_“I’m willing to make a deal with you, Dark One.  If you don’t say a word about my magic—which, as you undoubtedly surmise, is a bit of a closely-held secret—I won’t get in your way.  I’ll let you do what you want, unless, of course, it involves killing my dear husband.  I can’t have that.”_   The memory of those words sent a shiver down Emma’s spine, as did the vague image flirting through her mind of Guinevere with the dagger in hand, standing over some Dark One as Emma’s long-dead predecessor writhed in pain. 

“Please tell me you’re not going to make us guess.”  Regina, as always, found something to complain about.  Emma just grimaced.

“Emma?” Belle’s voice was quiet, but it was the understanding in those blue eyes that made Emma uneasy.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

But she couldn’t shake that memory, even though it wasn’t her own.  _That_ will _be you,_ Nimue’s voice pointed out, cold with certainty.  _If you don’t destroy her first, she will enslave you._ Another shiver shook her, but on its heels came hard determination.  _No_.  Emma wasn’t going to let that happen.  She kept the dagger on her person at all times for a reason, and she damn well wasn’t going to let some queen of a dead kingdom get ahold of it.

“She’s the Black Fairy.”  Rumplestiltskin’s words made Emma’s head snap around to meet his eyes, and suddenly everything made _sense_.  The power Emma couldn’t quantify, the woman’s arrogant and cold confidence, and the terror mixed with hatred that the Dark One inside her felt all _clicked_ into place.

Emma felt sick.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Regina spat.  “I thought Blue had—”

“Blue lies.”  The words were out before Emma could even think about them, and she didn’t care if they were the darkness’ or her own.  They were true.  “The only question is how long Blue’s known, not if it’s true.  I know it’s true.”

Rumplestiltskin got in before Regina could question that.  “Instinct or memory?”

“Both.”  She grimaced.  She still couldn’t break that deal, not unless she wanted attention from the damn Black Fairy.  A few years earlier, Emma would have scoffed and dismissed the entire idea of fearing a fairy, but even the darkness inside her was afraid.  And she wouldn’t forget ‘Guinevere’s’ threat to take her dagger.  Not for a moment.

“Okay, so the ultimate evil of legend is married to King Arthur.  How the hell did no one know about that until now?” Regina demanded, bringing the conversation back to the point.

“My…mother just told us.”  He sounded hesitant, and for some reason, that made Rumplestiltskin tighten his arm around Belle.

_Wait a minute!_   Emma’s head snapped around so quickly that her neck cracked as she glared at Belle.  “She’s your _grandmother_.”

“I didn’t know.”  The librarian’s objection was quiet, and she looked disturbed, but the darkness inside Emma didn’t care.

_You have leverage.  Take the girl and use the only advantage you have.  Make a deal you can—_

_No!_   Emma was not a monster, and she would not betray her friends like that.  Not even when magic tried to fill her hands and force her mind, she _would not be like that_.  These people trusted her, and she would not repay that with treachery.  She was in control.  She _had_ to be.  With an effort, Emma pulled her magic back, forced it down and sucked it inside herself.  Only then did she notice the _other_ magic in the air, notice the defenses that had snapped up to counter any possible attack.  Regina had moved well out of the line of fire and was eying Emma and Rumplestiltskin warily, and even Belle seemed to be concerned.  Could she feel that?  Did she have magic, too?

It didn’t matter.  Emma let out a deep breath and tried to smile.  It came out as a wince.  “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Surprisingly, it was Belle who replied, but Rumplestiltskin’s magic slowly dissipated.  The Sorcerer only nodded.

“So, is this where you say ‘I told you so’?” Regina sounded a little more cautious than caustic, now, and the look she sent Emma’s way was worried.  “Because, well, you were right.  She’s a bigger problem than Mordred.  Do we know what she wants?”

“The short version is that she wants to collapse the walls between magical realms and rule them all.”  Rumplestiltskin said that without flinching, but even _Emma_ could grasp the magical repercussions of that, particularly now with so much knowledge and power rolling through her mind. 

“She’s mad.”  Regina gaped.  “That…that would make Camelot’s problems look like a nice summer picnic.  Time would turn inside out, people would merge into monsters, and the fae would come out of whatever crevice they’ve been kept in and play with all of us like toys.”

“Exactly.”

Emma knew they were missing something, though.  “Why hasn’t she done it already?”

“She lacks the power.  She needs at least two original powers at her disposal, including her own.  The Greater Sapphire might suffice, or—”

“You could do it.”  Emma met his eyes squarely.

“I could.  But I won’t.”

Even the darkness believed that, and Emma just nodded. 

“Morgan has the Greater Sapphire, now,” Belle supplied.  “And whatever Mordred’s faults are, whatever else he’s done, Morgan says he won’t ally with my—my grandmother.”

“Do we believe her?” Regina asked, looking at Rumplestiltskin.

“Yes.”  He wasn’t the type to volunteer more, but Emma felt like they needed it.  Or maybe her skin was just crawling wildly and she needed the distraction.

She gestured for him to say more, not caring if she sounded rude.  “Why?”

“If you know your history—or query the memories inside you—you’ll know that she’s fought Danns’ a'Bhàis for centuries.  In this, at least, she can be trusted.”  Rumplestiltskin’s face closed off as he shrugged, but just _hearing_ that name made Emma shiver.  “And we need what she knows.”

“Besides, if Morgan wanted to help her, she wouldn’t have kept the Greater Sapphire away from her since before the fall of Camelot,” Belle pointed out. 

“Good point.”  Regina looked at Emma.  “Any insights, here?”

Emma wrapped her arms around herself; she felt so damned cold, and she couldn’t banish the creeping feeling of terror that so many her predecessors felt at the mere mention of the Black Fairy.  Her voice was barely a whisper.  “No.  Just that we have to stop her.”

“Fine.”  Now Regina glanced at Belle.  “Are you with us?  She’s your grandmother.”

Belle didn’t even hesitate.  “If she’s threatening everyone, she has to be stopped.  She doesn’t get my trust or my allegiance automatically.  That has to be earned.”

Even Regina wasn’t going to argue with that tone, not with Rumplestiltskin standing so closely to Belle and looking at her like she was the center of the universe.  Besides, they all knew that Belle was defined by her ability to do the right thing, even when doing so broke her heart.

_She’ll still enslave you,_ Nimue’s voice whispered.  _Just you wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Three—“Ambitious at Last”, in which Zelena antagonizes Morgan, Henry asks Archie for advice, David and Belle team up to look for Lancelot, and Bae brings Killian to the shop to make peace with his Uncle Rumplestiltskin.


	53. Ambitious at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who voted for me at the TEAs! This story won Best AU!OUAT and Best Season Rewrite. Danns' a'Bhàis won best OC, and I won Best Author!
> 
> In celebration, I’ll be writing two ROC-universe one shots, and one Danns’-centric one shot. If you’d like to prompt me with something, head on over to [my tumblr](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com).

Morgan felt strangely optimistic on the family front these days.  Mordred had come around—a work in progress if there ever was one, given his long-lasting obsession with destroying the Dark One—she was slowly getting to know her youngest son, and she’d discovered that she had another grandson _and_ a great-grandson.  The fact that the newest Dark One was the mother of said great-grandson didn’t bother her in the least; after all, Morgan had been the one to try to save Merlin from the darkness with True Love’s Kiss.  The fact that her effort had failed didn’t mean she loved him any less, even though she accepted the fact that she never meant as much to him as he did to her.  _But I knew that before he became the Dark One,_ she thought, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.  _He only ever had eyes for Nimue.  I simply hoped my love could save him after he lost her._   It hadn’t, of course, but Morgan had long since learned to save her love for her children.

Perhaps she should try to bring them all together.  Not yet, of course.  She understood that there was an enormous amount of bad blood between Rumplestiltskin and Killian, and the fact that they were now uncle and nephew would probably only make that—

“So _this_ is where you go when you’re not berating Mordred.” 

The new voice made her eyes snap open, and Morgan almost snarled at the red-haired witch to get out.  But her newfound optimism stopped her; this woman seemed to be Mordred’s choice, and although she sincerely hoped that Mordred wasn’t going to get involved with Zelena, she couldn’t discount the possibility.  When young, Mordred had been too fascinated with magic to bother with girls, and she knew that having an attractive woman pursue him was bound to turn his head.  Of course, she knew that Mordred was hopeless at romancing anyone, be they male or female.  Apparently, he’d looked into arranging a marriage once or twice when he’d ruled Camelot, but nothing had come of it.  So, she couldn’t immediately disregard the idea of Zelena becoming her daughter-in-law.

_Danns’ daughter or no, I like Belle better already._   Morgan managed not to snap that at Zelena, which she sensed would not go over well at all.  “These are my chambers,” she replied stiffly, refusing to rise, though she did sit up straight.  “Do you always barge in without an invitation?”

“You didn’t answer my knock.”  She could tell it was a lie, but Morgan chose not to comment.  Zelena hadn’t knocked at all.

“Pity.”  What was it about this woman who set her teeth on edge?  She’d watched Zelena terrorize Storybrooke after the second curse with mild interest, not having realized at the time that the Dark One being controlled was her son.  _Would I have acted differently had I known?_  

That question was disturbingly easy to answer.  Morgan had not known, not then, how emotionally damaged Rumplestiltskin was.  But she still would have intervened.  He was her _son_ , and this woman was barely sane.  How in the world had Rumplestiltskin’s extended family left him in her hands for so long?  Had they been so handicapped by Zelena’s antics that they had no choice, or had they merely been blind?

Zelena smiled brightly, dropping into the chair to Morgan’s right.  “I thought we should get to know one another.  I’ve heard _all_ kinds of things about you.”

“I would not believe everything you hear.”

“But you’re practically a _legend_.”  Her voice grated like nails against glass, and Morgan struggled not to grimace.  Then, on second thought, she didn’t bother fighting the urge as Zelena smirked:  “But I think I’ve done a _bit_ better than you.  You never controlled the Dark One, after all, and I brought him lower than anyone else.”

Judging from the way Zelena’s eyes glowed, she clearly hadn’t heard the news.  Morgan had stopped Mordred from killing Baelfire ten days earlier, but Zelena, like Mordred, didn’t enjoy mingling with the “common” people of Storybrooke.  _And apparently Mordred didn’t tell her, either.  Perhaps there is some hope that he won’t bed her, after all._ The longer she was in Zelena’s presence, the more relieved that thought made Morgan.  She made a mental note to speak to Mordred on the subject before turning to look at Zelena with a now-inscrutable expression.

“Tell me what you did.”  She couldn’t feign _pleased_ interest, but apparently that much acting ability wasn’t required.  And Morgan was interested.  Very interested.

“Well, it wasn’t much fun at first because he was thoroughly insane after sucking his son’s soul into his body.  He babbled useless little prophecies and all that”—Zelena waved a dismissive hand—“though at least I could force some sanity into him with the application of enough pain.  And it wasn’t like he could refuse my commands, anyway.”

Morgan considered herself a thoroughly cold-blooded woman who was capable of doing many dark deeds in pursuit of her goals, but hearing that made even her stomach roll sickly.  “Are you going to be coy, or are you going to tell me details?”

Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, but Zelena didn’t seem to care.  She bounced excitedly, blue eyes wide and eager, like a sick little goblin hoping for approval.  _A goblin would hear my distaste_.  Zelena, however, was all too excited to share the tales of her exploits, and the words bubbled out of her. 

“Well, I could hardly have that _power_ and control in my hands and not use him, could I?  He was terribly unwilling, but it’s amazing how a little pain can motivate someone.”  Zelena’s grin turned into an angry sneer.  “He’d refused me once, and I wasn’t going to _let_ him get away with that again.  So, I took what I wanted.  And I hurt him.”  She giggled.  “He probably still has the scars.  It’s amazing what that dagger will do to the Dark One.

“And then, after Emma Swan—back in her annoying Savior days—separated son from father, I had _so_ much more fun.  After all, torturing someone is _so_ much better when they can fully appreciate the work you’re putting in.”  Her expression turned thoughtful.  “It’s a pity I couldn’t have been carrying _his_ child, as useful as this one has been to torment my sister.  I would have preferred to have Rumple’s, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.  He was so very broken towards the end, shut down and hurting _so_ beautifully.”

“Do you have _any_ idea how despicable you are?” The words tumbled out before Morgan could stop herself, but she was so angry that she felt cold.  Frozen, even.  This woman was sitting next to her, oh so prettily, and bragging about _this_?  Zelena had no idea that Rumplestiltskin was related to Morgan, but that shouldn’t have mattered.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you even care about your child?” Morgan had to ask.  She had to know.

“It’s _mine_ ,” Zelena snapped.  “And it’s useful.”

“Useful.”

“Yes!  It makes my sister miserable, and that’s reason enough.  The rest doesn’t matter.” Zelena shrugged, and Morgan felt her temper start to freeze over.

“You truly don’t care.  And you find the fact that you _raped_ and _tortured_ a man laudable,” she continued coldly, rising to her feet to look down at Zelena until the other woman scrambled up, too.  Zelena was taller than Morgan, but that didn’t matter.  She could still look down upon her.  “You disgust me.”

She almost told Zelena that she would kill her if she ever laid a hand on her son again, but Morgan wasn’t sure she had the right to be so protective over Rumplestiltskin.  Besides, he would undoubtedly do the deed himself if she tried; there was no dagger to control him, now.  _And yet I begin to understand why he does not trust easily.  First, his worthless father turns out to be Pan—who I know he killed to save this town—and then this disgusting woman abuses him in that way._ No wonder why Belle had looked at her with so much wary concern.  _I do not know enough about my son, and I must rectify that._

“What do you know?” Zelena snapped, looking offended.  “You’re a wasted relic of power, someone who can barely summon enough magic to light a candle.   You know nothing!”

Morgan snorted.  “I have worked greater magics than you have ever dreamt of.  And I know that true power does not lay in enslaving another.”

“Then you’re remarkably short-sighted.”  Zelena leaned forward, probably thinking she seemed threatening, but Morgan didn’t even flinch.  “Mark my words, I _will_ get him back, and then you’ll see who has the most power!”

Zelena stormed out while Morgan was busy taking a mental inventory to ensure _all_ of Merlin’s spellbooks were securely away from that insane witch.  She could think of one spell strong enough to bind even the Sorcerer: the one that Merlin had once used to bind the Dark One to the dagger.  She was fairly certain that the book that contained it was in Rumplestiltskin’s hands, but it would not do to be careless on that front.   Nor would it do to let Zelena run wild.

Eyes narrowing, she watched the door slam shut behind her elder son’s ally.  Morgan knew _exactly_ what to do with her, and there was no need to wait.

* * *

 

His mother really was too trusting.

Morgan should have known better, but his mother had always had a soft spot for her children.  Mordred had grown up knowing better than to take advantage of that, but now things were different.  She hadn’t been wrong about needing to defeat the Black Fairy, but Mordred realized the hard truth that his mother was avoiding.  Danns’ a'Bhàis needed two original powers to do her work, but the _sum_ of two original powers would do the trick.  Mordred knew that it was only a matter of time before the Black Fairy took control of the Dark One—frankly, he was surprised that she had not done so already.  The Dark One’s power alone would not quite be enough, not even when it resided in a host with so much natural magic, but combined with the power budding in Danns’ own granddaughter, it would be.

He had contemplated trying to kill this Belle French several times.  Firstly, because he disliked the idea of Arthur and Danns’ child having reproduced; destroying such an offspring would be a worthy enough cause, even if the girl was biologically human, and magically half faerie.  He had been relieved to learn that Colette was dead, because his younger half-sister ought _never_ have been born in the first place, but her daughter was another matter, and not only because his mother would be furious with him if he tried to kill his half-niece.   No, Belle was an adult, now, and married to the Sorcerer.  Mordred did not lack courage, but he also was not fool enough to give the Sorcerer and the Black Fairy common cause.  _I will not make her a martyr._

But if he was not going to kill his niece-turned-sister-in-law, he needed to destroy the Dark One before Danns’ could grab _her_.  And that meant he needed the Greater Sapphire, which brought him back to the fact that his mother was entirely too trusting.

Zelena was undoubtedly proving an excellent distraction; he had not asked her what she meant to do to keep his mother busy, and Zelena had not said.  He didn’t care, either.  All Mordred cared about was the fact that he was able to slip into his mother’s house unseen, and fetch Circe’s Pendant, Circe’s _power_ , from the place where Morgan had hidden it.

He’d almost hoped Accolon was home.  Mordred burned a little to arrange an accident for his mother’s idiot lover, but that would have been difficult to explain.  And besides, Mordred was fond of Accolon for reasons Mordred hardly understood; he supposed that the knight _must_ have been an excellent lover for Morgan to keep him around for so long.  _That, and he’s simple.  Mother thinks she’s so smart, but even I know that she’s given up on the idea of romantic love.  She probably wanted someone who doesn’t demand much of her._

“That doesn’t matter,” he whispered to himself, lifting the sapphire out of its hiding place.  It glowed in his hands, filling Mordred with immense power and making his heart race.  _With this, I can do what must be done._   He would not let it burn through him.  His mother was wrong about that.

He would merely be everything she had ever prophesied he could be.

* * *

 

“How’s it going?” Henry asked, hopping up on Archie’s couch.  No one had an appointment right now—Archie’s book was rather thin these days, given that people had heard how he’d been found with blood on his hands and no memory of what had happened—so he’d come to see his old therapist. 

“I’m doing all right.”  Archie’s smile was a little strained, but he looked better than he had.

“Great!  Can I ask you for some advice?” Henry had tossed around a lot of ideas with David, trying to figure out what he could safely talk to Archie about, and they’d finally hit on a good topic of conversation.

_Great idea, Gramps!_ he thought triumphantly, because Archie’s face had just split into a genuine grin.

“Of course you can, Henry.”

“So, I’ve been talking to Isaac.  I realized that I don’t know much about being the Author, but it’s still my job, even now that the pen is broken.  And since the Apprentice is dead and Grandpa doesn’t know all the ins and outs of being the Sorcerer, I thought I should ask him about it.”

“That sounds logical.”  Archie looked thoughtful. “Though I imagine Isaac isn’t proving terribly helpful.”

“He’s not helpful about _anything_.”  Henry heaved a sigh, and it wasn’t even feigned.  Isaac had told them a little bit about Camelot’s history, but he seemed more interested in talking about the horrible monsters that had existed when Henry and Hook visited than it telling them the important stuff.  Henry really was hoping that Archie would have some good advice on how to out-think Isaac.  Maybe he could use some of those smart therapist tricks to get Isaac to start talking.

“Well, being locked in a cell probably doesn’t make him very confident that talking will do him any good.”

Henry frowned.  “We promised him he might get out if he’s helpful.”

Archie’s eyebrow rose.  “Do you have that in writing?”

“No.  But that shouldn’t matter.  I’m not _him_.  I don’t break promises.”

“But you also don’t have the authority to let him out.”  Archie leaned forward, and seeing him really engaged in the conversation made Henry bite back a smile.  “Regina does, though.  Get her to put something official on paper, and that might help.”

“Okay!” Henry hadn’t thought of that, though he was surprised that it hadn’t occurred to his dad.  It was a good idea, though, even if his mom probably wouldn’t like it.  “What else can I do?”

Archie started throwing ideas at him, and Henry enjoyed himself enough that he almost forgot that Archie didn’t have his own heart.  It was almost like old times, back when everything had been simpler and there’d only been a curse to break.  Everything was complicated, now, but as long as he could help get Archie’s heart back, Henry figured it would all turn out all right.

* * *

 

The potion took Morgan all of fifteen minutes to make, and it was even easier to ensure that the required six drops made it into the glass of wine Zelena was drinking in her rooms of the castle.  Morgan’s own power might never recover from the portal she had nearly killed herself to open, but she didn’t need _power_ to do this.  Simply intelligence, hard-won knowledge, and a bit of guile.

After all, Zelena never kept much of an eye on what she was eating or drinking; she walked away from her wine glass, and Morgan slipped the potion in.  She didn’t even bother with invisibility.  She simply concealed herself behind a curtain and watched with a smile as Zelena drank deeply from the goblet.  _Savor your ‘victory’ for now, my dear.  You won’t like the way it tastes soon enough,_ she thought, glancing down at the _other_ component of the potion in her left hand.  All she had to do was find a woman to willingly drink the other half.  Until then, Zelena would know nothing was amiss, but once that other woman drank it…

_I bore five children with four different men.  I have been called a whore more than once, but I_ never _forced a man._ Remembering her own drunken encounter with Malcolm in Hamelin was enough to make her shiver, though.  Even three centuries later, Morgan wasn’t sure if she’d consented or not; she had always assumed that she had done so in her drunken misery.  But she remembered enough to know that Malcolm had been drinking far less than she, and there was nothing about that memory she treasured—except, perhaps, the son who had come of it.

The son who Zelena had hurt.

Morgan didn’t know the man who Zelena had raped to get pregnant, but she knew enough of the story.  All of Storybrooke did.  She assumed that this Robin Hood was a better person than Zelena, else Zelena would never have victimized him (or needed to).  So, she was going to give him a choice to have another woman bear his child.  Zelena certainly didn’t care for the baby growing within her.  To her, that child was merely a means to an end.

_I seduced my own stepbrother to have a child,_ she thought coldly.  _But my child was_ never _an object.  I loved Mordred from the first moment I felt him move, and I will always love him, no matter how far he falls._ She and Arthur had many differences, but they had both been willing that night.  Morgan couldn’t imagine conceiving a child in any other way, nor failing to care about that child.  Zelena, however, clearly could, which meant Morgan’s revenge was certainly fitting.

No, she didn’t regret this one bit.

* * *

 

“Any ideas where he might be?” David asked as they got out of his truck, and Belle threw him a rueful glance.

“None.  No one has seen Lancelot since he talked to my father, and Morgan couldn’t find him, either.”

“How is that going?” He sounded curious, and Belle couldn’t blame him. “She’s a hell of a mother-in-law to acquire, I imagine.”

Belle had to chuckle despite herself.  She knew that Emma and Regina had shared the news about her own surprising family connections with David—she’d made sure they would, actually, since being left in the dark did no one any good, and David was family.  Knowing her grandmother was the Black Fairy certainly made her mother-in-law seem less threatening, though, which was what made her laugh.  “Better than you think,” she replied honestly.  “She’s… Well, she makes Regina seem subtle sometimes, but I think she’s got a good heart underneath all that.”

“You’re the expert in seeing the best in people, so I won’t argue with you on that one.”  David didn’t bring up her grandmother, though; they’d all agreed to keep that knowledge a secret for now, much though Belle burned to confront “Guinevere” about her actual identity.  _Knowledge is power,_ she reminded herself.  And they needed every advantage they could get.

She had the sneaking feeling that her grandparents were somehow involved in Lancelot’s disappearance, too, which was why they’d come to the camp where the as yet un-homed Camelot remained.  David and Regina had been steadily moving Storybrooke’s newest residents into homes and apartments, but the relocation was slow going.  Some of them were afraid of modern technology, and Camelot’s poorest residents seemed the most hesitant to trust ‘foreign’ rulers.  They also weren’t exactly prone to coming to the sheriff’s station to talk, so Belle and David had come out to see them. 

“So, how do we want to do this?” she asked, and then spotted a familiarly painted truck pulling up to park next to David’s old junker.  Belle waved her hands as her father hopped out from the driver’s seat.  “Papa!  We’re over here!”

Maurice hurried over to join them as David shrugged.  “I guess we just start talking to people.  See if anyone knows where Lancelot has been staying, or where he might be.  It’s probably better if we split up.”

“We don’t want to stay separate for too long.”  Belle hated saying that, but maybe Rumplestiltskin’s paranoia had rubbed off on her.  Or perhaps her own recent unease was making her more cautious.  Either way, she knew it was a logical idea, particularly here.  _I don’t want to think of these people—_ my _people, in many ways—as the enemy, but if they are loyal to my grandparents…_

“Let’s stay in sight of one another, then.”  David nodded, turning to Maurice.  “You up for some detective work?”

“Anything if it helps find Lancelot.”  Maurice grimaced.  “I think I was unfair to him last time.  Colette loved him, and I was cruel.  I’d like to make that right, and if helping find him can do that, I’m all in.”

“Good man.”  David slapped Maurice on the shoulder, and the trio headed off to start talking to people.

* * *

 

This Dark One was not as easily rattled as she had hoped, and she was watching the Cricket entirely too closely.

Danns’ prided herself on the ability to read people, but she had to acknowledge that the new Dark One was not nearly so predictable as her predecessors had been.  Oh, Rumplestiltskin had fought it better and longer than most, but he at least had emotional vulnerabilities that were easy to exploit.  Danns’ knew how the darkness interacted with the host, knew how the darkness itself and the previous Dark Ones carved their influence into the mind and soul of the Dark One, but Emma Swan was proving surprisingly resilient.  She had too many friends and family, too much strength of her own.  Oh, she’d been consumed by her fury in the beginning—they all were—but now she was back on balance.  Swan was nearly the Savior again, and Danns’ could not have that.

Nor could she afford to have the Dark One meddling in her plans.  She _needed_ that power, and although it had amused her to let Emma Swan continue to keep her independence, even Danns’ dark sense of humor had its limits.  There was only so much she was prepared to tolerate.

“It is time I reclaimed the dagger,” she told her husband when she returned home to find him studying a text on magical waters and their properties.

“I thought you wanted to wait longer?” Arthur looked contemplative.  “She’s been an excellent distraction.”

“Not anymore.  Emma Swan seems to have regained her status as one of the heroes.”  Danns’ let her eyes narrow.  Several Dark Ones had tried that over the years, but the nature of the darkness inside them always won out.  _Eventually_.  Unfortunately, she did not care to wait until the darkness turned Emma Swan’s heart into a lump of coal.  Her plans required action much sooner than that.

He smiled thinly.  “You mean to control her and set her on our enemies, then.”

“It would suffice as a distraction, though we needs must sacrifice some allies as well.” She shrugged.  There were allies enough from Camelot who were useless in the present day, and Danns’ cared not if the Dark One killed them, provided it kept the heroes off her scent until it was too late.

“Will you use the Swan to bring the fae forth?”

“If I can do so secretly.  Or if I can find believable reason for her to have done it without my control.  Assuming she can _find_ them.”  Danns’ pushed that angry thought aside to study Arthur.  She really was quite fond of him, and didn’t want to sacrifice him for this, much though Emma butchering her mother’s killer would gain Arthur’s widow a welcome measure of sympathy.   “I may have her try to kill you.”

“I trust that you’ll keep her from _succeeding?_ ”  She could see the faint alarm in Arthur’s eyes; as enjoyable as their marriage had always been, they both remained with the other because each found it useful to do so.  _And because we both want power.  We always have.  And what we want is separate enough that he is not a threat to me, which makes him continue to be useful._

“You’re more valuable to me alive than dead,” she answered honestly, and saw him relax.

Arthur wasn’t a fool, after all, not like Morgan’s idiotically ambitious lover.  No, Arthur had known the danger of inviting her into his bed in the first place, and he’d done it anyway.  They were alike in that way, although Danns’ would never admit that to a mere human.  Sooner or later, she’d dispose of him.  But not today.

Today, Arthur was useful as well as pleasing, and when a spell she’d left lurking alerted her to something new, Danns’ turned to the mirror at her right and waved a hand.  The image solidified immediately, revealing three strangers in her people’s camp.  They were asking questions, of course, and she needed to know why.  Looking over at her husband, she shifted her frown into a smile.

“Our granddaughter has come calling, darling.  Perhaps you should meet her and offer some friendly assistance.”

* * *

 

Had Baelfire warned his father that he was going to bring the pirate to the shop, Rumplestiltskin would probably have found somewhere else to be.  Either that, or he would have made sure that Belle was there, given how she could read him better than anyone and could probably head off the worst of his anger, if necessary.  But Belle had enough problems of her own these days, what with the fact that her grandmother had turned out to be the Black Fairy—a fact Rumplestiltskin knew his wife was still struggling to swallow.  Her instincts had told her to be wary of Guinevere from the beginning, but that was a far cry from learning that your grandmother was the darkest of all fairies, the being whom some called the original darkness.  She wasn’t, of course; elemental demons predated even the original fairies, but such stories were not terribly concerned with logic or truth.

Belle insisted that she was fine and had headed over to talk to David about Lancelot, who remained unfound despite Belle’s best efforts—and Morgan’s, too.  No one seemed to know where the knight had gone, and that was beginning to be worrisome, given that Lancelot seemed to be the key to a lot of what had happened.  _And now I have a pirate in my shop_ , Rumplestiltskin thought grumpily.  He would much rather have been helping Belle.  _A pirate who happens to be my damned nephew._

“Hey, Pop.”  Bae’s attempt at sounding casual was an abject failure, but Rumplestiltskin had to give his boy points for trying.  _This means a lot to him,_ he knew.  So, he’d try to be on his best behavior.

“Hey.”

The only consolation was that Hook looked as uncomfortable as Rumplestiltskin felt, and they were very consciously avoiding meeting one another’s eyes.  When was the last time they’d actually spoken in the shop?  Had it been when Hook was threatening him over Emma becoming the Dark One?  If so, that was hardly better than the times Rumplestiltskin had held his heart and forced him to do his bidding.  They had so many damn reasons to hate one another, even if they had come to something of an understanding as of late. 

“So, um, I thought we might all talk.”  Bae was trying valiantly, and Rumplestiltskin felt a wave of guilt wash over him—not for what he’d done to Hook in the past, for though he felt bad for that, he knew that there was plenty of blame on both sides.  No, he felt guilty for leaving Bae to try to build this bridge alone, because he knew that it meant a lot to his son. 

And if him making peace with the pirate, whom Rumplestiltskin had to admit _had_ loved Milah, meant that much to his son, he would do it.  He was no longer the Dark One, after all…and Killian Jones was family.  No matter how much he’d hated this man for stealing his wife away (or, more likely, aiding Milah in her own willful escape from family and responsibility), those days were long in the past.  This was his chance to prove he was no longer the man he had been.

“Perhaps we should begin with a gesture of good faith.”  Reaching under the counter, Rumplestiltskin picked up the jar he’d long left hidden there.  Why he’d kept the hand, particularly after Hook’s recent misadventures with it, he had no idea.  Now, however, the hand was a useful olive branch.

“You going to mock me with that again?” Hook bristled immediately.  “I’m not so easily fooled a second time, Cro—err, uh, Gold.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help snorting.  Better man he might have been, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind Hook _why_ he’d had so much trouble with that hand of his.  “If I recall correctly, I didn’t _mock_ you with the hand the first time.  You blackmailed me and demanded it back, and I gave you exactly what you asked for.  Your hand wasn’t cursed, but it was a part of the old you.  That meant the hand contained a part of your old soul, complete with the villainous and vicious pirate you weren’t quite over.  Given time, you would have overcome it, and it would have become part of what you are now.”

His explanation only earned him a glare.  “Then why bring it up now?” 

“As I said, I think a peace offering is in order.”  He shrugged _._ “If you want your hand back, it’s yours.”

“…What?”

“Can you do that, Papa?” Bae asked as Hook stared, flabbergasted.  “Reattach it? Make it work like new?”

“Well, not like ‘new’, but certainly like ‘ _old_ ’.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly.  “It’ll work.  Any minor crises of conscience and soul, however, are the responsibility of the good Captain here.”

Hook was still staring, but Bae was starting to smile.  Seeing a proud look on his son’s face was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and _that_ was worth doing this, even if it meant making peace—for now and forever—with the pirate.  With _Killian,_ he supposed, given that the pirate was now his nephew.  _Who would have ever thought I had siblings?_ he thought, the very idea almost taking his breath away.  He’d had two brothers other than Mordred, one who died young and the other who had died in an effort to contain the very enemy who now threatened all of Storybrooke.  Rumplestiltskin had never been proud of his lineage, had never thought that there was anyone of his blood worth caring about aside from his son and grandson, yet perhaps he had been wrong.

A long moment of silence reigned while Rumplestiltskin mused.  Meanwhile, Hook seemed torn; he was staring at his hand hopefully, obviously not daring to believe he might actually get it back.  But Rumplestiltskin was a firm believer in catching the opposition—even if it was now a family member—off guard, and if they were going to make peace, he was not going to be caught flat-footed.

“C’mon, Killian,” Bae finally said.  “Don’t you want your hand back?”

“Aye.”  Killian swallowed hard, his blue eyes uncertain.  “You’re certain it’s not cursed?”

“I am.”  He almost went on to mention that he’d had the hand since he’d cut it off, but decided that was a little uncalled for.  It certainly wouldn’t reassure Killian, so Rumplestiltskin chose to say no more.

“ _Can_ it control me?”

“Only if you let it.”

Slowly, Killian looked up and met his eyes.  A part of Rumplestiltskin—the part that would always be the frightened spinner, scraping up what little courage he had to face the man who had stolen his wife away and could kill him in an instant—wanted to flinch, to cower.  But he did not.  He was no longer that man, and he had learned to _be_ brave even when he did not feel it.  So, he met the pirate’s eyes levelly and calmly. 

“Then do your work.” Killian swallowed visibly, and his nervousness was such a far cry from the brazen way he’d demanded his hand back last time around.  _Or how desperate he was to get me to remove it once more._  Rumplestiltskin vividly remembered being stabbed with that damned hook, and even though he’d laughed that off, it had hurt like hell. 

Now, however, he didn’t anticipate any such problems.  The pirate actually _had_ changed, which meant his hand would follow suit eventually.  It hadn’t suited Rumplestiltskin to say that the first time around—not when he’d been sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness, unable to fight it and often unable to tell his own thoughts from those of the others—but these types of things did tend to run their course.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t take the hand three hundred years to work out a way to be better.  _Let’s also hope that it doesn’t need Emma Swan, because I’m sensing rather a cold front in_ that _direction,_ he thought without amusement.  The fact that his newly-discovered nephew and his son were in love with the same woman could prove a problem in the future, but so far they seemed to be united. 

But today was not the time for such worries.  Waving his hand over the jar, Rumplestiltskin quickly worked the magic to reunite hand and arm once more, removing the hook, bracer, and all of its accoutrements at the same time.  On a whim, he threw a thread of magic in at the last moment, linking the new (old) hand to Killian’s present soul.  That would give the pirate a bit of an advantage over the hand’s toxicity; if he chose to fight it, he’d probably win.

“There.”  He gave a simple nod, and watched Killian flex his fingers. 

“Damn, that’s cool,” Bae breathed from the side, eying the hand admiringly.  Rumplestiltskin felt that flicker of pride, again; this was his son, the man who had come to hate magic.  And yet now Bae didn’t hate the fact that his father had it.  He even wanted his father to _help_ with said magic, and that meant the world to him.

It also meant that Rumplestiltskin overcame his moment’s hesitation, adding: “What little of the old you remains in that hand _shouldn’t_ overcome the rest of you.  Not if you don’t let it.”

That earned him a scowl.  “It did last time.”

“Well, you might say I put an insurance policy in this time.  A bit of a dampening spell, if you would.”  He smiled crookedly.  “We can’t have you punching random drunks or stabbing people with your old hook, now, can we?”

“You couldn’t do that last time?” 

Rumplestiltskin shrugged unrepentantly.  “You might have asked for it back, instead of trying blackmail.” 

“You’d have said no,” the pirate pointed out.

“Perhaps.”  He might have done it just to keep people thinking he was on the right path, but with how hard a hold the darkness had on him at that point, there was no knowing.  “But I was a different man, then.” 

Killian hesitated.  “Aye.  We both were.”  The pirate hesitated, swallowing hard.  “Thank you.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time since they’d talked about Milah that day Rumplestiltskin and Emma had battled, they actually understood one another.  They’d probably never be loving family, but this was, at least, a start.  Bae was smiling, too, and that meant that reattaching Killian Jones’ hand was an incredibly small price to pay.  _And maybe it means that I_ have _changed,_ Rumplestiltskin thought to himself.  He’d always be scarred by the darkness, never to be the simple and good man he’d been before becoming the Dark One, but he didn’t need to be.  This could be more than enough.

* * *

 

“David!  You didn’t tell me you were coming by.”

Hearing Arthur’s voice behind David made him turn, trying a friendly smile on for size.  He and Arthur were mostly on good terms, though learning that the king of Camelot had actually married the darkest of all fairies really made it hard for Storybrooke’s sheriff to _like_ him.  Had Mordred not tried to kill Emma and Henry both—and Baelfire, who was tentatively becoming a friend—David might have actually chosen to believe the awful things that Mordred said about his father, but the way things stood, he was rather firmly against anyone from Camelot.  _Except these poor bastards who had the misfortune to live there_ , he reminded himself firmly.  The people of Camelot were blameless, for the most part, and they deserved a lot better than _any_ of the rulers they’d had.

“Sorry, it was kind of a short notice thing,” he replied as casually he could.  “We just came out looking for an old friend.”

Arthur had to be a better actor than David could ever dream of being.  Either that, or Arthur was supremely confident that his secrets were safe, because the other man looked relaxed.  “I didn’t know you had any old friends from Camelot.”

“Well, Snow and I”—his voice cracked there, but David couldn’t help it, even when a ghostly and slight press of his hand made the pain a tad easier to bear—“met him in the Enchanted Forest, long after he’d left your realm.  But we’re hoping to find him here.”

“You, my granddaughter, and my son-in-law.”  Arthur’s blue eyes swept over Belle and Maurice both, and David tried not to shiver.  _He’s almost as dangerous as his wife, I think._

Belle, however, seemed to have noticed him, and she came over with a slightly concerned expression on her face.  “We’re looking for Lancelot, Grandfather.  Have you seen him?”

“No more than the last time you asked me.”  Arthur sounded a little annoyed, but Belle didn’t seem to notice.  Or did she just not care?  David imagined that news of who her grandmother was had shaken her to the core; Belle was a kind and loving person, but she was incredibly strong.  _Not to mention determined as hell._

David had agreed to help her look for Lancelot because he was worried about his friend, but also because he was growing increasingly wary of Arthur and whatever plots Camelot’s king was hiding.  The last person to have been seen with Lancelot had been Archie, and _that_ really wasn’t starting to add up in ways that David was comfortable with.  He’d never considered that Arthur might be involved with the theft of Archie’s heart, but if Guinevere was the Black Fairy…none of that boded well for any of them.

“We were hoping that you might have remembered something, or seen him recently,” Maurice added, and David could have hugged the florist.   No one had told _him_ about Guinevere’s real identity (Belle didn’t think her father could keep it a secret), but his arrival was very well timed.

“No, I haven’t.”  Arthur hesitated, and then shrugged.  “I’m happy to help you look for him, though.”

“Thanks.” David made himself smile.  “I’m sure that’ll help a lot.”

He would have refused the help if he could, of course; Belle wanted to talk to Lancelot to learn more about her mother, and Arthur had a vested interest in keeping Lancelot’s knowledge secret.  That meant that people who might have been willing to talk to them before wouldn’t, not with Arthur along for the ride.  Oh, Arthur played at being a great and gracious king, and some of his people seemed to believe he was, but the peasants seemed a little less trusting.  David spoke their language, and he’d hoped to sneak away from Arthur and have a few candid conversations, but every time he felt like he was getting somewhere, Arthur seemed to turn up out of nowhere.

He, Belle, and Maurice left a little over an hour later, no closer to finding Lancelot than they had been when they arrived.

* * *

 

It was a damned good thing that Happy was trying to romance that girl from Camelot, Grumpy decided later.  If Happy hadn’t insisted on going out to the camp that night, they’d have never seen Archie walking that way, a bottle of lighter fluid in one and a pack of long matches in the other.  Archie seemed damned glassy eyed, too, and when they shouted for him, he didn’t seem to notice they were calling his name.

The dwarves barely rushed up in time to stop Archie from lighting fire to one of the tents, and Archie didn’t even seem to come back to himself when Grumpy knocked the lighter fluid clean out of his hands.  “Go find that!”  he shouted at Happy, trying to wrestle the matches away from the therapist.

“Let go!” Archie finally seemed to wake up, and for a moment, Grumpy thought everything might be all right.  Then Archie landed a really weak right hook in Grumpy’s midsection, making him grunt.  It wasn’t the worst punch he’d ever taken, not by far.  His cursed self had picked fights as a hobby and done some underground boxing, too, which meant Grumpy knew how to take a hit.  Even the bad ones.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Finally, he got ahold of the matches and threw those towards Happy, only to find Archie swinging at him again.  “C’mon, Cricket!  This is getting ridiculous.  I don’t want to hurt—”

Archie punched him again, this time making better contact.  Grumpy doubled over, retching, but he refused to let go of Archie’s other arm.  He didn’t want to hurt Archie, not like he had bloodied and bruised some of his opponents, but enough was freaking enough.

“This isn’t you!” he bellowed, and reached up to slap Archie across the face.  Hard.

The blow contacted, but Archie didn’t even yelp.  _This is way too weird!_ After a moment, though, Archie finally started to blink—rapidly.   And then he slumped straight to the ground, passing right out.

“What’d you do?” Happy reached his side, puffing for air, matches and lighter fluid in hand.  “How could you hit _Archie_ , man?  He’s as gentle as a feather!”

“I didn’t knock him out!  This isn’t my fault!”

“He’s kind of unconscious.”

“Yeah, well, help me get him back to the van, will you?   Something’s definitely wrong here, and Archie needs help.”

“Guess my date’s off, huh?”  Happy didn’t sound too upset, not that he ever did.  Grumpy just grunted in response, and the two dwarves hauled the former cricket off to the van together.  Once they safely in the car, not to mention far enough away that he was pretty sure Archie wouldn’t wake up and immediately try more arson on for size, Grumpy called David.

This was really one hell of a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Four—“ Children Born of Thee are Sword and Fire”, in which Rumplestiltskin and Mordred have a ‘friendly’ chat, Henry and Bae talk to Isaac again, Belle talks to her grandmother, Emma meets Henry’s great-grandmother, and Morgan tells Rumplestiltskin about what she’s learned.


	54. Children Born of Thee are Sword and Fire

Rumplestiltskin felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, just waiting for someone to give him a push.  His mother had outed Guinevere as the Black Fairy two days earlier, and that changed _everything_.  Rumplestiltskin had slowly been growing into his own as the Sorcerer, but how was he supposed to defeat the enemy who had tricked _Merlin_ into becoming the Dark One?  He’d spent most of that time trying to reassure Belle that no one was born evil and that her blood did not make her into some monster, but every moment he hadn’t been doing that, he’d been planning.  _Aside from giving Hook—err, Killian—his hand back, anyway._   He still felt rather decent about that, much to his own surprise.  Perhaps his long-subdued conscience really was back.

He’d decided to take a walk around town to collect the rents that morning, eschewing Henry’s offer to do it for him.  Henry _liked_ seeing people, and the boy was even pretty reliable (he didn’t try to give anyone a break, even when they told sob stories, anyway), but today Rumplestiltskin needed to get a feel for the town in ways he couldn’t manage from the shop.  Besides, he’d promised Belle that he’d look in on Ruby.  The owner of the diner had been predictably cheeky, insisting on calling him ‘Mr. G’ and offering him pie.  He’d turned that down, but hadn’t been able to resist her second offer of hot chocolate, despite the suspicious looks Ruby’s friend Mulan threw his way.  He didn’t _think_ he’d ever encountered Mulan in their old world, and Rumplestiltskin was certain that he hadn’t ever done a deal with her, but he was used to looks like that, anyway.  Some things didn’t change.

He headed down to the marina last of all, wishing that he could foist the sure-to-come headache off on someone else.  Gold had outright owned the marina, and although Mr. Fischer had been a halfway decent manager under the curse, once the former Fisher King had woken up, he’d proved downright terrible.  Rumplestiltskin made a mental note to ask Belle again if she knew of anyone who would be good for the job; she’d suggested Ariel, once, but then her friend had returned to another realm with her prince.  Still, there had to be someone who was less likely to lose revenue, botch maintenance, and—

“What are _you_ doing here?”

The hostile voice made him stop cold, and for a moment, he actually thought it was Killian Jones.  But the accent was slightly wrong, even if the anger was accurate, which only left him with one person.  _My half-brother._   They’d tried to kill one another not too long ago, and although Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to threaten anyone he was related to, any man who went after a child was utterly unworthy of compassion or respect.  And anyone who tried to kill his son or grandson was just expressing a death wish.

“I happen to own the marina you’re standing in.”  Rumplestiltskin half-wished he still had his cane.  It would have given him something to wrap his hands around that wasn’t Mordred’s neck.

“How did you manage _that_?” Mordred spat, looking like Rumplestiltskin was something terrible smelling beneath his nose.

“The curse.  You missed a lot by staying in that little time-warped disaster of yours.”

Mordred scowled.  “Mother wishes us to make peace, but you truly are unworthy of being our blood, aren’t you?”

That statement took him aback momentarily; was Mordred really making this about _blood_?  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t expected that.  He’d expected ideological differences, hatred for his status as a previous Dark One, or even Mordred calling _him_ an abomination because he had been a Dark One who rose from the Vault to live again.  But this?  Was Mordred really such a narrow-minded snob?  Morgan hadn’t seemed the type, and Mordred seemed to hate Arthur, so where in the world had he gotten that attitude from?  _And why doesn’t he dislike our mutual nephew, the pirate?  Is it because_ his _father was of better blood than mine?_ It had been centuries since Rumplestiltskin had been looked down upon for being lowborn, and he almost didn’t know what to say.  In the end, he ended up snorting out a cold laugh. 

“I’m not the one who manipulated my own nephew and then tried to kill my great-nephew.  Followed by my other nephew, of course.  Just to keep the entire family involved.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile turned thin, but he actually found it kind of nice not to be the lowest and darkest member of a family.  For once, someone had managed to outdo his misdeeds.  _And in spades._

“Unlike you, I believe in doing what must be done.”

“Do you think I don’t?”  He kept his voice civil; Rumplestiltskin was actually curious about Mordred’s opinion.

“I don’t think you have the stomach for it.  If you did, you would have _helped_ me seal the Dark One in the Vault, not saved her.  But I think you can too easily see yourself in her place.”

“Of course I can.”  He shrugged, unafraid to admit that.  “Unlike you, I understand how very hard she’s fighting—and I know what kind of woman Emma Swan is.  Very few people actually win my admiration, but she’s done that several times over.  If anyone’s going to contain the darkness long enough to find a way to _actually_ destroy it, that would be her.”

Mordred’s eyes narrowed, and Rumplestiltskin truly hated how much they reminded him of the eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.  Or his son’s.  “Do you truly mean that?  Do you really want to destroy it, or are you simply saying what you think people want to hear?”

“Anything man can make, man can unmake.  Merlin was desperate when he created the Dark One, but the answer has never been to trap the darkness.  It can’t be held, not in its present form—not in a human, and not in the Vault.  History tells us that.”  Rumplestiltskin paused, noticing that his half-brother was actually listening.  “But it can be _unmade_.  Unwoven, if you will.  Then the elemental parts of it _can_ be trapped, and the rest will flitter off into the world as it was meant to be.”

“You can’t possibly manage that.  You haven’t the knowledge or the age.”  Mordred, however, seemed to step forward despite himself, and Rumplestiltskin half-wondered if they’d actually found something they agreed upon.

“I’m not sure you’re actually much older than I, if at all, what with the way you stopped time in Camelot.  Linearly speaking, I may be older than you.”

“Dark Ones never last long—”

“I’m over three hundred.”

That finally seemed to make Mordred pause, and the blatant unease in his expression was a little nice to see.  After a moment, however, the scowl came back.  “You still don’t have the knowledge.”

“I have Merlin’s books, the ones you _must_ have known were in his workshop.  And I have allies.  I’ve also spent the last three centuries studying magic—and, given that I was a rather anti-social Dark One, as opposed to the conquest and burning type, that was quite a lot of studying.”  He shrugged.  “Besides, you know as well as I do that we will find no written solution to this problem.  One must be _created_.”

“You still can’t do it.  You’re not _fated_ to do it.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted again.  “Do I look like a man who gives a damn about destiny?”

“Perhaps that’s your problem,” Mordred shot back.  “You lack an appreciation of the bigger picture.”

“You don’t know me at all if you’re saying _that_.”  Rumplestiltskin actually found that assumption rather amusing.  “Let me give you a bit of advice.  I have been a Seer nearly as long as I was the Dark One.  Prophecies and visions are rarely what they seem at first glance.  Do not—”

“I shouldn’t have bothered trying to talk to you.  You clearly don’t understand anything at all, even if Mother does want us to ally.”

“I’ve not known her as long as you, but she’s clearly an intelligent woman.”

“You don’t know her at _all_ ,” Mordred spat, his eyes narrowing.  “You are _nothing_ , and she’ll see that soon enough.  I am the King of Camelot, and I will succeed where Merlin failed.”

A long moment passed while Rumplestiltskin could only stare, but at least that gave him the time to rein his temper in.  Mordred certainly wasn’t good at making friends, was he?  Yet the other man was his brother, and that connection meant something to Rumplestiltskin.  Perhaps he was a fool, or perhaps he’d simply been starved for family his entire live, always yearning for something he’d never really had.  Either way, he found himself giving advice that he hoped Mordred would heed:

“Not if you keep on like this.  Do you have any idea how many enemies you’ve made here?  Storybrooke is not Camelot, nor is it the Enchanted Forest.  If you continue in this fashion, you’ll be destroyed.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No.”  He shook his head.  “It’s a warning.  I am no threat to you unless you endanger my family, because _we_ —despite the ironic way in which this has happened—are related.  That means something to me, even if it doesn’t to you.”

“How could it?” Mordred suddenly stepped close to Rumplestiltskin, radiating power.  The slightly metallic taste of that power was different from Mordred’s own magic, however, and Rumplestiltskin suddenly understood what his half-brother had done.  _He’s taken it back,_ Rumplestiltskin realized in shock.  Morgan had been convinced that Mordred would not seek the Greater Sapphire again, but he could _feel_ the sharp edges of the sapphire enhancing Mordred’s magic.  “You are nothing.  If I ally with you, it will be on my terms.”  A hand raised, fingers pointing close to Rumplestiltskin’s face.  “I will rule, and you will be _my_ servant.  If I permit it.”

Rumplestiltskin slapped the hand away.  He didn’t like being touched, and although he had a much longer fuse these days, enough was enough.

“Oh, and for the record, _dearie_ , I don’t care what kind of blood you have.  You’re royal on two sides, and I was born a peasant in the Frontlands.  _It doesn’t matter_.  No one has given me a damn thing in my life that I didn’t take.  I _am_ the Sorcerer, and if you think I’ll become your happy little toady, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Mordred’s face twisted into a sarcastic look of sadness.  “Pity.  Mother will be terribly disappointed if we can’t get along.”

“If you define ‘getting along’ as me serving you, no, we won’t.  If you want to be equals, then we’ll talk.”  _I’ve been enslaved once.  It is_ not _happening again._

“We could _never_ be equals.”

Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a slight sneer as he looked Mordred up and then down.  “No.  I don’t think we could.”

He walked away before his half-brother could say another word, feeling a strange pang in the vicinity of his heart.  He didn’t want or need a brother, but it would have been nice to have another family member actually accept him.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t blind to his own faults, but he’d _tried_ to make peace with Mordred.  Hadn’t he?  Could he have done more, or were they simply destined to hate one another?  All he knew was that Mordred saw him as a threat, and that didn’t seem to have been caused by anything specific Rumplestiltskin had done.  _Does he think I’m a danger to the destiny he believes is his?_ he wondered.  One would think someone as practiced in magic as Mordred knew how tricky prophecies could be, but…

Thankfully, Mordred didn’t follow.  He was willing to bet that Mordred would go straight to the mother they shared and complain.  _She probably won’t want anything to do with me after this,_ Rumplestiltskin thought sadly.  But it made sense.  Mordred was Morgan’s first born, the son she was going to believe and trust.  It was one thing for her to stop him from killing Baelfire, but expecting her to side with him against Mordred was simply ludicrous.  _I suppose it was a nice feeling while it lasted, being wanted by a parent._

On second thought, someone else could straighten out the Fisher King and his chaotic marina.  Rumplestiltskin just wanted to be left alone.

* * *

 

Baelfire was pretty damn sure that the former Author had been a used car salesman before being tapped to write down the stories of every magical realm’s famous and/or troublesome.  Either that, or Isaac had been one hell of a hustler.  _Because he’s definitely selling Henry something, and there’s no oceanfront property in Arizona._

“Do you know what the fae are?” Isaac asked on their third visit, lounging against the wall with his feet propped up on the bed.  Henry had taken the chair while Bae leaned against the wall, letting his son do the talking while he made sure that Henry didn’t get bamboozled.  There wasn’t much danger of that, of course, but it paid to be careful.  They’d delivered Regina’s promise—in writing—that Isaac would go free if he helped the good guys and remained loyal to them on their last visit, and now it was time for the old Author to fess up.

“My book doesn’t really mention them.”  Henry shot Isaac a suspicious look.  “Just a few things here and there about them being gone.”

“That’s because they were before my time, or before my predecessor’s time.”  Isaac shrugged.  “But they might be _really_ relevant now, given that you asked about Camelot’s history.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed further.  “What do they have to do with Camelot?”

“Well, you _did_ know that Guinevere was the Black Fairy, right?”

“How the hell did you know that?” Bae cut in before he could stop himself.  The fact that this little rat bastard had known _all along_ that Belle’s grandmother was the chief of all evil fairies really burned, and he wanted to shake Isaac.  Or worse.  It took all of his self-control to keep leaning against the wall and looking relatively calm.

Another innocent shrug.  “It’s in one of the old books, of course.  That story was _far_ before my time.”

“There are other books?” Henry sat up straight. “Where are they?”

“How should I know?  But I might be able to help you find them if you let me out of here.”

Henry looked ready to consider that, so Bae shook his head.  “Not a chance.”

“Your loss.”  Isaac glanced up at the ceiling like a cat considering which delectable morsel to pounce on next.  “But I _can_ tell you where the Fae are locked away, which not even the Black Fairy herself knows.  It’s a secret passed from Author to Author.”

“Great!  So, where—”

Isaac cut Henry off with a wave of his hand. “I can tell you _for a price_.”

“I’m the new Author.  If it’s a secret that was meant to be passed down, you _have_ to tell me.”  Henry looked a little hopeful, but Bae knew the mercenary look on Isaac’s face.

“Well, I’ve never been great at following the rules, so you’re just going to have to pay up,” was the unrepentant answer.  “Luckily for you, I demand little and deliver much.”

“Like what?” Now Henry was starting to sound as wary as he was annoyed, and Bae was damned proud of his son for being so smart.  Henry might have been trusting by nature, but Isaac had pushed him way too far.

“Well, freedom isn’t really enough.  For information like this—world changing information—I want to be rich.  I’m not sharing more until I’m promised a good income and a nice house.  That mansion by the lake will do.  It’s not like the Sorcerer is here to use it, anyway.”

Bae snorted out a laugh before Henry could answer.  “You’ve missed a few memos, haven’t you?  There’s a new Sorcerer, and he’s a little possessive about the place.”

“How did—?” Isaac’s eyes went wide for a moment before he cut himself off.  “Nevermind.  It doesn’t matter.  Somewhere else will do, but I want guarantees.  Property deeds and income.  Otherwise my mouth stays shut, and you can figure out how to stop the Black Fairy from regaining the army she used to terrorize the Enchanted Forest without my help.”

* * *

 

She hadn’t expected her grandmother to pay her a visit the day after Arthur had been so maddeningly _un_ helpful in their search for Lancelot.  Belle was beyond frustrated, halfway certain—and completely dreading—that her grandparents were behind Lancelot’s appearance.  She wasn’t an actress, and wasn’t good at hiding her feelings, which made it doubly hard to be nice to her grandfather when she was certain that he was lying to her.  It had been one thing when he’d just seemed to be overprotective, overbearing, and slightly patriarchal.  Now, however, it was obvious that he was nothing near honest, and Belle was really starting to get pissed off.

Unfortunately, that meant she wasn’t sure she could act pleasant and continue pretending when her grandmother showed up.  She understood the reasons why they needed to keep Arthur and the Black Fairy from realizing that they knew the truth, but that didn’t make it any easier.  Belle wasn’t by nature a schemer, and she was terribly afraid she’d let something slip.

“Grandmother.”  She smiled as pleasantly as she could.  “What brings you here?”

“Curiosity, mainly.”  How could a woman who could look so kind be so evil inside?  Part of Belle wanted to believe that _anyone_ could be redeemed, but she had read about the Black Fairy’s atrocities during the Third Foundation War.   Most of that conflict had come _after_ the fall of Camelot, giving her grandmother every chance to make the right choice.  Instead, the Black Fairy had unleashed the fae on the Enchanted Forest, letting them enslave humans and worse.  _She chose to hurt people when she could have stopped herself, and she led others to do so as well._

“About what?” Belle put the book she was holding down on the circulation desk, resisting the temptation to keep sorting through the recently returned pile.  If she did that, she’d surely give her nervousness away.

“You seem very determined to find Lancelot.  I understand that you have questions, but surely your grandfather or I could answer them, instead.”  The eyes that met her own were guileless, and Belle wanted so badly to simply demand the truth.

“I met him as a child, and I remember Mother loving him.  I was hoping he might tell me some stories of her that Papa doesn’t know,” she answered as carefully as she could.  That wasn’t a lie, after all.  Not quite.  She just also wanted to confirm that Morgan’s horrible truth was, well…true.

Not that she doubted it.  Not now.  _I suppose I could ask the Blue Fairy, but would she tell grandmother?_   There was no evidence that the sisters had spoken, and legends told of the battle between them.  Blue had offered Rumple an alliance, even if it hadn’t been a very good offer.  Perhaps it would be smart to talk to her, at least.

Guinevere—the _Black Fairy_ —cocked her head curiously.  “Is that all?”

“Why should there be anything else?”  Belle put on the most innocent look she could manage, but she wasn’t sure that her grandmother was fooled. 

She could see the calculations happening in those green eyes, and knowing what kind of woman she was descended from was utterly _terrifying._   She’d never quite understood what a frightening burden it was to be related to such a monster, to someone who showed no remorse for abusing people and thought themselves _justified._   Rumple had lived with that feeling, having Pan as his father, but Belle had never quite understood.  _In order to be redeemed, you have to admit you’re_ wrong _,_ she thought to herself as her grandmother changed the subject, chatting easily about this book and that, and then asking Belle if she’d ever considered having children.

Belle avoided that last subject as best she could, a shiver tearing down her spine that she knew she couldn’t hide.

* * *

 

“Hey, David, we’ve got a problem.”  Grumpy’s voice preceded the dwarf and Archie into the station, making David and Robin look up.

_Another one?_ David thought, trying not to grimace.  “What’s up?”

“Me.”  Archie looked devastated, as if he hadn’t slept for a week and had rolled around in a pile of dirt in the clothes he was wearing. 

“What happened?” Robin was on his feet in an instant, and David knew that he was spoiling for a fight.  After so much intrigue and so many reversals, it was hard _not_ to be.  He really just wanted an enemy he could shoot, stab, or at least hit, instead of battling unseen players who seemed to be moving pieces on a board he didn’t understand.

“I almost lit fire to the camp.”  Archie’s voice was so quiet that they could barely hear the, and David couldn’t believe it, anyway.  “Grumpy and Happy had to stop me.”

Happy had followed the pair in, and for once, he wasn’t smiling.  His grimace told the tale far more than Grumpy’s resigned nod, and David felt his heart sink.

“I know someone has my heart,” Archie continued softly.  “And I can’t stop myself.  I don’t know if you can, either.  I attacked Grumpy when he tried to stop me.”

“Not like it did you much good.”  Grumpy’s voice was surprisingly gentle.  “You don’t pack a hell of a punch, Doc.  I’m okay, and nobody else got hurt.  That’s what matters.”

“But someone could have. If you hadn’t stopped me—”

“But we did,” Happy interjected. 

Archie just shook his head sadly.  “You might not be there next time.”  He looked over at David.  “I think I need to be locked away.  For everyone’s protection.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Robin said quickly, and David nodded his agreement.  “We can’t lock you up for something you haven’t done.”

“If it’ll stop me from hurting anyone else, you certainly can.”  Tired and shaken though he looked, Archie stood up straight and was clearly in command of his own mind.  _For now._   “And you need to.”

David exchanged a horrified glance with Robin, and he could see the truth on Robin’s face, too.  Archie was _right_.  If he’d managed to set fire to the camp where Camelot’s poorest residents still lived, public opinion would have _lynched_ him.  Even worse, it would have destabilized Storybrooke’s already precarious situation.  But he didn’t want to arrest Archie, not when someone else was clearly responsible for his actions.

“Maybe…maybe we can put you under house arrest,” he suggested thoughtfully.  “We can get Emma, Regina, or Rumplestiltskin to work up some magic so that you can’t leave, and that we know everyone who enters.  That would keep _everyone_ safe.”

Archie looked like he didn’t dare hope.  The damn man was so honest that he asked: “But what if whoever has my heart comes to get me?”

“If he or she wanted to be that overt, they wouldn’t be using you.”  Robin shook his head ruefully.  “And if they do, well, we won’t be any worse off than we are now.  Are you okay with that?”

“I can do that, yes.”  Archie nodded.  “Just so long as you make sure I can’t get out.  And someone walks Pongo for me.”

“We’ll help with that,” Grumpy promised.  “And I bet Henry will, too.”

“Worst case, Neal and I can use some company when _we_ go around town,” David added, trying a strained smile on for size.  “We’ll take care of you, Archie.  _Both_ of you.  I promise.”

Archie swallowed hard, but at least they had a plan. That had to count for something, David figured.  Didn’t it?  Following Archie to figure out who had his heart obviously wasn’t an option any longer, but this way they could at least keep him safe.

* * *

 

A month ago, Emma might have killed Sidney Glass.  Now she was mostly wishing that she’d let herself.  _He’s trouble.  If you want to help this town, you’ll get rid of him,_ the darkness whispered, but Emma could mostly ignore it.  Nimue and her damned cronies were just trying to get Emma to embrace the darkness via her desire to protect Storybrooke, and she was having none of it. 

Sidney, however, was still a nuisance.  And a problem.

“You know you can’t trust the fact that Regina has supposedly ‘changed’,” he was saying now, in front of a sizeable crowd outside Granny’s.  Unfortunately, most of the seemed to be listening to him, too, and no one really noticed as Emma crept closer.  “She claimed to be _better_ while she kept me locked in the asylum for years.  She only ‘changes’ when it suits her.”

Several people murmured in agreement, and Emma wanted to strangle all of them.  Or turn them into sheep, because that was what they were.  Why was Regina suddenly the enemy?  Did they suddenly mistrust her because someone—probably her bitch of a sister—was running around impersonating her and killing people?  Emma had thought the people of Storybrooke were a little more steadfast than that, but apparently they weren’t.  _Just like they want to hate me because I_ saved _them from the darkness,_ she thought darkly.  _I’d like to see_ Sidney _live with this hell.  He would have burned the town down already._

Or someone would have killed him and they’d have _another_ new Dark One to deal with, and wouldn’t that have just been a picnic?

“And now she’s killing anyone who might _remotely_ challenge her power in ‘her’ town,” Sidney continued.  “Doesn’t that sound like the Evil Queen we all know and love? She might have some people fooled, but not me.  I’ve learned my lesson.  The last time I offered her help, she locked me in a mirror again.”

“Careful, she might just do it again,” a laughing voice put in, and Emma whirled to see Lily standing next to August.  How had _Lily_ gotten involved in this?  Emma knew she was angry, but—

“No way.” Sidney shook his head.  “I’d rather die than go back into that kind of prison, and I’m going to fight for my freedom.  And for this town’s.”

“She’s probably taken Archie’s heart, too.”  That was August’s contribution, and Emma could only stare in shock as darkness coiled up within her.

_They’re traitors, both of them._

“I hear he’s under arrest,” August added.  “All because _someone_ tried to make him light the Camelot camp on fire.  If that’s—”

“Archie isn’t under arrest.”  Robin pushed through the crowd just as Emma felt herself take a step forward, power gathering unconsciously in her hands.  Desperately, she snuffed out the darkness, shoving it down and pushing it back.  _I am in control,_ she told the darkness firmly.  _Not you.  Stay in your place!_

“Yeah, he’s just locked up for his own protection, right?” Prince Thomas spoke up, jeering at Robin from only a few feet away from Emma.  It would be so easy to—

_No!_

“No, he’s at home.”  Robin turned calmly to face the prince.  “By _his_ request, because Archie is a good man who doesn’t want to hurt anyone.  You’re welcome to visit him if you want—though he might ask you to walk Pongo if you do.”  A few people chuckled, and Robin turned back to face Sidney.  “You’ve had your fun.  Now, will you please stop trying to incite mobs to violence and civil unrest?  That’s never worked well in this town.”

“Is that a threat?” August demanded, and Emma saw Robin roll his eyes.

“Of course not.”

“Technically speaking, having a meeting of concerned citizens _isn’t_ illegal,” Sidney put in with a pat smile.  “This isn’t the Enchanted Forest, after all.  I know it’s a bit confusing to you, since you missed the first curse—”

“I know the law, thank you very much,” Robin cut him off.  “And I’m not ordering you to disperse.  I’m just suggesting that people _think_ before you get too worked up.  There’s two sides to every story, after all, and you people asked Regina to come back as mayor.  You’ve trusted her this far.  Why are you going to believe a few rumors when you know she wouldn’t do this?”

The arguments went on, but their tone lessened, and Emma no longer felt the darkness drawing her to the unrest like a magnet.  Instead, she was able to look around, finally noticing a familiar woman walking towards her with a dark-skinned man in tow.  With a start, Emma realized that was Morgan le Fae—the woman who was apparently her son’s great-grandmother.  _Yeah, just when I thought Henry’s tree couldn’t get worse, it turns out Rumplestiltskin’s related to every other villain ever.  What a freaking surprise that is._   Emma almost snorted out loud, but the next thought took the dark humor right out of her mind.  _Then again, maybe I deserve those relations, too, given what I am, now._

She could feel the darkness coiling up inside her again.  It didn’t _like_ Morgan, and if anything recommended the older woman to Emma, it was that.

“You must be Emma Swan.”  Morgan held a hand out, her expression far more pleasant than Emma had expected.  Was this woman really the mother of the jerk who had called Neal an abomination and who had tried to lock Emma away for eternity?  “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

“I, um, yeah.  I am.”  She took the offered hand, though, even if she sounded like an idiot.

Morgan met her eyes levelly.  “I watched you before you took the darkness on.  Unlike my eldest son, I think you’re doing remarkably well.” 

“I wish you’d tell him that,” Emma couldn’t stop herself from grumbling.

“I have.  Mordred is, unfortunately, very stubborn.  And very driven to destroy the darkness that lives inside you.”

“Believe me, he can’t want it gone more than I do.”  _You need this,_ the darkness whispered even as she said that, and pushing it away was hard.  _You’ve never faced threats like Mordred and the Black Fairy before.  Without the extra power, they_ will _kill your son._

_Shut up!_ But her mental demand was half-hearted at best.  The worst part was that she wasn’t sure the darkness was wrong.

“I believe that.”  Morgan smiled slightly.  “We won’t take up any of your time, but I did want to introduce myself.  If Mordred bothers you again, please do let me know.”

“I can take care of myself.”  _We don’t need help from someone like you._   Emma tried not to scowl as she ignored the voice, _again._ “I’m more worried about Henry.”

“Mordred will not try to harm him again.  I will not allow it.” 

Emma almost snorted at that simple statement, but she could see the steel in Morgan’s eyes.  This woman was dangerous, and not only because of the power she’d once possessed.  But she _would_ protect Henry, Emma realized.  _Man, Henry really has a weird family_ , she thought, nodding at Mordred and her companion as they walked away.  Sometimes she wondered how things might have worked out if there’d never been a curse, if she had grown up in the Enchanted Forest and met Neal back when he was Baelfire.  It wasn’t likely, of course—they’d been born three centuries apart—but she always imagined that he was there when her imagination wandered away with her.

Maybe that was just because she couldn’t imagine a world where Henry wasn’t a part of her life.  That was it, of course.  It had to be.  Granted, she couldn’t really fathom a world where Neal hadn’t been Henry’s father, either.  _Or one where we—_

“Everything okay?”

Neal’s voice came from behind her and made Emma jump.  Darkness leapt to her fingers, and she almost lashed out, but she managed to throttle back the effort as she whirled around to face him.  Neal held his hands up, the picture of laughing innocence.

“Try not to turn me into a toad, will you?”

“Toads aren’t really my style,” Emma replied dryly.  “I’m more into small furry creatures.”

“Great, so I can wind up as a possum.”  He snorted.  “Not much of an improvement, to be honest.”

Emma startled herself by laughing.  “No, probably not.  And everything’s fine.  I just, uh, met your grandmother.”

“Yeah, she’s an interesting cat.”  Neal—or Baelfire, Emma supposed—glanced at Morgan’s retreating back.  Morgan and her companion were out of earshot, now, but they hadn’t yet gone around the corner.  “But I think she means well.”

“I think you might be right.”  Emma studied the pair for a moment, too.  “The darkness hates her, anyway, so that’s probably a good sign.”

“Usually is, yeah.” 

Neal (or Baelfire. Maybe Nealfire?) didn’t even look surprised, but Emma was shocked she’d actually admitted that.  She _shouldn’t_ tell him—or anyone!—things like that.  Yet she had, and somehow, Neal didn’t think less of her.  She’d wanted a friend, a true friend, more than anything, but she never imagined she’d find that in her ex-boyfriend and co-parent.  He seemed to understand her, though, and he even changed the subject graciously, turning the conversation to Henry’s talks with Isaac and what a prat the old Author was.

Emma couldn’t quite make herself thank him, but she thought he knew, anyway.

* * *

 

“Can I ask a favor?” Killian said by way of greeting, wandering into the sheriff’s station while the irritably irrational crowd dispersed outside.  Robin was still out there, arguing with a few people and reminding others that the dwarves had vouched for Regina—for all the good that did—which meant he was able to catch David alone.

The last few days had been one hell of a storm to get caught in, and Killian still felt like he was a stuck without a rudder to steer with.  Learning Bae was his cousin hadn’t been much of a hardship, but openly acknowledging _Rumpelstiltskin_ as his uncle was something else entirely.  He felt like the world had gone bloody mad, like he’d drunk too much and was having the worst fever dream humanly possible.  Killian prided himself on his ability to roll with the punches, but this entire mess was utterly insane.  The only good—if most unsettling—part was that he’d gotten his hand back out of the deal.  _But I was a different man, then,_ the Crocodile had said.  Except he wasn’t the Crocodile any longer, was he.

I _am the Crocodile, now, Killian_ , Emma had told him, and the thought burned like acid in his mind.  He loved her so damned much—he loved her laugh, her smile, the way the goodness and determination just shined out of her like no one could ever get her down.  Emma had been everything a young lieutenant had dreamt of when he envisioned the ideal woman, the person whom he could be _good_ again for.  She made him want to be the man he’d been before he’d become a pirate: honorable, honest, and one who always did what was right.  Yet if Emma was to believed, she was no longer that woman at all, and she never would be—

“Sure.”  David spun around in his chair with a smile, unknowingly interrupting Killian’s inner thoughts.  “What do you—do you have _two_ hands again?”

Somehow, the smile that question brought up felt rather natural, and part of Killian—the young lieutenant whom this hand had belonged to before it had been attached to the pirate—felt oddly _hopeful_.  He’d had the hand back for less than a day, but so far, he hadn’t even had any major problems with it.  Oh, the annoying appendage sometimes seemed to have a mind of its own, reaching out to grab things (usually alcohol, his favorite coping mechanism back in his pirate _and_ his navy days) without warning, but overall, the hand was rather better behaved than he’d expected.

_Is that because I’m working on being better for_ myself _instead of for Emma?_

“Aye,” he answered David’s question with a hesitant smile, feeling a little self-conscious as he flexed his fingers reflexively.  “My, uh, newfound uncle saw fit to restore it to me.”

“Well, it seems that redemption really is going around these days.”  David smiled easily.  “Everything going all right with it?  I remember the last time wasn’t so smooth.”

“So far.”  Killian shrugged, glancing down at the new/old hand before he could stop himself.  “Anyway, I, uh, did want to ask you something.”  _Why is this so bloody hard?_

“Right.  The favor.  What’s up?”

 Killian grimaced.  “I was hoping you might teach me to drive, actually.  An automo— _car_ , I mean.  Now that I know how to use the infernally complicated talking phone, I thought it might be a useful skill to acquire.”

“Sure.  I can help you come into the 21st century.  I should have thought of it earlier.”  David chuckled.  “Though, after my failure at teaching Henry back when he didn’t have his memories, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.”

“Well, in a competition between you and Baelfire, I suspect you’re the safer option.”

David clearly couldn’t argue with that one.  “How about tomorrow?  I’m tied down with the mob outside and Arthur coming by later to ask about Grif’s murder, but I can dump stuff on Robin tomorrow afternoon.”

“I, uh, all right.”  Why did he feel so damned awkward?  Killian wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall, but he knew why everything was weird.  He wasn’t used to asking for favors, or help.  He had spent three centuries being a ruggedly independent pirate, and _needing_ someone else for something that he couldn’t command wasn’t an experience he was used to.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Killian.”

* * *

 

He had expected his mother to walk into the shop that afternoon.  Not after his conversation with Mordred, who had implied that Morgan, too, would despise him for his peasant roots—or, more appropriately, for the roots of the man who had probably forced her into his bed when she was drunk and incapable of informed consent.  Morgan hadn’t seemed to blame him for that, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t find that beyond the realm of possibility.  After all, he knew what it meant to have such decisions taken away from you, and he was certainly never going to forgive Zelena.  And he knew how damned lucky he was that the child she was carrying wasn’t his.

“Hello.”  Morgan sounded awkward, and she stopped uneasily on the other side of the counter, her brown eyes every bit as wide as Rumplestiltskin felt his to be.

“Hi.”  He swallowed hard.  “Why…why are you here?”

“I thought we might talk.”

Ah.  _This_ was where she said something along the lines of what Mordred already had, that he was ‘nothing’, that he didn’t matter, that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t worth her time.  He supposed that he shouldn’t have hoped at all when she’d been kind to him. Rumplestiltskin had grown to expect cruelty from a parent (except from the spinsters who he had called his aunts, who had _never_ been anything less than kind, and whom he had loved deeply until they’d died in his sixteenth year), and he should be used to that.  He’d been a fool, hadn’t he? 

“Let me save you some time.” He spoke as levelly as he could, trying not to let the words come out too harshly.  They _needed_ Morgan’s knowledge and she was a useful ally; even if she wished she’d never told him who she was.  “I am an adult, and you have no responsibility for me.  You don’t have to pretend to care.”

Morgan jerked back as if he’d slapped her.  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Mordred said—”

“Mordred is a sheltered fool.”  She scowled.  “I love him dearly, but he is hardly prone to understanding any position save his own.  Nor is he good at building relationships unless it suits him to do so.  And he does not speak for _me._ ”

“Oh.”  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure what else to say to that.  He could only stare. 

_I know I cannot make up for what I have done to you.  And I cannot replace the years lost.  But I would hope for a new beginning…if you are willing,_ she had told him.  Could Morgan have actually meant that?  She’d been _kind_ to him the last time they’d talked, yet Rumplestiltskin had a much easier time expecting cruelty than kindness.  _I wish Belle were here_ , he thought as he stared dumbly at his mother.  Belle would have known what to say or how to deal with this, or at least she would have laid a hand on his arm and helped him find his voice.  He hated feeling this lost, this vulnerable.  Had he still been the Dark One, he would have sent Morgan away with some sarcastic quip, shielding his shredded soul with anger and sharp-edged humor.  He almost opened his mouth to do so, anyway, but Morgan got in first.

“You are my _son_ ,” she said quietly.  “I know I have wronged you, and I cannot make up for that, but I will _not_ abandon you again.  Mordred will simply have to learn to live with this.”

He swallowed hard.  “All…right.”

“I am sorry.”  Morgan looked like she wasn’t accustomed to apologizing for much of anything, but she was clearly making an effort.  “If I hadn’t left you there, if I had _found_ a way to bring you with me, you would never have become the Dark One and suffered so much.”

Rumplestiltskin could only stare.  Since when did anyone save Belle—and Bae, and perhaps Henry—care if he had suffered?  He was _used_ to being the town pariah, and even now that some of his allies had a decent idea what had happened to him in the past, none of them really seemed to care.  Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin _preferred_ it that way.  He didn’t want anyone to know the depths of what had happened to him.  He still had a hard time opening up to Belle about it, and even she didn’t know the messier details.

After a very awkward moment, he managed a shrug.  “I am what I am.”  After a moment, he tried a crooked smile on for size, echoing the words she’d said to him the last time they talked.  “I am who I choose to be.  And I chose to be the Dark One.”

“Because you had no other choice.”  Morgan looked like she might reach out for him before she stopped herself, clearly unsure of the response she would get.  _Hell, I’m not sure of the response she’d get._ “Because I never made sure you would have one.  That should have been my responsibility.”

Hearing his mother talk like that made Rumplestiltskin shift uncomfortably.  “Why bring this up now?” he asked hoarsely.

“Because Zelena bragged about what she did to you.”

“She…she _what_?”  On one hand, Rumplestiltskin was very glad that Morgan simply came out and said it, because he didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves and preferred the bluntness.  On the other, he hadn’t wanted _anyone_ to know how damaged he was, let alone the mother he had so recently learned he had.

_She will despise me for that,_ he realized.  _She has to.  I was so weak and so afraid and I couldn’t fight her even though I should have—_

Hands landed on his arms and made him jump; only then did Rumplestiltskin realize that his mother had come around to behind the counter and was now standing right in front of him.  “I am sorry,” Morgan whispered, her voice surprisingly gentle.  “I was here in Storybrooke for that, and I never even thought to stop her.”

“No one did.”  He tried to take refuge in coldness when he found his voice, but the traitorous thing cracked anyway.  “I was the Dark One.” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “They were right not to trust me.”

_Belle tried to save me,_ he knew.  And that had been the only thing that had kept him sane, knowing that she still loved him, that _Belle_ still wanted to help him.  The others had meant nothing to him then, just as he’d meant nothing to them.  Even when he’d been their ally, he’d still been a much more convenient monster when leashed, and Rumplestiltskin had never particularly blamed the others for that.  They hadn’t known how badly being controlled could hurt him because he hadn’t _wanted_ them to know.  Once Emma became the Dark One, it all came out in the open, of course, but at least most of them hadn’t made any of the logical leap back to him.

“No matter what you were, you didn’t deserve what she did to you.”  Morgan squeezed his arms again, and that made Rumplestiltskin’s head jerk up to stare at her, his eyes wide and confused. 

“I…”

He didn’t know what to say.  Didn’t know what to do.  Didn’t know how to _deal_ with this.

“If I can help in any way, let me know.”  Another squeeze.  “Although I think you have a good family around you now, and I hope they help.”

“They do.”  At least he could manage to say that much.  Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat noisily, blinking until his brain started to work properly.  “And they are.”

“Good.”  Morgan stepped back, releasing him and giving Rumplestiltskin a crooked smile that was all too familiar.  “I did exact one small revenge on your behalf, though.”

That made him come back on balance in a hurry.  “Dare I ask?”

“It may have been simply because Zelena is a reprehensible excuse for a human being, who doesn’t care about anyone other than herself, including the child she is carrying.”  Morgan withdrew a vial from her pocket.  “She disgusts me, and I am enough of a mother to despise what she has done to get pregnant.  This will relieve her of that problem.”

“It will _what_?” Rumplestiltskin drew back, staring at his mother in horror.

“No, it’s a surrogacy potion,” Morgan said quickly.  “Zelena has already—quite unknowingly—drank her half.  Whomever drinks this portion will carry the child instead of her.  I thought that the outlaw might prefer someone else to have his child.”

_I should have thought of that_ , Rumplestiltskin realized.  Yet the only methods he knew of to transfer a child from one mother to another required consent of both parties, and quite a lot of work.  “How have I never heard of such a potion?”

Morgan shrugged.  “It’s old magic, rather uncomfortable on both ends.  But in this case, I think—”

The door slammed open, cutting Morgan off in mid-sentence.  Regina was ranting before she even made it through the door.  “If I have to deal with _one_ more lynch mob or that former puppet going on about how I’ll never change, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“It’s nice to know that you’re back to your sweet-natured self, Regina, but I fail to see how this is my problem.”  After the emotion-fraught conversation he’d just had, dealing with a furious Regina was something of a relief.  He knew what to do with _her_ , at least.

_“You_ turned him into an adult again!”  She pointed an angry finger at him, and then seemed to notice Morgan.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s quite a pleasure to meet you, as well.”  Morgan’s face betrayed nothing, but Rumplestiltskin thought he saw humor lurking in her dark eyes.  _Did I get my crooked sense of humor from her, too?_  “Should I call you ‘Your Majesty’, or do you prefer ‘Madam Mayor’ these days?  It’s so hard to keep straight.”

Rumplestiltskin barely managed to hold back his laughter, but a snort still escaped.  “That’s a peril of missing the first curse, I’m afraid,” he told his mother.  “You would have seen her in fine form, then.”

Regina glared.  “I don’t have time to deal with this.”

She turned to leave, but Rumplestiltskin spoke more seriously before she could get more than a step.

“No, stay.”  He put the vial on the counter when Regina twisted around to throw him a suspicious look.  “The conversation we were just having concerns you.”

“Now I’m worried.”  She turned to face him, crossing her arms.

“My mother”—the decision not to call her Morgan came at the last second, but he saw a slight smile flicker on Morgan’s face—“brewed a potion that will allow another to carry Zelena’s child.  I thought you and Robin might want to discuss that.”

“A potion?”  Lifting the vial, Regina studied it skeptically.  Like Rumplestiltskin, she knew the ‘modern’ way to transfer a child, which was not nearly so simple.

“Zelena’s already taken the second half,” Morgan’s smile was sly, now.  “Not that she knows it.  Have the outlaw choose another.  All it takes is six drops.”

“ _Nothing_ is that simple.  Not this kind of magic.”

“I never said it would be _comfortable._   The transfer will be instantaneous, though Zelena will feel as if she’s given birth all at once.  The new mother will experience months’ worth of sickness within twenty-four hours, but it _is_ perfectly safe for the child.  And the child will be carried to term naturally after that.”

Regina’s eyes went to Morgan as the older woman finished speaking, wide and surprisingly unguarded.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t need to ask, of course, who Robin would want to carry his child for him—that was ridiculously obvious.  But he’d never realized how much _Regina_ wanted that until he saw the naked need in her eyes.

“What if…what if the woman is infertile?”  Regina’s voice was very small.  “From a curse.  Not naturally.”

That took Rumplestiltskin by surprise; Regina had never said, and he had never asked, but he knew without even a look being passed between them that she had done that to herself, deep in her fury and heartbreak.  _He_ hadn’t driven her to that, at least, but he didn’t need to ask who had.  There was a suspicious ache in his heart that made him swallow.  _And then she poured all of her devastated and broken love into Henry.  No wonder why she was able to come back in the end, even after all the darkness I led her to._

“Infertility only affects conception.”  Morgan’s voice was surprisingly gentle again.  “The child would be fine.”

Regina’s eyes sought him again, desperate for reassurance, for confirmation.  Rumplestiltskin merely nodded.

“Talk to Robin,” he said softly, and Regina bobbed her head up and down before fleeing.

He and Morgan watched her leave in silence; there was nothing else that needed to be said on that front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Five—“And All This Trouble Did Not Pass”, in which Sidney conspires, Emma and Killian clear the air once and for all, Rumplestiltskin tags along on the next visit to Isaac, and David tries to teach Killian to drive.


	55. And All This Trouble Did Not Pass

Sidney wasn’t a fool.  He knew that Regina would only let him speak against her for so long.  As much as she’d claimed to change, Sidney had seen the real woman behind the nice smile and newly light magic; she’d sentenced him to eternity in that mirror when she’d promised to free him, and it had taken the Snow Queen to set him free.  There was no way in hell that Sidney was going to get so lucky again, so he needed powerful friends if he was going to take Regina on.

Of course, the people who _should_ have supported him, like Snow White’s widower, were on Regina’s side, which really disgusted Sidney.  Not a one of the town’s damned heroes, even Emma Swan—back before she’d embraced her bit of darkness—had ever given a damn about him.  They hadn’t even noticed that he was in the asylum after the curse broke, which certainly told Sidney how high he was in their esteem.  So, he saw no reason whatsoever to feel any loyalty towards them in return.  They had never helped him, after all, not even when he was locked up in the asylum, tucked away until Regina _wanted_ him again and expected to be loyal all that time.

No more.  Sidney wasn’t knuckling under to these Enchanted Forest monarchs any longer; they were all the same type.  There was no guarantee that Camelot’s rulers would be any different, of course. But that was why Sidney was never going to put himself in their power the way he’d placed himself in Regina’s.  _Never again._   No, he was going to depend upon Storybrooke’s increasingly angry citizenry to keep him safe.  The heroes were enamored with staying on the public’s good side, which meant that as long as the under-educated mob sided with Sidney, they’d never go after him.

What he did behind the scenes, however, was another matter.

“All we ask is that you call for new elections,” Arthur told him, wearing a politician’s easy smile.

“I’m not going to support you automatically.”  Sidney squared his shoulders.  “If you’re the best candidate, I certainly will, but I make no promises.”

“I don’t ask for any.  Of course you’ll do what you think is right.”

Sidney wasn’t blind, and he knew that Arthur Pendragon was no one’s fool, and he would certainly expect _something_ in exchange for the protection that he was promising Sidney.  Nor was Guinevere, who sat silently off to the side, her green eyes watching everything and missing nothing.  _Her_ opinion was one that Sidney would have loved to hear, because he was fairly sure that she was the brains of this outfit.  Arthur was far from stupid, but his wife seemed to be the brilliant one.

“This town has faced enough instability, and enough ‘heroes’ who are really villains when you scratch past the surface.  I want what’s best for the people of Storybrooke.”  He met Arthur’s eyes, but didn’t miss Guinevere’s thin smile.

“We all do.  I may be a newcomer, but”—Arthur smiled at Guinevere—“my wife is not.  She has told me the many challenges that this town has faced, and I believe that a change in leadership is what’s needed.”

Sidney nodded.  “Then we have an agreement.”

This would do.  This would do nicely, and Sidney was ready to begin.

* * *

 

Emma had been trying to be more social, trying not to be the scary Dark One hiding in her house.  She didn’t _want_ to threaten people, didn’t want to be the demon that haunted Storybrooke in the night, but pushing aside those temptations was hard.  It wasn’t that _she_ wanted to be like that, but the darkness inside her kept pushing her, pressing her, whispering and tempting her.  There were times when telling that damned voice—soft and _natural_ as it could seem—apart from her own thoughts was almost impossible.  Emma had thought that her victory at the Vault would mean more than that; she’d forced the darkness to her will and been ready to sacrifice herself to save her son, no matter what the cost.  She’d never expected it to be a daily battle.

_How did he_ do _this every damned day?_ She wanted to scream at the universe.  How in the hell had Merlin thought it was a good idea to shove this mess of darkness, broken souls, and bare-knuckled revenge into a _person_?  Granted, the darkness hadn’t picked up several dozen darkened personalities along the way when Merlin stuffed it into Nimue, but he should have had an idea what would happen.  He hadn’t, though, and now the price was Emma’s to pay.

Sometimes, it gave her a raging headache that no amount of magic or migraine pills would cure.

Today, however, she was determined not to be just the Dark One.  She’d looked in on Archie—she’d even talked to him a little, and in his horrible loneliness, Archie had chatted with her for a long time about how she used to be, and how holding onto that portion of her soul was important.  Emma knew that, but hearing Archie believe in her actually helped a little, and she left his flat with a slightly lighter heart.  She wasn’t sure _any_ day when she was the Dark One would truly be a good day, but this one was shaping up to be better than most.

At least until she ran into Killian, anyway.

Part of Emma felt horrendously guilty for what she had done to him.  She’d used him, plain and simple, trying to counter the fear Guinevere— _the Black Fairy—_ inspired in her with good, old-fashioned, lust.  Then, to make matters worse, she’d tried to sneak out.  But the horrible truth of the matter was that she just couldn’t trust him…and she couldn’t trust herself, either.  Killian had stood by her, on the surface, when she’d been in some of her darkest moments, but he’d also lied to her.  He’d disregarded her judgment as flawed simply because she was the Dark One.  It had taken far too long, but Emma had finally come to understand the fact that, for all Killian said that he didn’t fear the darkness, he didn’t _understand._   He looked at being the Dark One as a temporary malady, as something that overwrote who you really were and simply had to be gotten rid of.

Emma knew better.  She knew that the darkness had its claws into her, but she was still _Emma._   For all that her decision making process was faulty, they were still her decisions.  Yes, the darkness could cloud that.  Yes, it could whisper and sometimes shout so deafeningly that she could hardly hear anything else.  But the person making the choices was still Emma Swan.  Killian didn’t want that to be true, and she knew in her heart that he couldn’t accept that.

“Emma,” he said as she stopped, his voice low and throaty, the voice of a lover and not the man who had tried so hard and so long to kill the darkness inside her—without ever stopping to think of what its host was actually like.  _He’s only ever blamed one of us, and sometimes I think I’m the only one who understands how unfair that is._   

Emma brought her chin up, letting out a breath to calm herself.  “Yeah.  Hi.”

_I will not be weak,_ she told herself and the darkness that always tried to push her closer and closer to Killian.  Why would it do that, when he’d almost gotten her trapped in the Vault?  It had hated him then, and yet now it tried to propel her towards him.  That made no sense at all.

“I…I was hoping we might talk.”

“All right.  Talk.”

He frowned, gesturing awkwardly north, in the direction of the house they’d once shared.  “Perhaps somewhere private?”  Killian’s next smile was more natural.  “Not that I have any untoward intentions towards you—unless you’d like me to, of course—but what I have to say ought not be said in public.”

“I don’t think we can trust each other.”  Was that roaring in her ears the sound of her heart breaking?  Emma had wanted to love _so_ badly, and then Killian had _died_ for her in that damned alternate world.  He’d given up so much in the name of their love, and she’d wanted to throw herself into that as wholly and freely as he had.  But she knew she had to stop.  Maybe even forever.  “I know I can’t trust myself.”

“If you want me so bad, Swan, you don’t have to stay away.  We can work this out.”  He stepped towards her, and once, not too long ago, Emma would have met him halfway, pushing their boundaries aside and reveling in his sheer sex appeal. _Reveling in the danger._   Danger could be so sweet, and Emma knew that siren’s call far too well.  “You know how much I love you.  I won’t deny it isn’t easy, with you as the Dark One.  But I do love you.”

“I know.”  Emma bit her lip hard, forcing the words out.  “And I’ve loved you.  I’ve loved the idea of _being_ in love with you, of looking at future—however terrifying—that isn’t me alone.  But I’ve made myself realize a lot of things over the last few days, truths I didn’t want to admit to before.”

“Truths?  Such as the fact that you’re in love with a dashing troubadour who would lay his life down for your happiness?”

She had to swallow.  Why did he have to be so earnest, just when she was trying to be strong?  _You know you want him.  You can do the right thing_ later.  _Isn’t it so much easier to fight when the loneliness isn’t howling so strongly that you can hear nothing else?_   With an effort, Emma pushed those thoughts aside.  “Such as the fact that you bring out the worst in me.”

“I don’t—you’re—”

She held up a hand.  “Hear me out, please.  This isn’t easy to admit, and it has _nothing_ to do with the fact that I’m the Dark One.  It started before this.  Everything I’ve become since then is my fault, not yours.”

“Then how do _I_ bring out the worst in you?  All I’ve done is bring your walls down, encourage you to be open to love.  If that’s the ‘worst of you’, Swan, I think your moral compass is less calibrated than you think.”

“It actually is, but not because I was open.  You made me lower my defenses, not just against love, but also against _wrong._   When I’m with you, I turn my back on things.  I _ignore_ things because it’s easier.  I get so focused on you, on being happy, that I ignore the questionable things you do instead of calling you on them.  And when I chose to ‘see the best in you’, I didn’t want to care about what evil things you’d done in your past.  I ignored everything: the blackmail, the attempted murders, and even how you tried to kidnap my _son_ , and that isn’t me.”

Killian’s face was white with shock.  “You’ve always known what I was.  And I told you that I just needed a reason to remember that I could be—”

“That’s just it.  As long as you’re depending on _me_ to make you better, I’m making excuses for you.”  Emma bit her lip hard, trying to hold tears back.  “I will probably always love you, Killian, but it isn’t a healthy love.  And it makes me into someone I’m not.  Someone I don’t want to be.”

“Am I so very evil, then?” He sounded so utterly broken that Emma had to stop herself from reaching out to him.

“No.  No, of course you aren’t.” She tried to smile, but her eyes were wet.  “But if there’s anything being the Dark One has taught me, it’s that you can’t be better for someone else.  Rumplestiltskin tried for Belle and failed.  You tried for me.  I tried for you and for Henry.  It never works.  You have to do it for yourself.”

“And on the other side of that?  If I redeem myself, if I do this right, what then?  What about when you’re you?”

“You may not even want me if I’m not your guiding light.”  That thought hurt so much that it burned, but Emma forced herself to smile.  “And maybe I’m better alone.  I don’t know.  I wanted love so badly, wanted not to lose someone else…”  _And you were there.  A survivor who’d survived more than anyone, a rock to cling to in a storm._   She didn’t say the last part, because Killian deserved better than to hear that.

Somehow, however, Emma got the feeling he still understood.  His broken smile turned crooked.  “It’s funny you should mention that, actually.  I…I wanted to talk to you about backing off.  About giving you space to decide between Baelfire and I, now that he’s back.”

“This isn’t about him.”

He shook his head.  “I don’t think it is.  But you never really got a choice, love.  I was the last man standing when he died, and you were lonely, even though you were never going to admit that.  I didn’t mean to take advantage of that, but perhaps I did.”  He stepped forward again, but this time his motions were slow and weren’t seductive.  Killian only laid his hand on her arm.  “If you are going to choose me, I want to do this right.  I want to be the man you deserve, and I want you—Dark One or not—to choose _me_.  All of me.”

“What if I choose no one?” she had to ask.

“Then I will treasure the time we had.”  Killian lifted her hand and kissed the back gently.  “You’re right, by the way.  I leaned on you too hard to make me better.  You have been my light, the stars I navigate by, but if I want to be the man I once was, I need to do that for myself.”

“Thank you for understanding.”  Emma hated herself.  She did.  She had the love of this man, and she’d thrown it away—and for what?

_We always lose the ones we love,_ a voice inside her whispered.  _Love is fickle.  Power is not._

She pushed the voice aside, watching in silence as Killian turned and walked away.  Much to Emma’s surprise, he didn’t look back. 

* * *

 

Today’s lesson was on revelation, or untangling magical spells to discover what lay hidden behind them.  The other side of the coin was translation, which Belle had taken to extremely quickly.  Rumplestiltskin had always wondered if Belle had a touch of magic that enhanced her impressive linguistic ability (she spoke and read more languages than _he_ did, and he’d had three centuries to learn!).  He’d also thought, even back in the Dark Castle, that there was a touch of _something_ that always allowed her to find the right book at the right time, but he’d never followed that thread to its logical conclusion.  Now, however, they both understood why she’d been so talented in that regard; her natural intelligence and vociferous appetite for knowledge allied with her inborn magic to make Belle the best researcher that Rumplestiltskin had ever met.  She was also, of course, a fantastic solver of puzzles.

“I didn’t expect you to be so good at this right away.”  Leaning on the counter, Rumplestiltskin tried to keep his voice casual—it didn’t do for the teacher to fawn _too_ much over his student, even if she was his wife and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  But that was harder than he cared to admit to, particularly when Belle turned away from the (formerly) tangled ball of magic she was working on and stuck her tongue out at him.  “This exercise took Regina four days the first time I gave it to her.”

“I’ve always liked mysteries.”  Her smile was utterly cheeky.  “I like you, don’t I?”

“‘Love is a mystery to be uncovered’?”  His quote jerked Belle up short, and she turned to face him fully, her smile softening.

“You remember what I said that day?”

“Every word.”

Belle walked into his arms at that, leaving the blue and gold ball of magic shimmering in the air.  Rumplestiltskin paid it no mind as she kissed him, simply allowing his eyes to close as he marveled at the fact that _this_ woman loved him.  That she had, even when he’d been scaly, scary, and horrible to her.

He’d know that he loved her when he’d given her the rose, but he’d never expected her to blush when he’d handed it—or Gaston, he supposed, another atrocity of his as the Dark One that he’d never be able to correct—to Belle.  The way she’d smiled at him that day, the tolerant and happy look she’d given him, had never left Rumplestiltskin’s memory.  Back then, he’d been utterly certain that his would only ever be an unrequited love; it was the best a monster like him deserved.  _Yet monster no more, or at least not one that isn’t of my choosing,_ he knew.  He could still turn into a monster, one greater and more dangerous than even he had been as the Dark One, but Rumplestiltskin had a _choice._ One he’d never thought he had until Belle waltzed into his life, and by then, he’d been too foolish to take the love she offered and free himself of the darkness once and for all.

He truly didn’t deserve the second, third, or tenth chances she had given him, but he loved her too much to turn them down.  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, holding her tightly.  “I did even then.”

“I know.” She pulled back to look at him.  “At first, I thought you were just being kind, and that it had to just be me.  But then I knew.  I only wish that I hadn’t been so reckless in how I kissed you, that I’d talked to you instead of jumping right in.”

“That wasn’t your fault, sweetheart.  I wasn’t going to let go of that power for anything.” He grimaced.  “I didn’t know what I’d be without it.”

Now, he did.  Little though he’d liked it, Rumplestiltskin had learned who he was without magic, and he’d learned a little courage, too.  And he was better for that experience.

“Now you know,” Belle echoed his thoughts all too well.  “And now you’re teaching me magic.  Did you ever imagine that?”

He snorted.  “More often than you might think.”

“Oh?”

“I…I love learning about it.  I always thought you might, too.”  Admitting the next part was hard.  “But I was afraid you’d think it was me trying to corrupt you.”

“Well, I know better now.”  Belle leaned in to kiss his nose, and that chased his old fears away.  Rumplestiltskin smiled.

“We both do.”

“Yeah.”  Her smile didn’t falter, though he could see a little wariness enter her eyes.  “Speaking of magic, I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  We still can’t find Lancelot, but there’s someone else who probably knows the truth about my grandmother, and I, well, I don’t know if I should ask her.”

This hadn’t been the angle Rumplestiltskin was expecting, not after they’d started talking about the possibility of children just two weeks earlier.  But he knew exactly who Belle meant, regardless.  “Reul Ghorm.”

“Yeah.  I know David said that she wouldn’t volunteer much, but maybe she’d talk to me?”  Belle turned hopeful eyes on him, and Rumplestiltskin hated the idea of saying that he thought Blue would try to bamboozle her, too.  _She tries that with all of us, though.  We_ mere _humans.  She offered me more, but how long would she respect me for before she decided that a human shouldn’t have power like Merlin’s?_

Blue thought he was unworthy solely because he was human.  Rumplestiltskin felt his own opinion was significantly less biased: he just thought she was a narrow-minded bitch because she’d proved herself to be one.

“I don’t think she’ll want to help you,” he said as gently as he could.  “You’re human, at least mostly.  And you’ve chosen to side with the rest of us.”

The thought of his wife being—biologically speaking—part faery was still enough to boggle his mind, and truth be told, Rumplestiltskin didn’t _like_ that.  Had he known it in the beginning, that would have probably made him stay far away from Belle in the first place.  Hell, he would probably have demanded _Gaston_ as his price if he’d known she was part faery!  But he hadn’t known, and he was glad he hadn’t.  No matter how much Rumplestiltskin despised fae and fairies alike, he loved Belle because she was _Belle_.  And that was what mattered.  Not her lineage.

“There’s got to be _someone_ who knows more.” She grimaced.  “If not Blue, then who?  I keep trying not to ask them outright, but I won’t be able to stop myself forever.”

“I know, sweetheart.”  Pulling her close, Rumplestiltskin wished he had a perfect answer to her problem. He was a chess master, yes.  And he was moving pieces so very carefully now, taking advantage of every moment they had with the Black Fairy _not_ knowing that they realized who she was.  But Belle was reckless and impulsive by nature, and sooner or later, despite her best intentions, she would let something slip.

He just had to plan for what would happen when she did.

* * *

 

Perhaps she had grown overconfident because too much had gone right so far.

Arthur was off watching the former mirror wreak public havoc, a hobby of his that Danns’ had always frowned upon but did nothing to interfere with.  He enjoyed the feeling of moral superiority that came with being the man with the answers, and, well, if he hadn’t been so egotistical, Arthur wouldn’t have suited her purposes very well at all.  So, Danns’ left him to play while she got to work, attempting to track her people down.

Yet Reul had done her work far too well.  _Finding_ the fae was not the problem; getting there was.  Her darling sister had made sure that Danns’ could not get there herself, and no amount of careful magic would break through that barrier.  Nor could her magic even tell her for certain if the fae were where she believed, because Reul had left at least two false trails for Danns’ to follow.  She was fairly certain that this was the right one…but there was no way to tell until she could send someone through the maelstrom of magic guarding the pocket world her people had been shoved into.

That fact, of course, brought her back around to the Dark One.  She had hoped that Belle’s husband would prove amendable, but he seemed determined to listen to Morgan.  _Damn her._   So, since she would not be able to send the Sorcerer to free her people, she needed the Dark One more than ever.  Emma Swan was functionally immortal, and Danns’ didn’t care how much the journey hurt her, provided the Dark One was able to free the fae.  To do that, however, she needed the dagger.  Fortunately, acquiring _that_ was the easier mission.

She already had Nimue’s blood, after all.  All she needed to summon the dagger was the current Dark One’s blood—or blood belonging to someone of Emma Swan’s line.  A slow smile blossomed on her face, and Danns’ turned to look at the small crystal box on her dining room table.  Archie Hopper’s heart beat inside, and his contribution was _exactly_ what she needed _._

* * *

 

Henry had been planning on getting his dad to put together a movie night or something, just a night where it could be just him, his dad, and his granddad.  He’d thought about inviting Gramps, too, because David seemed so lonely these days and it would be a really cool chance for all the guys in his family to get together, but this was almost as good.  In some ways, it was even _more_ cool, because now Grandpa was there to help get Isaac to open his annoying mouth.  Bringing Rumplestiltskin had been his dad’s idea, and Henry did have to admit that he was really excited to see how funny Isaac’s reaction was to the news that Rumplestiltskin was the new Sorcerer.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Isaac was on his feet the moment Rumplestiltskin came through the door after Baelfire, and Henry struggled to hold back a smirk. 

“My son and my grandson asked me to come along.”  His grandfather’s unreadable face quirked into a slight smile.  “They thought I could help convince you to start sharing what you know.”

“I wrote what you wanted for that world.  It’s not my fault that you didn’t think it through—and how are you _alive_ , anyway?  When I last saw you, you looked like that old ticker of yours was about to give out.  Permanently.”

_He knew it was happening and_ left _Grandpa there?_ Henry thought, staring at Isaac.  Sure, they hadn’t really been on the best terms with Rumplestiltskin at the time—mostly because none of them had understood what was happening—but Isaac should have known more, and he’d run away.  Henry remembered that Gramps and Grandma Snow had found the former Author trying to escape town in Cruella’s car.  Apparently, that was how Isaac dealt with problems.  He ran away.

“It did, in a way.”  Rumplestiltskin spread his hands innocently.  “I’m not the Dark One anymore.”

Isaac relaxed immediately, and Henry exchanged a look of anticipatory glee with his father, who looked almost as amused as he felt.  “Oh.  That’s good.  Are congratulations in order, or are you—?”

“I am, however, the Sorcerer.”

Isaac’s expression did not disappoint.  His jaw dropped open, his eyes went wide, and he made a small sound that resembled that of a weakly objecting turtle.  The former author scrambled back until his back hit the wall, staring at Rumplestiltskin like he was sure that the former Dark One had come to kill him. 

“Fortunately for you, I’m not here to harm you,” Rumplestiltskin continued as if he couldn’t see Isaac’s fear.  “Nor am I here to discuss the way you manipulated me into preserving your perverted little world by trying to force me to kill my _grandson._ ”  His smile was cold, and it suddenly hit Henry that his grandfather was a thousand times more dangerous now—the only difference was that Rumplestiltskin now had a conscience.

“If you’re the Sorcerer—I mean, you’re not a villain by nature.  You weren’t before you became the Dark One, and that means that you can’t hurt me.”  Isaac spoke quickly, like he was trying to convince everyone.  “The Sorcerer is supposed to be a hero, not a villain.”

“Buddy, in case you haven’t noticed, we left the Enchanted Forest a lot time ago,” Baelfire put in.  “This is the real world.  There might be magic here, but those hero and villain labels are crap.  People are people.”

Isaac swallowed hard, looking back at Rumplestiltskin.  “You’re here to make sure I talk.”

“I’m here to make a deal with you, dearie.”  Now the smile was a little more playful.  “I’m sure that sounds familiar.”

“What kind of _deal_?”

“You asked for guarantees of a home, income, a nice life, things like that, yes?”

“Yes…”

“Well, you made the mistake of asking Regina for that.  She’s wealthy enough, particularly by Storybrooke’s standards, but she’s not the one who owns most of the town.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I am.  So, here’s the deal: you’ll provide my grandson with the information he wants.  _All_ of it.  I’ll guarantee you a home and all the necessities, an income enough to live in moderate comfort.  But how comfortable that is depends on how hard you work for it.  Understood?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed.  “What do you mean ‘work for it’?”

“I mean that you’re not going to hold anything back.  I know a silver-tongued manipulator when I see one.  Being one myself makes it easy to spot.  If you’re helpful, if you don’t leave things out, you’ll have a good life.”

“Sure.  I can do that.”  But they could all tell that Isaac was counting on the fact that they didn’t know what they didn’t know, which meant he could lie to his heart’s content.

Bae beat Henry to the punch, but only barely.  “You should tell him whose memories you’ve got, Pop.”

“Oh, those would be Merlin’s.”  His grandfather’s patently _not_ -innocent look made Henry snicker.  “I inherited more than his powers, and he knew quite a bit.  So don’t try lying.  You won’t like the consequences of doing so.”

“You won’t kill me.  Not if you’re working with them.”  Isaac jerked a thumb at Henry like having heroes for family was a disease.

“Why would I bother killing you?  Part of the Sorcerer package includes the ability to draw portals.”  Rumplestiltskin chuckled dryly as Isaac blanched.  “I’ll just draw one to the most miserable world I can think of and leave you there.

“One _without_ modern plumbing.” Henry couldn’t help adding that, and Isaac’s grimace made it more than worth it.

_Leave me to be an ogre’s dinner, will you?  Not this time!_

* * *

 

Killian rolled his eyes.  “I know what a steering wheel is, mate.”

“Sorry.”  Mentally, David smacked himself.  Of course Killian knew what a steering wheel was—even if he hadn’t lived in Storybrooke since shortly after the first curse, Killian had a wheel to steer his _ship_ by.  “I’ve never done this before, all right?”

“I seem to remember you teaching young Henry a thing or two not so very long ago.”  Amusement glittered in the pirate’s eyes, and David bit back a groan.

“Don’t remind me.  Regina is _still_ after me for the property damage.”

“Well, I’m a bit older than him, so I don’t think we’ll have so many problems.  In fact—”

“Just tell me you aren’t senile after living for three hundred years or so.”  David couldn’t help ribbing the other man at least a little.  He generally liked Killian rather well—for what Killian was, anyway—and he found he liked the other man a _lot_ more when he wasn’t romancing Emma.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Killian, or didn’t trust Emma to look after herself, but there had always been something _off_ about the way Emma was around Killian, like she was letting things slip even as she told herself she wasn’t.  He’d always respected Emma’s wishes and hadn’t said a word on the subject, but saying he wasn’t glad to see them split would have been lying.

Fortunately, Killian laughed at his jape.  “I’m a very _well_ preserved three centuries old, I’ll have you know.  As many ladies can attest.”

Now that one of those ladies wasn’t his daughter, David could laugh in return.  “Well, those bedroom skills won’t do you any good in the car, so buckle up.”

“Buckle up?”  Blue eyes crinkled up in disgust as Killian pulled the seat belt forward and back.  “Aren’t these stretchy bindings reserved for the young and the feeble?”

“No, they’re here to keep you from flying through the windshield.”  _He’s worse than Henry._   “And they’re called seat belts.”

“I can think of other uses for them that would be far more—”

“Please don’t.  Just don’t.”  David didn’t want to listen to innuendos in his own truck, for crying out loud!  If Killian said anything else, he’d probably never get the mental image out of his head, and that was _not_ what he needed when driving his truck around town.  Or his squad car.

Killian just shrugged.  “Your loss.”  He glanced down at the offending seat belt again.  “Do I _really_ have to wear this seat binding?”

“It’s the law.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the law and I have nothing more than a _very_ brief passing acquaintance with one another.”

“You know, now that you mention it, that _has_ occurred to me.”  David couldn’t help grinning back.  Teaching Killian to drive might be a bit of a challenge, but he could use the fun distraction.  Whatever happened today was definitely going to be more amusing than their fruitless search to find Lancelot or their frantic preparations to deal with the fact that the Black Fairy was in town and already plotting world domination.  _And this is_ way _better than agonizing over the fact that my daughter remains the Dark One with no end in sight, too._ “You’ve still got to use it, though.”

Killian heaved a sigh.  “You’re the teacher.”  It still took him two tries to buckle his seatbelt, but David would be the first to admit that his old truck was a little ornery in that respect.  If you didn’t click it in _just_ right, the damn thing had a habit of coming right out and smacking you in the face.  “Now what?”

“Now, you put your foot on the brake—that’s the middle pedal—while keeping your foot on the clutch, and then put the truck in first gear using the shift.”

Rather predictably, Killian reached for the turn signal instead of the shift, which made the pirate swear and snarl.  “Why are there so many damned pedals?”

David had thought the same thing himself more than once, but at least he had cursed memories of how to drive a stick shift.  “If you’d wanted to learn on an automatic, you shouldn’t have asked me.”

“What’s an automatic?  A car that drives itself?”

“Not really, but that’s a lesson for another day.”  Slowly, David walked Killian through putting the truck into first gear, and then eased him through second gear.  Pretty soon, they were heading down Storybrooke’s back roads fairly comfortably, because David _had_ learned a thing or two from teaching Henry.  Killian still seemed a little uncertain when it came to using his left hand in addition to his right, but overall, he was doing pretty well.  Much better than Henry had, even though he kept murmuring to the truck like it was a woman who needed encouraging.

“Do you talk to your ship like that?” he couldn’t help asking.

Killian gave him an odd look.  “Like what?”

“Like it’s a woman you’re trying to seduce.”

“Aye.  Any good sailor does, and every ship is a sailor’s first love.” 

David supposed that made sense, in a strangely old-fashioned way.  “Oh.  Okay, um, let’s try turning down there.” 

He pointed at the intersection they were approaching, and then coached the pirate through slowing down for the stop sign and then getting the truck moving again without stalling out.  All in all, things were going much better than he’d expected.  _This isn’t going to be bad at all!_

* * *

 

“What do you think?” August asked Lily, but she just shrugged, gesturing none-too-politely in Sidney Glass’s direction.

“I don’t really care what he’s got to say.  It’s all a load of hot air.  Next you know, he’ll be calling to be elected _himself._ ”

He snorted.  “No way.  I wasn’t here yet when he ran for sheriff, but I’ve heard how ridiculous that was.  This town’s got long memories.  No one’ll vote for a man who wished _himself_ into a mirror because he was an idiot.”

“They’re all the same, anyway.”  She shrugged again, but didn’t say what she was thinking.  _Even the windbag married to Guinevere._ She’s _got real power and brains, but Arthur’s just a politician.  Makes me wonder why she puts up with him._   It was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell that Arthur had put Sidney up to this, but Lily was willing to bet that no one in the enraptured crowd realized that.

Sidney had been talking for a half an hour so far, and people were actually listening to him.  One of the dwarves—Grumpy, Frumpy, or Lumpy; something like that—had tried to shout him down, but no one had let him.  The stupid dwarf had tried to point out that Regina had done a lot of good for the town, but that only got him booed.   People were _angry_ , which Lily found really interesting.  She also couldn’t wait to see how Guinevere manipulated that anger.  Angry people were stupid, in Lily’s opinion, and she should know.  Every time she lost her temper, she knew damned well that her I.Q. decreased by at least two dozen points, and even if most of these lucky bastards didn’t have a double dose of darkness coursing through their veins, they still got dumber when they were mad.  That was just how humans worked.

“So, I say that it’s _high_ time that the people of Storybrooke got to decide for themselves!”

Sidney did make a pretty good speech; he kept things simple and got people riled up before presenting his ideas as the only logical solution to their angst.  He was also really good at ignoring the tires screeching from around the corner.  Lily couldn’t see who the idiot driver was, but again, people were stupid.

Several of the aforementioned fools shouted in agreement, and Sidney’s grin only widened.

“We don’t live in the Enchanted Forest anymore, do we?” he asked rhetorically.

“No!”  Either he’d planted people or several rabble-rousers really enjoyed playing along, because the answer was surprisingly enthusiastic.

“Do we _want_ to  live like people in some medieval fairy tale?”

“No!”

“Then why are we letting these so-called royals rule us?  Regina only made herself mayor with a curse that hurt _all_ of us.  None of us actually voted for her—we all _know_ those memories are false!  Don’t we?”

“Yes!”

Another screech of tires almost drowned Sidney’s voice out, but he managed somehow to shout over the sound. 

“I say that we have elections.  _Real_ elections!  And when we do, I know that—”

_Screech!_

“Look out!”

Someone shouted from Lily’s right, and her head snapped around just in time to see an old and beat-up truck careening down Main Street.  There were people inside, but the stupid driver seemed to be sawing the wheel back and forth instead of braking.  Screaming and shouting, people dove out of the truck’s path like their lives depended on it, and Lily could hardly blame them.  She grabbed August and hauled him to the other side of the street, ready to rush into Standard Clocks if need be.  There was no way to know where the truck was going next; it was weaving wildly, like a drunk moron was—

Sidney threw himself out of the truck’s path when it suddenly jerked to the left, hitting the ground hard enough to ruin his pretty blue suit.  Lily would have snickered at that if the truck hadn’t looked ready to shish kebab her and August, and she’d already started dragging him into the store behind them when the truck abruptly served right and crashed into the fence around Granny’s outdoor seating area.  That, at least, finally made it stop.

“I should have turned into a dragon and lit it on fire,” Lily muttered.  She stalked outside just in time to watch David Nolan—the _wonderful_ and _honorable_ Prince Charming—half-fall out of the vehicle.  Killian Jones stumbled out of the driver’s seat next, though, which at least made her a little less angry and more appreciative of the view.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” August snorted.  “Then we’d need the fire department _and_ the police.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I could have carried it away.”

“Sure, but would you have bothered?”

* * *

 

Killian had never been so mortified in his life.

Scratch that.  He _had_ been equally mortified a time or two in his three centuries of life, but certainly not in the last hundred years.  And never over something so foolish as his inability to control _any_ type of vehicle.  He’d proven himself the master of any type of sailing vessel, and he’d even managed to use a motor boat here in Storybrooke!  After that, he’d figured driving a car couldn’t be so bloody different.  After all, cars were on dry land, where there was traction and friction, both of which made it _easier_ to slow down.

So why the hell had tacking the damned thing not worked?

“Well, that was unpleasant,” David commented from his side.  “Guess I’m glad we were both wearing our seatbelts.”

Killian wanted to glare at the man, but given that he’d just crashed David’s truck into the fence around Granny’s, he didn’t think he had much of a leg to stand on.  “Damn it.  I’m sorry, David.  I just…it just wouldn’t _listen_.  I kept turning the bloody wheel to bleed speed off, but—”

“Is _that_ what you were doing?”

“Of course.  You can tack to take speed off, and the equivalent to tacking is turning the wheel here.  Isn’t it?”

“That’s what the brake is for!”

“I thought you said that _stopped_ the car!”

“Stopping would have been _great_ back there!” David gestured back at First Avenue, his motions a little wild.  “We would have hit someone and _killed_ them!”

“Ah, we weren’t going that fast.”  He tried to shrug like it didn’t matter, but Killian knew that he’d panicked.  He was no stranger to killing, but he only wanted to kill on purpose, not by accident!  And certainly not while piloting an out-of-control motor vehicle that ignored his commands like it has been possessed by some demon.  His voice turned much quieter.  “We didn’t hit anyone, did we—I mean, did _I_ hit anyone?”

David glanced back at Main Street, where dark skid marks were visible. “I don’t think so.”  He heaved a sigh.  “Just the fence here.  It’s going to need some serious repair.”

Killian followed his eyes and groaned.  Two sections of the fence had been torn off by the impact—made less bad, he thought, by the fact that David had managed to somehow put the truck into what he called “neutral” at the last minute.  Another section seemed attached to the big metal band on the front of the truck, and the pretty little front gate had been torn up off the ground and twisted around like a tornado had got at it.  _Great._   _I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?  And just when David said I was doing well enough to drive in town, I had to mess up changing gears and panic._

It had been centuries since Killian had really had to face a situation he wasn’t at least partially familiar with, and when he did, he always resorted to what he knew best.  In this case, he’d tried to turn the car into a sailing ship, and since he couldn’t take sail _off_ , he’d tried to tack.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised, just as an irate Ruby came striding out of the diner, her hair flying behind her like a wild red beast.  “And your truck, if it needs repair.”

Killian didn’t know enough about automobiles to know if the truck needed help or not, but David just shook his head.

“Nah, Henry did worse.  Don’t worry about the truck.  You’re going to have your hands full with Ruby.”

And wasn’t _that_ the truth, Killian knew as he turned to face the angry diner owner.  A charming smile definitely wasn’t going to get him out of this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Six—“Ready to Spring, Waiting a Chance”, in which the family gets together for another meeting, Emma has a heart to heart with her predecessor, Robin and Regina make a startling discovery, Henry continues to visit Archie, Astrid tries to talk Blue into helping more, and Killian offers to help with catching Zelena.


	56. Ready to Spring, Waiting a Chance

Rumplestiltskin felt like he’d been run over by a truck, which was rather ironic, because he’d been nowhere nearby when his newfound nephew had crashed David’s truck into the diner the day before.  But his nightmare from that morning continued to haunt him, making his limbs feel heavy and his mind sluggish.  He _knew_ that he was free of Zelena, knew that hellish year was over and he was safe, but sometimes he just couldn’t shake the memories.  Belle had—not for the first time—tried to comfort him, but her kiss to his forehead had only dragged her into his nightmare, and she’d seen everything.  _Again._

He didn’t know how he was so lucky to be married to a beautiful and brilliant woman who continued not to judge him for his weaknesses, but Rumplestiltskin knew that he needed her desperately.  He’d clung to her for longer than he should have that morning, shaken by the fact that Morgan _knew_.  He didn’t want anyone knowing, in honesty.  He hadn’t wanted to tell Belle, even though Rumplestiltskin knew that the problems in the early days of their marriage could all be tied back to his lack of openness with her.  But he couldn’t help it.  He didn’t like reliving the shame or the pain, even with someone who he knew loved him.  He couldn’t banish the notion, the utter certainty, that knowing the truth would make others despise him for his weaknesses, for the fact that Zelena had managed to hurt him so badly. 

Belle didn’t hate him, _wouldn’t_ hate him, but his mother was another question.  Yet she hadn’t seemed anything other than infuriated, and not with him, either.  She’d been gentle and she’d been kind, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t sure what to think of that.  It rattled him more than he wanted to admit, and despite his habitual caution, he was starting to warm to Morgan.  _And to trust her, which is dangerous if she is lying._

Yet he didn’t think she was, which was why he’d just told the rest of the assembled family—tangled though the mess was, they _were_ all related in one way or another—what Morgan had told him.  Everyone had already known, of course; Rumplestiltskin hadn’t intended for Emma or Regina to keep “Guinevere’s” identity a secret.  But it was time they all got together again and decided upon a course of action.  So, he’d told them as dispassionately as he could, noticing the way Bae stuck close to Belle’s side, providing support.  Still,  being so open and honest grated on certain parts of his soul, even when Rumplestiltskin knew it was necessary.

David spoke up next, sharing the unsurprising fact that Blue had proven useless, and then Henry shared the little useful information that Isaac had provided.  The one important thing Isaac had offered—after much prodding and a little bullying from Rumplestiltskin—was the whereabouts of the fae, but that location was all but useless.  Blue had apparently locked them into a pocket realm of sorts, and although Isaac had been taken there once by the Apprentice, he didn’t know how to return.  That project had added itself to the list of things only Rumplestiltskin could figure out, but he was very glad that Belle had promised to help him research.

Now, however, they’d broken up small knots of people, chatting and planning and trying to figure out who else they could trust.  Neither Morgan nor Mordred—nor Arthur nor Guinevere, he supposed—had been invited, but everyone else was there.  David had even brought baby Neal, who was sleeping over in the corner.  Roland sat on the floor next to Neal’s bassinet, playing with a set of action figures the damned house had popped out of nowhere.  Robin and Baelfire had started talking about something not far away, while Henry, David, and Emma discussed Archie and how they could help him.  Regina was deep in conversation with Roland, who seemed to be intent on telling her a lengthy story about those same action figures, while Hook was talking to Belle.

_That_ conversation caught his attention after a moment.  “My condolences on your decidedly dark family,” the pirate offered.  “I thought my problems were bad, what with my Uncle Monomaniac—”

Belle snorted with laughter.  “Uncle Monomaniac?”

“Aye.” Hook shrugged.  “That’s what Baelfire and I have started calling Mordred.  His quest to destroy the Dark One makes my previous obsession look positively healthy.  I wasn’t terribly honorable in my quest, mind, but he takes it to depths even I never dreamt of.”

“I still haven’t met him,” Belle admitted quietly.  “He’s my uncle, too, you know.  But through my grandfather rather than through your grandmother.”

Hook shook his head like he couldn’t believe his ears.  “This is insanity personified.  And there I was, thinking that having an Uncle Crocodile was the worst of it.”

“Uncle _Crocodile_?” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help interjecting as he walked up, and both whirled to face him.  Hook looked a little mortified, but Belle was trying too obviously not to snicker.  Wide eyed, he looked at her.  “That’s hardly funny!”

“Of course it is, Rumple.  With this family tree, we have to learn to laugh at ourselves.”  Reaching out, she squeezed his hand.  “Either that, or we’re all going to go insane.”

It took all of his self-control not to harrumph and walk away. That, and the fact that Belle still had his hand, anyway.  Surprisingly, it was Hook—or Killian, he supposed, since Rumplestiltskin had restored the appendage he’d once cut off—who broke the awkward silence.

“We’ve spent a long time hating one another, Rumplestiltskin.  You took my hand.  I spent lifetimes hunting you.”  The pirate swallowed hard.  “I know neither of us will ever forget what happened, but I can forgive.  If you can.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked hard.  The day he’d fought Emma, over three weeks earlier, Hook had said he’d never forgive him for killing Milah.  Was their shared blood a factor here, or were they both finally growing?  He didn’t know.  “She loved you,” he said more abruptly than he meant to.  “Even I could see that—even then.  I hope you were happy. And I am sorry.”

_It’s Milah who I owe that apology to, but perhaps Killian Jones needs one as well.  I did kill his love, just as surely as he nearly killed mine._

“Aye,” Killian said slowly.  “We were.  And know you were not yourself when you killed her.  Even a hard-headed pirate can learn that much, apparently.”  Killian laughed, but it was a raw sound, a little broken and far too old.  Rumplestiltskin knew that feeling.

“I still killed her.  There’s always a choice, even when you choose the wrong one.”  He would not run from what he had been—acknowledging it was the only thing that kept Rumplestiltskin from becoming that kind of man once more.

“Then I accept your apology…Uncle.”

* * *

 

Emma waited until Rumplestiltskin was done talking to Killian; she’d said her piece on that front, and she understood if he didn’t want to talk to her these days.  She knew that she’d broken his heart, yet Emma felt far more like herself than she had in a long time.  _Despite being the Dark One, I know I finally made the right choice._   She would probably never stop loving Killian, but love didn’t mean a relationship was healthy, so Emma was going to move forward from here.  Killian was still family, though, through Henry if no one else, so she’d fight for him like she did everyone else.

She managed to catch Rumplestiltskin alone a few minutes later.  Subtlety had never been Emma’s strong suit, so she dove right in.  “I need to ask you something.”

“And what would that be, Miss Swan?”  He turned to face her calmly despite the magic she could feel skipping around him.  He had a good grip on it, and wasn’t letting his emotions influence it overmuch, but Emma was learning to tell when someone was close to boiling over.

“You should probably just call me Emma, you know.”  Those words blurted out unintentionally, and she could hear the darkness laughing in her mind.  “You pretty much know me better than anyone right now.”

“Emma, then.”  His smile was slight, but Emma felt it was more honest than many she’d received from him over the years.  “What do you need?”

“It’s…about magic.  It’s all so easy and so seductive, and I feel like every time I use the darkness, I’m letting it eat a piece of my soul.  I’m still in control, but I don’t think I can do that forever before it starts to really get at me.”  Emma took a deep breath, remembering being the woman who hated magic, who didn’t believe in it, and who had fought against the idea of having it.   Yet she’d embraced that part of herself since those days, and she needed to remember who she was.  “So…is there a way to use _my_ magic instead of the Dark One?  I know I can’t un-curse myself, but there’s got to be a way to get around it.  A loophole.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “There’s always a loophole, yes.  I did it by managing the cost, forcing others to pay to preserve my own heart and soul.  It worked for a long time.”

“Until Zelena controlled you and you couldn’t.”  Emma knew that without asking, knew that his time in the Vault had given the darkness an incredible advantage that Zelena had only deepened.  She didn’t _like_ thinking about that, because then she remembered how very close she’d been to that very fate, but she couldn’t allow herself to forget it, either.

_That could easily be me.  All it takes is one wrong move…_   Subconsciously, Emma shifted her right hand to the small of her back, where the dagger was kept safe and sound in a scabbard underneath her jacket.  She needed to feel it, just to reassure herself that no one had taken her freedom away.  _This battle gets harder every day, because if I ever_ stop _fighting, even for a moment, the darkness wins a little more of me._   Emma was tired, so damned tired of fighting, and she just wanted to stop.

“Yes.”  He looked away for a moment, and then seemed to shake himself.  “You want a way to bypass it completely, to use your light magic instead of the darkness.”

“Can I?”  Emma bit her lip.  “I know it will be hard to stop myself, but if there are options…”

“If you try to combine the two, you run the risk of losing yourself ten times as fast.”

She felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart.  “Oh.”  Emma swallowed hard, trying to hide how much that blow hurt.  “Never mind, then, I’ll just—”

“There’s another way.”  He caught her arm even as she turned to leave, and Emma tried not to let her heart skip a beat.  “I’m working on something that might help.” 

“You are?”

“I did promise to get that darkness out of you.  And while I could do that today, we both know what would happen if I don’t figure out a better way to trap it—or, better yet, deconstruct it entirely.  So, I’ve been working on an interim solution.  Something that will _only_ allow you to use light magic.”

Excitement stole her breath away.  That would work!  It would really work.  “How long until it’s done?”

“Another few days, I’d think.  Perhaps a week.  But once you wear it, you won’t be able to take it off.”

“I don’t care.  In fact, that’s good.”  Emma felt hope flaring, and even though the darkness tried to beat it down, the good emotion still won out.  “I know that I can’t always be trusted, even when I want to be trustworthy.  I want it.”

_He’ll use it to take your dagger,_ the darkness whispered right away.  _If he can put that on you, it will halve your power!_   A chill raced up her spine even as Emma tried to shut the words out, shaking her head furiously.  _Or_ she _will take it.  You won’t be able to fight her if you don’t have me.  You_ know _that._

“Don’t listen to that voice,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly.  Abruptly, they both seemed to realize that he hadn’t let go of her arm, because he dropped it quickly, even though his voice remained gentle.  “I imagine it’s telling you that I want the dagger.”

Emma gritted her teeth.  “Yes.”

“I could have kept it.”

“I know.”  She snorted.  “But try telling _Nimue_ that.  She’s a real bitch.”

His laugh seemed to surprise them both.  “Yeah, I know.”

“How the hell did you live with this voice in your head for _centuries_?”  She had to ask.  Emma’d been wondering for months.

“You met me back there.  Do you think I was really living?” he countered.  “I was the monster everyone feared, feral and dangerous.  No matter how well I managed it, I never was in as much control as you are now.”

“You still fell in love with Belle.  Somehow.”

“Despite my best efforts not to, yes.”  His voice softened as he looked towards his wife, who was talking to Killian and Neal both.  “Belle helped me remember who I’d been, when I thought I’d long since forgotten.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes met hers again.  “Love is powerful, Emma.  And not just romantic love.  Never isolate yourself, not when you have people who love you.”

“It took me awhile, but I think I finally figured that out, yeah.”  Emma managed a smile as she glanced at her son, her father, and even Regina.  _Family matters._ Regina was somehow turning into one of her best friends, even if the other woman was also sort of her step-grandmother (in addition to being her son’s adopted mother, which made _Henry_ Emma’s step-uncle in addition to being her son).  Neal was here now, too, and even if he did want to get back together, he wasn’t pushing her, for which Emma was really grateful.  Yet she knew he loved her, still, and somehow that was…comforting.

“I’ll give you the amulet as soon as it’s ready.”

Emma nodded.  “Thanks.”

She could wait.  She didn’t want to, but if they were going to do this right, she had to.  She could hold onto that hope long enough.

* * *

 

They’d chosen to walk back from dropping Roland off at daycare.  Roland had enjoyed the meeting and playing with everyone, but spending time with kids his own age was also important.  That, and Regina figured that having an inquisitive four-year-old around for this conversation was just asking for trouble.

“What do you think?” she asked quietly. 

She’d told Robin about Morgan’s surrogacy potion the day before, but she was still a little uneasy.  And overwhelmed.  On one hand, the surrogacy potion was an easy answer—and it let Regina do something she hadn’t even known she _wanted_ until her sister had turned out to be pregnant with Robin’s child.  _I always knew that Henry was enough; he’s my absolutely my son even though I didn’t give birth to him.  Yet I never knew how badly I hurt myself when I took that infertility potion.  I was so angry, and I just wanted to deny_ Mother _the child she wanted me to have…I never realized how badly it would burn to see Zelena carrying the child of the man I love._   Regina didn’t want to admit that she wanted to carry this child, even to herself, but she knew that possibility might have been blinding her to the possible pitfalls of using Morgan’s potion.  After all, Rumplestiltskin might have jumped quickly into trusting his mother, which was extremely out of character for the old him, but this new him was frighteningly different sometimes.  Regina, however, was not so comfortable doing so.  Morgan le Fae was famous for a reason, and it wasn’t for being someone who gave you something for nothing.

“It sounds too easy.”  Robin grimaced.  “Did Gold say _why_ she made the potion?”

“Just that Zelena pissed her off.”

He snorted.  “That’s a daily occurrence for most of us.”

“True.”  Regina chuckled despite herself, leaning into Robin’s shoulder as they walked.  “Pissing people off does seem to be her number one talent.”

“You can say that again.”  Robin hesitated for a long moment.  “If it’s as old of a recipe as you say, ‘Gina, I don’t want to risk you.  It means _so_ much to me that you’re willing to do this, but if the potion could endanger _you_ , I’d rather catch Zelena and then speed the pregnancy up.  The child is safe either way, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then let’s not risk you unless we have to, all right?” He squeezed her around the waist, and Regina’s heart did a bit of a backflip. 

“I suppose that’s the right thing to do, anyway,” she admitted glumly.  “As horrible as Zelena is, I don’t know if we have the right to take that child out of her.  She…she deserves a chance to be part of her daughter’s life.”  Regina swallowed hard.  “Maybe it’ll teach her a little about love.”

Robin’s wince told her that his feelings echoed her own all too well.  “Yeah.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m _not_ going to let that woman near my child without supervision, but…but it’s probably not fair to her.”  His voice turned hard.  “Unless she endangers my daughter again.  Then all bets are off.”

“Agreed.”

“ _Our_ daughter.”  Robin turned to her with the sudden correction, and Regina felt her heart skip a beat from the passion in his voice.  “Zelena might have conceived her, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re the only mother that little girl will ever need.  Assuming, I mean, that you still want to be.”

“Of course I do.”  Her smile was big enough to hurt.  She didn’t give a damn if she and Robin never married; they were a family, regardless, and she was _not_ going to let her arrogant and whiny sister take that—

“What the hell?” The words blurted out of Regina as they cut the corner from Second Street onto Main Street, walking through the empty parking spots in front of the Storybrooke Pet Shelter.  From there, they could see the disaster in front of Granny’s, with the ruined fence and gate—and where someone looking _just_ like Regina had Ruby by the throat.

“Let her go!” Robin shouted before Regina could react, but then she was pulling magic to her hands.

_Don’t just bull your way through,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Rumple’s said from inside her head.  _Unravel the glamour and reveal who is underneath._ But the thought came too late for her first attack; even as Robin drew his gun, Regina’s magic lashed out, knocking the imposter away from Ruby and sending them both sprawling.

The other Regina leapt up quickly, turning to face the real Regina with a snarl.  “Who the hell are you?”

“That’s supposed to be _my_ line.”  Regina favored her opponent with a nasty smile, letting magic fill her as she studied the other woman.  The disguise was good; Regina had to give her that.  But there were flaws.

_Everything’s got a loophole, dearie,_ Rumplestiltskin had told her back when she was young and impatient and so damned angry.  _Exploit it._

“Robin, get away from her!” the other Regina snapped as the real Regina studied the magic around her foe, recognizing it after a moment.  “She’s an imposter.”

“Oh, come on!” Ruby cut in.  “Any idiot who’s lived in Storybrooke for five minutes knows that even the Evil Queen wasn’t into strangling people.  Get real.  We all know who you are.”

“You’ll pay for that!” the imposter snapped, and her fury was directed outwards, not inwards, which gave Regina an opening.

Robin sighed theatrically.  “I’d shoot her if I wasn’t afraid she’s Zelena.”

The imposter’s head whipped around, making her miss the fact that Ruby had just pulled her cell phone out.  Regina, however, definitely noticed, and that only made her grin grow.

“She is.”  Confidently, Regina raised her hands and _yanked_ the threads of magic away from Zelena, tearing the glamour up the middle and watching it disintegrate, leaving a very disgruntled Zelena snarling in its wake.  “Now _that’s_ more like it.  You don’t deserve my fashion sense, sister dear.”

“And what are you going to do to me, sis?” Zelena stalked forward tauntingly.  “Are you going to try to beat me?  It’ll wind up as good for you as it did last time—with you flat on your face and wondering how you got there.  You can’t match my power, and you _know_ it.”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “I know what you used for that glamour wasn’t yours.  Whatever store of power you’re drawing on, it isn’t going to last you forever.  And neither is your happy little murdering deception, either.  Game’s over, Zelena.  Why don’t you just give up now?”

“Because I _live_ to make you miserable.”  Zelena stopped a few feet away, her blue eyes flashing with fury.  “And I won’t rest until you’re brought down to the level you _deserve_ to be at.”

“Oh, give me a break.  That litany’s getting _really_ old.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Robin got in before Zelena could start whining.  “And even if you haven’t, don’t you care _at all_ for the child inside you?  She’s innocent and deserves better than you running around trying to get her hurt!”

“She deserves better than _you_ , you mean.”  Zelena snorted.  “If you think I’m letting you, Mr. Sperm Donor, have any say in the life of _my_ child, you’re really fantasizing.  You and Ms. Evil Queenie are never going to get your hands on it.”

“Her,” Robin snarled.  “ _Our_ child isn’t a possession!”

“She’s _mine_ , not yours!  Oh, I know how to make sure of that.”  The grin on Zelena’s face was decidedly not sane.  “How about I just kill you right now to make sure of it?”

Regina stepped forward, focusing on her fury and pulling magic to her hands.  Sure, Zelena had an extra store of power—one she would have paid good money to discover the source of—but Regina was tough.  She’d taken a beating before, and she definitely wasn’t going to let Zelena touch a hair on Robin’s head.  “Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea.  Maybe I’ll even adopt little Roland afterwards.” 

Those sickeningly sweet words made Regina see red, and her magic lashed out almost before she could focus it.  Thankfully, she did manage to aim the blow towards Zelena’s upper chest at the last minute, avoiding her midsection neatly enough.  The jet of red and white light hit Zelena hard enough to make her stumble back, but even when angry, Regina couldn’t forget about the child inside her damned sister was carrying.

Zelena caught her balance easily, laughing.  “You can’t do it, can you?  You can’t endanger my little munchkin!  That’s going to make you _so_ easy to beat.”

“Don’t count on it.”  The response was automatic, as was the way Regina pulled up her defenses and swatted aside Zelena’s first attack.  Or at least she _should_ have, but the wave of magic was more powerful than she’d counted on, and it sent Regina flying backwards into Robin.  He grunted with the impact, but somehow managed to keep them both on their feet.

“Now who’s the overconfident one?”

“I can’t shoot her.”  Robin’s whisper was a hiss in her ear, and sounded desperate.  “She’s carrying my child!”

“I know.”  Regina swallowed hard, running through every way she knew to incapacitate someone without hurting them.  _It has to go double for the child, right?  If I don’t hurt Zelena, it won’t hurt the baby…I hope._   She wished Maleficent was there.  Her old friend—and now potential enemy—was the expert at putting people to sleep, whether it was with a traditional sleeping curse or a more temporary sleeping spell.  Regina was good at the later, but she’d never tried the former.

“Those pesky morals just get in the way, don’t— _ow!_ ”

While Robin and Regina had been worrying over how far they could go, Ruby had put down her cell phone and hefted a crossbow.  Regina might have stopped her if she could have opened her mouth in time, but Zelena’s annoying taunts had been too much of a distraction.  Fortunately, those juvenile insults had distracted Zelena, too, because Ruby had shot her in the middle of her right knee.

Howling, Zelena almost collapsed to her left knee, then screeched as that made her right knee bend, staggering and barely staying upright.  Ruby, on the other hand, just calmly reloaded her grandmother’s crossbow, ignoring Zelena’s snarling curses. 

“How _dare_ you!  I’ll _kill_ you for that!  Just you— _argh!_ ”

Taking advantage of the annoying rant, Regina slammed her next spell into Zelena’s left knee, knocking that out from under Zelena.  Her sister yowled in pain, but before she could hit the ground, Zelena disappeared in a cloud of green smoke.

“Nice shot.”  Robin stepped forward, nodding the compliment in Ruby’s direction as he holstered his sidearm.  “A lot less chance of blood loss with a crossbow than a gun, too.  I may need to bring my bow out for her next time.”

“I couldn’t stand listening to her anymore, sorry.”  Ruby shrugged.  “I figured kneecapping her wouldn’t hurt the kid.”

Robin just smiled.  “Granny would be proud.”

Was it Regina’s imagination, did that make the werewolf blush a little?  For once, however, she chose not to point out that Granny had been a homicidal old bat with more courage and compassion than brains, because both of those traits had gotten Granny killed, and even Regina could respect the dead.  _Particularly someone who didn’t deserve to die._

Ruby glanced Regina’s way.  “I got a video of her changing back into herself.  I don’t think those murder charges are going to stick once people see that.”

“I—um—I—” Regina hadn’t even started to think what Ruby had been doing with her phone, and why would Ruby want to help _her_?  She was so floored that she had no words.  She could only stare.

“I think what Regina is trying to say is ‘thank you’,” Robin came to her rescue.

“Yes.  I am.”  She swallowed.  Words couldn’t properly express her gratitude, but words were all she had.  “Thank you.”

Ruby shrugged again.  “Hey, she tried to kill me.  The least I can do is screw her over for it.”

“Are you okay?” Regina finally regained enough composure to look around and see if Zelena had (further) damaged the diner in her spite, but she couldn’t see anything that hadn’t been broken by a truck-driving pirate.  “She didn’t go after anyone or anything else, did she?”

“No.” Ruby shook her head.  “I was out here deciding on how I’m going to remodel when she waltzed up.  She’s a decent fake of you, but her dialogue needs a bit of work.  She whines too much, so it was pretty obvious from the beginning.”  She snorted. “That’s probably why she decided to choke me.”

“I owe you one.”  Regina shifted uncomfortably.  She didn’t _like_ owing, and the fact that Ruby had helped her without expecting anything in exchange made her uneasy.  Being on the good side of Storybrooke was rewarding, sometimes, but other times it made her feel like her life was inside out.

Things had been so much _easier_ when she just hated everyone.

* * *

 

Henry headed over to visit Archie after the meeting, glad that everyone had seemed to be getting along.  Even Grandpa Gold and Killian seemed to be mostly amicable, and that was really saying a lot.  Still, he wouldn’t have wanted to see what would have happened if they’d invited the Camelot branch of the family, particularly now that he knew that Belle’s grandmother was the Black Fairy.  He still didn’t know much about her, other than the fact that she _had_ to be evil.  Isaac painted a pretty grim picture when he talked about the fae, who were apparently the equivalent of the fairies, just followers of the Black Fairy.  What they’d done in the Enchanted Forest in the past sounded downright scary, and Henry knew he really needed to be on his guard.

No one had really talked about it, but it was pretty obvious that the Black Fairy was the one who had Archie’s heart.  That didn’t mean that he’d stop visiting Archie—Henry was determined not to, because Archie was his _friend_ —but it did mean they all had to be extra careful.

And stick to safe subjects.

“How is it with the new additions to the family?” Archie asked a few minutes into his visit.  Henry figured that part was pretty safe; it wasn’t like the Black Fairy didn’t know about Morgan or Mordred, after all.  Or Killian, probably.  Henry _hadn’t_ told Archie that they knew ‘Guinevere’ was the Black Fairy, though, and he wasn’t going to.

Grandpa Gold was definitely right that they needed to keep that knowledge a secret as long as they could.

“It’s kind of weird.”  He shrugged.  “I mean, I think that my great-uncle Mordred still wants to kill me.  But my great-grandma seems pretty badass.”

Archie snorted.  “I don’t think your mothers would appreciate the language choice.”

“I’m thirteen, and they swear _all_ the time.”

“Well, your mothers might swear sometimes—though I doubt it’s as often as you claim—but I don’t, so if you’ll spare _me_ the filthy language…”

“Sorry.”  Henry knew both of his moms would be angry at him for that one.  It was one thing to act grown up and swear; it was another to make people listen to it if they didn’t want to.  He knew better, and he was embarrassed enough that he didn’t notice Archie reaching for his drink until the therapist missed and knocked a picture of him and Geppetto off of the end table.

The picture hit the hardwood floors with a crash, and it must have hit just wrong, because glass shattered and bounced _everywhere_. 

“Darn it.”  If ever there was a time to swear, this was it, but Archie really wasn’t the swearing type.

“I’ll go get some towels,” Henry offered, and matched actions to words.  A moment later, he came back from the kitchen with a few hand towels.   Then he crouched next to Archie, who was carefully picking up the shards of glass.

“You don’t have to help, Henry.”  Archie took one of the towels to hold the glass he’d already gathered.

“It’s okay.”  He smiled.  “I don’t mind.”

“Well, then, thank you.”

They picked up glass in silence for a moment, until Archie’s hand slipped, and a piece of the glass he’d been holding sliced the back of Henry’s hand.  “Ah!”

“Oh, goodness, Henry, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s all right.  It’s a small cut.”  It didn’t even hurt that badly, though Henry did go into the kitchen to rinse it out, just in case.  Archie met him there with a Band-Aid, and Henry didn’t think anything of the cut until much later that day.

By then, it was far too late.

* * *

 

Astrid tried not to fidget.  Really, she did.  But it was almost impossible.  Talking to Blue about something Blue didn’t want to talk about always made her nervous, but Tink said it was character building, so that she should go and do it alone.  Tink had also had a really good point about how they couldn’t _both_ afford to piss Blue off, so they should take turns tackling this kind of stuff.  Still, standing on the other side of Blue’s desk like she was in some sort of trouble always rattled her.

“Yes, Nova?”  Blue always insisted on calling her that, even though she preferred to be Astrid.  It was like Blue couldn’t forget that she was also a woman, and only sort of a fairy here.  Astrid had a life outside the convent, and she’d contemplated leaving once or twice.

_If Grumpy will ever get off his butt and_ ask _me, anyway,_ she thought with a certain kind of fond irritation, but then she forced herself to focus on Blue’s face.

“I, um, was wondering if I could ask you a question.  I mean, I know I just did, but—”

“Ask your question, please.”

The calm tone only made her fidget more, and Astrid gulped.  “It’s only that I was talking to Grumpy last night, about how he and David came to ask you about the Black Fairy.  I know you said you’d handle it, but, can’t we tell them _something_?  You have us getting ready for all kinds of things, things you won’t even tell us about, but the heroes are supposed to be the ones fighting for Storybrooke.  Aren’t they?”

“Of course they are.”  Blue’s face was unreadable.  “But this is fairy business, Nova.  Not humans.”

“But the humans are our friends.”  And _they’d_ all been human during the curse, too.  Just like they sorta-kinda were now.  Drawing a line like this didn’t make sense to Astrid.  Not at all.

“Of course they are.  But there are things they cannot understand.”  Blue smiled gently.  “I will tell them when they need to know, of course.”

“Oh, um, of course.” That made things better, didn’t it?

“And you _will_ respect my judgment on this matter.  Won’t you, child?”

“Yes?” 

Blue’s eyes met hers, hard and implacable, making Astrid shiver helplessly.  She was no good at this; Tink should have come in and asked.  She couldn’t figure out words to convince Blue that they should trust their friends, whereas Tink would have yelled and poked at things until Blue gave in.  _Or until Blue kicked her out.  Again._

Blue dismissed her after that, and Astrid couldn’t help letting her shoulders slump as she went back to her room.

* * *

 

Why she kept that foolish girl around, Blue did not know.  Nova—or “Astrid,” as she preferred to be called, as if her cursed identity was a _good_ thing—was really a nuisance.  Oh, she had a good heart, but she had no head on her shoulders at all.

_Had it not set such a dangerous precedent, I should have let her go with the dwarf,_ Blue thought with a sigh.  Yet that relationship was not something she could allow.  Nova would have eventually learned that fairies _could_ reproduce biologically, which would have proven the lie in Blue’s claims to the contrary.  She needed to control how each and every fairy was born, though, if she did not want them to go the way of the fae.  _The fae reproduce like humans._ The very thought made her snarl silently.  _Much good it has done them, with their slow reproductive cycles and exile._

But that was not the point.  Nova wanted her to tell the humans all about her sister, and that Reul Ghorm could not do.  She had not seen Danns’ during their entire stay in Storybrooke, and particularly not since the Heart of the previous Truest Believer had run its course.  Danns’ was free now, unfortunately, and using the same method to de-fang her this time would be difficult at best.  _Morgan will not help me, and I cannot afford to explain to the heroes why I need that heart.  They are too short-sighted, and would not agree._ No, she would have to take the necessary precautions in secret, lest she run the risk of the humans turning against her.  Particularly now that they had an original power of their own to turn to.

But she could not afford for those truths to come out, nor other inconvenient ones that the humans would inevitably misconstrue.  If she _did_ tell them all about Danns’, Danns’ would undoubtedly see that said truths came to light.  It was an unspoken agreement, but one they both understood perfectly.  So long as one did not speak, the other would not share.  Besides, fairies—and even fae, as repulsive and misled as they had become—were far above humans. Humans were like small children, and they needed to be guided.  _She_ would do that, and she would stop her sister if it came to that.

It would, of course.  Danns’ never knew how to stop.

* * *

 

Killian found the mayor the day after their strategy session.  He’d seen his Uncle Mordred in the meantime, and found Mordred much saner.  It seemed that Morgan taking the pendant away had been a damned good idea, because Mordred was normal again, telling him funny stories about his father and about them growing up together in Orkney.  Mordred even told a few tales about King Lot, the grandfather Killian had never even known about.   Lot had apparently been an utter lout, a gigantic boor, and about as smart as a post.  Killian had met the sort, before, and a disturbing number of them seemed to wear crowns, so he wasn’t surprised.  Still, it was nice to know that his father had improved upon his own father, in a weird way.

By the time he stepped into Regina’s office, the town was buzzing about the video Ruby had taken of Zelena being exposed in her Regina-disguise.  That even seemed to put paid to Sidney’s little grandstanding; the idiot had been outside when Killian walked by, but he didn’t seem able to keep a crowd’s attention.  Most people were more interested in placing bets about who would shoot Zelena next: Ruby or Robin Hood.

Personally, Killian’s money was on Robin.  The poor bloke had clearly had it with the mother of his child, and he probably needed to poke a hole or two in her.  _Just not the way he did already.  That got him in enough trouble._

“What do _you_ want?”  Regina’s head didn’t even come up from whatever she was reading. 

“I came to offer my services, but if you’re so bitchy that you’d rather talk another time, I’ll go.”

“No, this is my happy face.”  She looked up and glared at him; Killian shrugged amicably.  Baiting Regina was one of his favorite sports, and at least she gave as good as she got.

“Love, I guarantee you that I can bring about a _much_ happier expression than that one,” he said with a salacious grin, just to see how she’d react.

“Is _everything_ an innuendo with you, Captain Sexuality?” Regina shot to her feet.  “Really, even Henry is more mature than you, and he’s finally starting to notice girls.”

That made Killian’s eyebrows go up with interest.  “Send him my way for coaching, then.  I’ve more experience than any of you lot.”

“The hell I will!”

She really was too much fun, but Killian did have a purpose, so he cleared his throat.  “As enjoyable as it would be to banter with you all day long, I did come for a reason.”

Regina snorted.  “You could have fooled me.”

“Well, it’s not very hard,” he drawled, and then got to the point before she could throw something heavy at his head.  “I’ve managed to repair my relationship with my dear Uncle Mordred, but he seems determined to follow his mother’s lead and help the rest of us.  So, I thought I’d offer my services in a different manner.”

“Like what?”

“Like with your dear sister.  I imagine that if you can track her, you can catch her, yes?  And preferably in a situation where you don’t harm the bun currently baking in her oven.”

“That would be…useful, yes.” Regina looked annoyed that he was making so much sense, which only made Killian enjoy himself more.  “I could make a potion that would tag her.  If you could get it on her.  Then we could set a trap.”

“Get that potion to me, and I’ll do _my_ magic.”  He grinned. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Sure it won’t.  _Those_ are famous last words.”

Killian just laughed.  He didn’t want to let Regina know how much it mattered to him that he could help, that he was still one of the heroes even without Emma.  Somewhere along the way, that had become who he _was_ , and Killian wasn’t going to ruin that.  Not just because he couldn’t be with Emma.  He was better than the villainous pirate, and he’d stay that way.

* * *

 

He’d run into another dead end.

The last person to see Lancelot turned out to be an old woman named Elaine, who lived on the western edge of the Camelot camp.  Fortunately, she was one of the few peasants who was willing to talk to David.

“Aye, he was here with me.”  Elaine nodded a little distractedly.  “With all of us.  Hiding, he was, poor boy.”

That got David’s attention.  “Hiding?  Who was he hiding from?”

“The queen, of course.  More her than the king.  Evil bitch.”  Elaine made a sign with her hand that David recognized from his childhood, one meant to ward off evil fairies.  He remembered a few of his friends doing that when the crops went bad or it rained too much.  Uneducated and isolated as they were, they always tried to find something supernatural to blame for their woes.

In Elaine’s case, however, she was depressingly right.  The evilest of all evil fairies was the queen of Camelot, and David shivered at the thought.

“Do you think she got him?” This wasn’t a time for subtlety.  If Arthur and his wife had Lancelot…Lancelot might have already been dead.  _What if it was his blood on Archie’s hands?_ David couldn’t help wondering for the umpteenth time. 

“Dunno.  Last I saw him, he was headin’ into town.  Said he wanted to see Princess Colette’s little girl.”

Right.  That had to be Belle’s mother.  Out of curiosity, David asked: “What was the princess like, anyway?  Was she like her mother?”

“Oh, no.  Sweet girl.  We saw little of her, mind, but she seemed determined to be _good_.  You can see the type.  Clung to her grandmother Queen Igraine, she did.  A lot like her.  _She_ was a good faery.”

“Arthur’s mother was a fairy?”

“ _Fae_ ry.”  Elaine nodded vigorously.  “Of the old and good type.  The stories always went ‘round about how Reul Ghorm had forced her to marry Goloris and then Uther, hoping to keep the peace and influence the humans.  Both of them were right bastards, though.  Apple didn’t fall far from the tree with Arthur, but his daughter, _she_ was different.”

“I didn’t know that.  Thanks.”  David wasn’t sure what else to say, so he bid Elaine and her companions farewell and headed back to his truck.  He didn’t like it, but by now it was pretty obvious that Lancelot was gone.  Whether he was alive and a captive or dead in a ditch somewhere, David didn’t know.  He hated giving up…but there were a thousand other things that he needed to be doing, and he feared that Lancelot was gone forever.

* * *

 

“The Greater Sapphire is missing, Mordred.”  His mother’s voice came from behind him, making Mordred wheel around.  But he refused to look guilty.  He had taken what he _needed_ , the pendant that would make him powerful enough to do what his mother refused to do.

_Has she grown cautious or sentimental in her old age?  There was a time when Mother would not have hesitated to do_ whatever _it took._  He missed the old Morgan.  She’d never been cold to him, of course, nor to his brothers, but Morgan had been firm in her stance against darkness.  She did whatever was necessary—save for using Circe’s pendant.  She’d always been too afraid to do that, but Mordred was not.

“I did offer to keep it here, where no one would be able to take it.  Your home is remarkably unprotected,” he replied calmly, studying his mother’s dispassionately cold face.  She _looked_ like the old Morgan now, and for a moment, he contemplated coming clean.

But no.  She would insist on him giving it back, and his refusal would drive a wedge between them.  Better to lie, and count on the fact that she would eventually realize he was right.

“Did you take it?”

He hadn’t expected her to be so blunt, but Mordred was ready with a firm: “No.”

Interestingly enough, his mother accepted that statement at face value, and proceeded to change the subject to Zelena.  Morgan liked her as little as Mordred did, so that was at least one thing they could agree upon.  She was attractive and definitely _wanted_ to form a more personal liaison with him, but Mordred was not a fool.  Will Scarlet’s words—blunt and coarse though they had been—still echoed in his mind every time he even contemplated bedding her.  _She’s conducting the crazy train._   It was a pity, but Zelena was not the one for him.  Perhaps he would investigate the two dragons, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next up: Chapter Fifty-Seven—“Turning Tears to Mirth”, in which David and Rumplestiltskin have a chat about family, Sidney and Regina face off, the two Fairy sisters finally talk, Regina has doubts about the surrogacy potion, and Belle faces a bit of an identity crisis. While you’re waiting, please do drop me a note to tell me what you think! 
> 
> Also, check out ROC’s remix! The first chapter of [A Different Battle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6108703/chapters/14001289) is now up, in which Morgan shows up to meet Rumplestiltskin long before the Dark Curse is cast.


	57. Turning Tears to Mirth

“You any good with tools?” Ruby interrupted his fifth attempt to apologize for wrecking the outside seating area of her diner.

Killian blinked.  “Depends on which kind.  If you mean tools that make a lady—”

“I don’t.  I mean rebuilding everything you ran over.  Or rammed.”  She crossed her arms.  “Tools like a hammer, nails, screwdrivers, that kind of stuff.  Geppetto offered to rebuild it cheaply, but if you _really_ want to make it up to me, you’ll help, too.”

“I do want to help.”  Even if he hated the idea of using tools.  Killian didn’t lack experience with them; he just didn’t _enjoy_ woodworking.  Sailing ships were made of wood, after all, and he’d spent too many years repairing railings and other broken pieces of ships to ever want to hold a hammer again.  But he’d been the one who’d destroyed the seating area, so he supposed it was simply his just deserts.  “And I’m handy enough to help.”

 Particularly now that he had two hands.  He’d been careful, so far, making sure that he kept a good hold on his temper when it threatened to get loose, but he hadn’t had any incidents yet.  Killian supposed that trying his hand—hands!—at carpentry might be a good way to test his left hand’s tolerance, anyway.  At least then he’d probably wind up taking his fury out on wood and nails instead of a person.

“Good!  Geppetto is coming by tomorrow at nine.”

Killian nodded, and dropped all humorous pretenses.  “I do want to make it up to you, you know.”

“I know.”  Ruby’s smile was small, but it was still a smile.  “You’re a good man, Killian.  These days, anyway.  There _were_ times I would have cheerfully have shot you.”

“Those days are behind me, love.”  _Forever.  I am_ not _going back to the man I was.  I don’t care if this bloody hand tempts me or Emma never looks at me again.  I’m going to be who I want to be…for me._

Ruby gave him another nod and then headed inside, but another voice spoke from behind him before Killian could follow.

“It’s a pity you’ve turned good.  I’ve always found the villains _far_ more interesting than the heroes,” Lily said, leaning on a ruined fencepost.  “And more honest, too.”

Whirling around, Killian studied Emma’s old friend in surprise.  He’d never really met her; what he knew of Lily was limited to what Emma had told him.  He did understand, though, that she’d wound up with entirely too much darkness rolling around inside her.  How hard must it be to do what was right when you had a double dose of that?  He’d spent centuries indulging his own inner darkness, and then the past year or so fighting it.  Killian knew firsthand how hard that was, and he could imagine how it felt to have someone else’s darkness, too.  Normally, he’d have mocked someone for such foolish words—but how could he, when he’d _been_ that angry and that bitter?  Looking at Lily was like looking at himself not so very long ago.

“It’s not the villains who are more honest, love.  It’s only that their lies sound prettier, and their promises generally call to your darker side.”

She shrugged.  “While the promises of heroes tend to screw over everyone that’s not part of their special club.”

“Aye, it often seems like it.  But the trick is being willing to help, not being born in the right circle.”  Killian shook his head when Lily opened her mouth to argue.  “I’m not excusing what was done to you, mind.  There’s no one who can do that.  But one wrong decision doesn’t doom the entire breed.  They usually are trying to do the right thing, hard though that may be to believe.”

“They really do a great job of screwing it up, then.”  Lily’s scowl was a thing of beauty, and Killian felt a flare of pity for her.  She might have been anything, anything at all, but all chances she’d had to become someone untainted by so much darkness had been taken from her.  She deserved better, just like Emma did—but Lily hadn’t even been able to make a _choice._

And when Emma had made her choice, she’d done it from a point where she didn’t have any of her own darkness to battle, hadn’t she?

“That they do.”  He couldn’t argue with her, not about that.  He could, however, point out a mitigating factor or two in the favor of those he’d chosen to join with—not because they were perfect heroes, but because Killian truly felt they _were_ better than the alternative.  “But at least they’re trying.  They’re fighting the good fight, love, but even the best of us make mistakes.  Sometimes terrible ones.”

“Is that what I am, then?  A _mistake?_ ”  Lily was clearly trying to sound belligerent, but Killian could hear the pain behind her anger.

He cocked his head, studying her.  He almost said something light to brush off her question, almost tried to joke it away, but at the last moment, he changed tactics.  “Does your mother call you a mistake?”

She jerked back as if he’d slapped her.  “Of course not!”

“Then why call yourself one, love?  That’s like saying—”

“I have a name,” she cut him off fiercely.  “You could use it, you know.  I won’t bite if you do.”

“Are there circumstances under which you bite?” Killian couldn’t stop himself from asking.  “As a human, mind.  I don’t fancy your great dragon chops getting ahold of me.”

Lily laughed, and somehow her smile made her look worlds more innocent.  Killian generally didn’t get interested in women he felt sorry for—and he _knew_ Emma was the one he loved—but his heart hurt for her.  Lily was in a terrible position, and she really had been ignored by everyone else since she’d come to Storybrooke, hadn’t she?  Oh, he knew that she and Emma had had a spat or two, but that hardly counted.  The old Emma would have found a way to help Lily by now, but no one had even bothered.

No wonder why she was so bitter.

* * *

 

Robin opened the front door to find the Mad Hatter on the doorstep. 

“I, uh, I mean Regina’s not here right now,” he said, staring in surprise at the man who he knew Regina had enlisted to help spy on the newcomers and help figure out who was trying to profit from the many troubles the town suffered.  But at first all he could see was the crazy man with a scar across his neck, who had been swallowed up by Wonderland and went more than a little mad.  _I probably shouldn’t have spent so much time reading Henry’s book with Roland,_ he thought wryly.  It took him a moment to gather himself.  “You can find her in her office, probably.”

“I’m actually here to talk to you.”  Jefferson gestured towards the door.  “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” 

Stepping aside, Robin let the Hatter inside, and then closed the door behind him.  Jefferson didn’t seem inclined to come further inside, however, so Robin just stopped uneasily and waited.

“So, yeah.”  Jefferson shrugged a little awkwardly.  “I’m here because Victor—Doctor Whale—can’t say it, but he’s starting to worry.  A lot.   For your kid, I mean.  Zelena’s crackpot crazy, and she’s putting that baby in danger.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Robin tried hard not to let all of his worries show.  The potion Regina had brought home presented a possible solution, one that _seemed_ perfect…but also too easy.  Yet on the other hand, were they prepared to risk leaving his daughter inside Zelena one moment longer than necessary?  Zelena was a menace, and every person she victimized presented one more danger to an innocent child.

“Okay, then, how about this?  Victor can’t make an offer like this, because he’s supposed to be impartial, but I can.  You say the word, and the moment she’s done giving birth, I’ll grab Zelena and drop her in some other world.  You can name the nastiest one you can think of, or I’ll come up with somewhere unpleasant on my own.  She’s had the chance to do right by that kid, and she’s obviously chosen not to.”

“I—I don’t know what to say to that.”  _Other than jump on that chance, maybe?_ It wasn’t right, not in a strictly moral sense, but Robin was done letting Zelena endanger his child.  “Why are you offering this?”

“I’m a parent.”  Jefferson met his eyes squarely.  “And I’m one that’s been separated from my daughter one too many times.”

Robin nodded slowly.  “I’ll think about what you’ve said.  I…I don’t like it, but if we don’t have any other options by the time the baby comes around, I’m all for it.”

Jefferson smiled.  “Just let me know.”

* * *

 

David hadn’t expected to almost run into Morgan le Fae when he opened the pawn shop door, but the woman in question was heading out just when he was going in.  Seeing her made him jump; even though Rumplestiltskin and Belle had both indicated that the former’s mother was on their side (unlike the latter’s grandparents), seeing one of the most dangerous sorceresses in history was still unnerving.  He remembered hearing stories about her as a child, about how she’d unleashed the greatest darkness that the world had ever seen, and how she’d borne the incestuous bastard son who had destroyed the bright and shining realm of Camelot.  Knowing what he did now changed the complexion of those stories quite a bit, but David still wasn’t sure which of the old tales were true.  The ones about Arthur certainly were just a _bit_ twisted, after all.

Morgan gave him a terse nod, but she didn’t seem interested in introductions, so David let her leave wordlessly, stepping into the shop.  Rumplestiltskin’s expression was curiously amicable, maybe even a little unguarded, but David’s big mouth took care of that quickly enough.

“Learn any more bad news, or was that just a nice family chat?”

He’d meant the question to be a light-hearted joke, but his sense of humor still didn’t seem to jell with that of Henry’s other grandfather—at least where the teen in question wasn’t concerned, anyway.  Rumplestiltskin’s face immediately closed off, his brown eyes turning wary.  “I don’t believe there’s a law against talking to one’s relatives.”

“No, of course there isn’t.  I didn’t mean that.”  Finding words to describe what he _had_ meant was hard; his tentative friendship—if it was a friendship—with Rumplestiltskin was too new to make this easy.  Sometimes they seemed to understand one another, and sometimes they just really missed the mark.

“Of course not.”

The awkward silence stretched between them for a moment, and David resisted the urge just to excuse himself and hightail it out of the shop.  He hadn’t really come by for anything _too_ important, or at least not something that couldn’t wait.  He could just leave.  It would be easy enough.    _Running away never got you anywhere you wanted to be,_ he told himself firmly, and decided to try again.

“Look, I’m sorry.  I know this has got to be really awkward for you, meeting your mother and a slew of other family when you’re an adult.”  He snorted, more at himself than anything else.  “Learning I had a twin brother was no picnic, even though I never had the chance to meet him.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly.  “You wouldn’t have liked him much.”

“No?” David took a moment to register that.  “Wait a minute, you _did_ know him, didn’t you?”

“I did.  Chip off the old King George block, that one.”  His smile was thin.  “He’d have married where he was told and made her as miserable as he required.”

David grimaced.  “Not exactly suited to your purposes, then?”  What he didn’t ask, but was probably obviously on his face, was _Is that why he died?_

“I never knew which one of you would be, if that’s what you’re asking.”  Rumplestiltskin met his eyes with surprising frankness.  “I only knew one of you would.  You chose yourself for that…and for Snow.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  The loss still burned, even with the ghostly hand in his own, but David wouldn’t change a damned thing about falling in love with her, even if he’d known that Snow would be stolen from him far too soon.  Still, he had to swallow hard to force the pain back. 

“That’s the thing about True Love,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  “It’s always worth the price, no matter how painful.”

“Yeah.”

He could still feel Snow with him, and part of David knew that he always would.  He almost asked Rumplestiltskin about that, but the man had lost his son, not his True Love.  Would he know?  Would he say that Snow’s presence would fade with time?  David didn’t want to find out.    _Some answers are better learned, I suppose,_ he decided, and shifted the subject slightly.

“Speaking of brothers, can we trust yours?  Killian seems uncertain, and Mordred hasn’t exactly endeared himself to the family.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Your guess is as good as mine.  He’s determined to end the Dark One, and determined that he should be—well, I’m not sure what.  Ambitiously powerful, let’s say.”  Those last words were accompanied by an eye roll.  “I would say that Mordred’s on his own side, no matter what he says.  Though he and I are hardly friends.”

“I would have thought…I mean, you’ve been talking to Morgan often enough.  Can we trust _her_?”

“So long as we oppose the Black Fairy, yes.  Though I don’t think we have much choice on that front, unless we care to be slaves to Danns' a'Bhàis.”

Just hearing that name made David shiver.  “Is everything, uh, going all right on that front?  With your mother, I mean.  You two seem to be talking okay, and I…I just was wondering,” he finished lamely.  David didn’t know how to say he was worried for Rumplestiltskin, and didn’t know how well that would be received, anyway.

“It’s fine.”  The words were surprisingly soft, but Rumplestiltskin seemed to hear what David hadn’t said, because at least he didn’t change the subject this time.  “Just…strange.”

“I can imagine.”

David didn’t know what else to say, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t answer.  The conversation had officially gotten too awkward, so David changed the subject as quickly as he could, saying: “Thanks for enchanting Archie’s apartment, by the way.  It seems to be holding him in just fine.”

“You’re, uh, welcome.”  Rumplestiltskin seemed a little uneasy, still, but the small smile appeared genuine enough.  “I’m glad I could help.  Doctor Hopper is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess.”

“You can say that again.  Any luck on figuring out who took his heart?”

That made the Sorcerer snort.  “I can give you an educated guess, but you already know what I’m going to say.”

“The Black Fairy.”  David had been afraid of that.

“My…mother checked Mordred’s castle.  He doesn’t have the heart, so it can’t be him.  That leaves _her_.”

The way Rumplestiltskin said that word only set David’s instincts further on edge, and it took him a moment to realize why.  _Emma talks about her the_ exact _same way._ Was it a Dark One thing?  Was there something neither of them were mentioning?  David needed to trust that his daughter and ally/maybe-friend would speak up if it was important, but sometimes he really hated being in the dark.  Granted, there were a thousand and one things that he didn’t know about magic and this was probably only number one thousand and two, but he still felt a strange uneasiness building up in the depths of his stomach that was impossible to ignore.

Why in the world did he have such a bad feeling about this?

* * *

 

“If we join together, the City Council will have to listen!” Sidney shouted as Regina walked out of Town Hall, making her stop cold.  “We need to impeach the Evil Queen immediately, and—”

“Did you _really_ bring your ill-mannered mob straight to my _doorstep_?” Regina cut in, striding forward to look at her old whatever-he-was.  Once, he’d been her only friend.  She’d even fancied herself a bit in love with him, back when she’d been trapped in the lonely mess of her marriage to Leopold, but she’d never _actually_ taken him as a lover.  Nowadays, that thought made Regina very glad.

“Storybrooke law grants us freedom of assembly.”  The former genie squared his shoulders stubbornly.  “We’re welcome to discuss pressing issues whenever and _wherever_ we want.”

“Not exactly _wherever_ , but I’m not here to argue semantics with you.”  Regina managed—barely!—to only roll her eyes instead of insulting him.  “I am here, however, to discuss the way you’re slandering my name.”

“Slandering?” Sidney echoed, and unfortunately, a few people in the crowd sounded just as affronted as he did.  “I’m—”

“Accusing me of murders I didn’t commit.  That’s slander,” she cut him off as calmly as she could, which even Regina knew wasn’t terribly calm.  Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she went on.  “I know I wronged you, and I’m sorry for that.  But that’s between you and I.  If you want to sue me in civil court for damages, _fine_.  You know how.  But that doesn’t give you the excuse to try to frame me for crimes I didn’t commit.”

“Says a woman with a flimsy alibi.”  Sidney snorted derisively.  “What do you have to hide, _Your Majesty?_   Are you afraid that once people see you for what you really are, you’ll lose the coming election?”

“Oh, bring it.  People _have_ seen who I really am these past few months.  I’m rough around the edges, and I’d be the first to admit I can be a bit of a bitch.”  She gave him a sweet smile, and was pleased when part of the crowd tittered.  “But I’ll also fight like _hell_ for this town and its people.  I don’t think I need to defend that.”

Sidney laughed.  “Yet again, you’re skirting around those murder charges.  You know, David Nolan used to be the kind of man who would call you on your bullshit, but I suppose he’s too busy trying to keep his daughter the Dark One under control to pay attention to you.  I can’t blame him, but it _does_ mean that someone is getting away with cold-blooded mur—”

“Give me a break, Sidney!” a new voice cut in, and Regina whirled around in surprise.  She hadn’t expected Ruby Lucas to walk up, all righteous indignation and sass.  “I’m _friends_ with you on Facebook, and I know you saw the video I posted of Zelena impersonating Regina when she tried to kill me because you _commented_ on it.  So stop crying wolf, will you?  You don’t like her?  Fine.  At least be honest about it.”

“That only means that Regina didn’t try to kill her.  It hardly clears her of the other two murders.”

“Oh, like the one where she was with Happy, Doc, Grumpy, and Tiny?” Ruby shot back.  “Hardly a ‘flimsy’ alibi.”

Regina saw a few people nod, but she was too flabbergasted to find words.  Sidney, however, was not.

“The fact that she isn’t guilty of that particular murder doesn’t change what she is.”

Ruby rolled her eyes.  “No, she’s doing that herself.”

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Regina finally managed to put in, which only made Ruby turn that sharp-eyed glare on her.

“Too bad.”  The werewolf shrugged and looked at Sidney again.  “Look, I’m hardly Regina’s biggest fan.  I’ve threatened to bite her before, and I don’t regret that.  But we’ve _all_ changed in the past few years.  So has she.  We’re never gonna be friends, but at least I’m a big enough person to admit she’s helped this town a lot since coming over to the good side.”

“That doesn’t make her a good mayor!” Sidney tried one more time.

“That doesn’t exactly have the same ring that calling her a murderer does, does it?” Ruby laughed brusquely, and then turned to the crowd.  “Go home, everyone.  I know we like our drama here in Storybrooke, but Whale’s not here to turn you into a lynch mob, and there’s really not much entertainment in watching me make an idiot out of Sidney.”

That made a few people—the crowd really wasn’t as big as the last few, either—laugh outright.  Regina wasn’t quite sure what to do with the fact that Ruby, of all people, had just stood up for her, but even as she tried to wrap her mind around that, people started heading away.  A few even gave her respectful nods, and even if more of them said nice things to Ruby, that still warmed her heart in weird ways.  Sidney, of course, wasn’t done, and had to point one long finger at Regina accusingly.

“This isn’t over!”

She snorted.   “I’m sure it isn’t.  Oh, and Sidney?”  Regina gave him her best smile.  “I’m going to schedule those elections, because I know I have nothing to fear.  If I get voted out of office, that’s fine.  I don’t need electoral validation to prove to who I am or what I’m worth.  I already know that.”

* * *

 

They had both been playing the waiting game, each expecting the other to give in first and visit.  Danns’, however, had always been one to enjoy a good surprise, so she made herself comfortable in her sister’s unsurprisingly plush convent office and waited for the vaunted Blue Fairy to arrive.

“What _do_ you do all day, sister?” she asked as Reul finally walked in.  Danns’ had been comfortable enough, of course, and had thrown out a few threads of magic to make her beloved sister a tiny bit miserable—all the while discovering a few interesting tidbits of information—but she had become quite bored waiting.

And Reul should have been wise enough to worry about what happened when Danns’ was bored.

“This is my office, Danns’,” her always-proper counterpart snapped.  “It is polite to wait _outside_.  Or even to knock.”

She laughed.  “You’ve been around humans for too long if you’re expecting me to adopt their customs.”

“Of course not.”  Reul sniffed delicately, clearly offended.   “I would think you far above that.  If you had not stooped so low as to _marry_ a human, of course.”

“Ah, that again.  It’s amazing how many times we come back to the same argument.”  Leaning back in her chair, Danns’ studied her nails.  She felt no need to justify her marriage, useful as it was, to Reul.  She would dispose of Arthur in good time, but not until he’d nearly outlived his effectiveness.  Humans always did take better to overlordship when they thought one of their own was doing the ruling, after all.

“It’s beneath you.”

“I would say that I’m _using_ him every bit as cold-bloodedly as you’ve ever used your dear princes and princesses.”  She smiled.  “But at least I’m honest.  Arthur knows exactly what I am.”

That made Reul’s eyes narrow.  “ _I_ am doing what is necessary for the safety of—”

“For the safety of our world, to keep the _dreadful_ fae from ruling and your _dear_ sister from acquiring the power she would use far more adroitly than you, yes,” she cut in.  “Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  I know the speech well, sister mine.  The only question I have for you is if you truly would prefer a world where some _human_ original power is there to let your dear ‘children’ destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to build over one where a true faery rules.”

“You’re not offering me equality, Danns’.  I know you far better than that.”

She sat up straight in her chair.  “Of course I’m not.  Not after you shoved that damned heart in my chest _how_ many times?  Or had your creatures do it.  I have never treated you so basely, nor exiled your beloved fairies merely for the sin of believing in you.”

“You would remake the world in your image!”

“As you already have.  Oh, we’re _so_ different.”  She smiled sweetly as her sister scowled.

“And what of your granddaughter?” Reul demanded, sending a cold chill down Danns’ spine.  “Where does _she_ fit into this—or will you enslave her husband as you once enslaved Merlin?  Belle _does_ love him, you know, even if I have never understood why she finds him worthy.”

“I will deal with him.”  She made herself smile coolly.  “But is that a thrill of excitement I hear in your voice?  You would very much like Rumplestiltskin out of play, wouldn’t you?”  She could see by Reul’s priggish expression that she was right, and that made Danns’ laugh.  _I like all the him better for all that he annoys my sister._   “You’ve never liked him.  A mere Dark One ran _rings_ around you, didn’t he?”

“Watch yourself.  He’s clever.”

She snorted. “Not so much as I.”

That only made Reul fold her hands primly.  “Belle will not forgive you for it.  She is _not_ the type to join in your schemes.”

“Oh, and she’s the type to join you, is she?” Danns’ hadn’t meant for her voice to grow so sharp, but she _was_ worried about the friendship she’d heard existed between her granddaughter and her sister.  Maurice insisted that Belle only consorted with the fairies when they tried to help everyone, but it was still a worrisome problem.  Belle had a good heart, and she could easily be misled by Reul, who was the universal expert at sounding _good_.

“She would approve of my methods more than she would approve of yours.”  The answer was, of course, accompanied by a pious and maternal smile.  Danns’ _hated_ that smile.

“Do not try to get between me and my daughter’s daughter, sister.”  She let her voice drop almost to a whisper, standing to look her counterpart in the eye.

“And what will you do if I try?”

“What I must.”

She did not need to voice a threat.  They both knew which of them had killed Circe, which had tricked Merlin into becoming the Dark One.  Reul had lines she would not cross, and while Danns’ would never _choose_ to kill her sister if she could avoid it, she was hardly afraid to return the same favor to Reul that Reul had thrice visited upon her.  Besides, they both knew who was the more powerful sister, which of them Fionna had chosen to bear her power when she lay dying.

“You are a poor fit for Fionna’s power.”  Reul spoke bitterly, as if she could read Danns’ mind. 

But they were sisters, after all.

“She was a fool to trust the humans who killed her with the weapon she made for them.”  Danns’ shrugged.  “She was always the loving one, though, wasn’t she?  You would guide them like children, and I would have them as obedient pets.  Fionna _loved_ them.”  She snorted.  “We would both be a poor fit, sister.  As you well know.”

Reul didn’t argue the point.  “I cannot let you do this, Danns’.  Any of it.”

“It’s already too late for you to stop me.  You waited too long.”  She smiled again, left Reul with one last parting remark: “When the day comes that the humans refuse to listen to you, you’ll remember my offer, and you’ll come to me.”

She gave her sister the chance to disagree, but tellingly, Reul said nothing as Danns’ teleported away.

* * *

 

For all of her strong words, Regina wasn’t nearly so certain in the privacy of her own home.  She spent nearly an hour pacing and struggling _not_ to destroy anything before she managed to sit down and—not—concentrate—on the spell book she was reading.  Robin didn’t want to use the surrogacy potion if they didn’t know enough about it, but Regina was beginning to think that it was the best possible option.  _Even if it makes me sicker than sick, I don’t_ care.  At this point, anything was worth getting that baby out of Zelena.  Wasn’t it?

“Maybe I’m just being selfish,” she whispered, snatching her hand away from her stomach.  She hadn’t meant it to wind up there.  She didn’t _need_ a child.  She had Henry, and Regina would love Robin’s child no matter who her mother was.  It wasn’t that child’s fault that she’d been conceived in the midst of Zelena’s lies, when Zelena raped Robin, pretending to be the woman to whom Robin had been wed and who he _did_ owe his loyalty to.  Regina had been heartbroken by that, but she’d understood.

Understanding how her sister could ever do such a thing was another matter entirely.

Oh, Regina knew that it wasn’t so very different from what she’d done to Graham.  Just thinking on that made her feel guilty; she’d developed honest feelings for Graham while the curse had been in place, but she knew that anything he’d said or done with her hadn’t been his choice.  She’d been his rapist as surely as Zelena had been Robin’s, even if she’d told herself again and again that she wasn’t actually making him do anything.  The fact that she hadn’t commanded him to sleep with her under the curse had been how she’d rationalized it at the time, but Regina was self-honest enough these days to admit how wrong she’d been.  _I was lonely, and I told myself that it was my ‘reward’_.  She scoffed aloud.  _I was no better than Zelena, so why should I deserve to carry this child more than she does?_

Trying to look down at the book through tear-filled eyes, Regina finally gave up and closed it.  She wouldn’t find anything more than she already had.  What Morgan had said was accurate enough; the potion would work instantaneously and would do exactly what Morgan said.  Yes, there was a price to be paid.  The recipe had been lost to time, but the potion’s properties were well enough known.

There was nothing dangerous enough about it to worry Robin, anyway.  The truth of the matter was that Regina wasn’t sure she deserved this kind of second chance.  She’d been every bit as evil as Zelena had, and she’d been the one who cursed herself to be barren. 

“I don’t deserve this.”  Saying the words aloud made her feel better.  She would always carry her actions as the Evil Queen with her, and perhaps that was right.  She’d hurt so many people that it probably didn’t matter how much she’d changed.  _Maybe I’m still too much of a villain to deserve that much of a happy ending._   There had to be a limit to how much evil you could _choose_ to do before redemption became impossible, didn’t there?

“Regina?” a soft voice said from the doorway, making her head snap around.  Robin stood there, looking concerned and all too loving for what her darkened heart deserved.

“Hi.”  She knew her smile was watery, but Regina couldn’t push the pain away.  It hurt, even if she thought she deserved everything.

“Did you find any more on the potion?”  He came close to rub her shoulders, and Regina couldn’t help leaning into his touch.  “Would it be safe?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s wonderful!  That means we can get the child out of Zelena”—he cut off abruptly, clearly seeing the look on her face.  “I mean, if you’d rather we try your plan first, we can.”

_He wants me to do this,_ Regina realized with a start.  _I’m not the_ only _one who wants this?_

“Why do I have any more right to carry this child than she does?” The whisper tumbled out of her before she could stop it.  “I’ve done terrible things.  I used Graham like Zelena did you.”

“Oh, ‘Gina…” Suddenly, Robin knelt before her and took her hands in his own.  “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Choking back the desire to cry was hard.  “See what?”

“I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect, or because I think you’re some hero who has never hurt anyone.  I love you because you _know_ who you have been and you fight that back every day.”  Leaning down, he kissed her hands gently.  “You don’t always win.  Some days there are parts of the Evil Queen you can’t shake, but most days, you’re _Regina_.  And that’s who I love.”

“I’m not sure Regina is worthy of that love,” she admitted brokenly.  “I don’t have the excuse Emma has—or even the one Rumplestiltskin had.  I wasn’t possessed by some primordial darkness.  I _chose_ this.”

“And now you’re choosing to be better.  I know how hard that is, love.  I watch you fight it every day, and it’s that fight that makes you better than your sister.  Do you think Zelena even realizes she’s wrong, or that she cares?”

“No.”  Regina snorted.  “She thinks anything she does must be right because the world revolves around her.”

Robin squeezed her hands again.  “Did you ever truly think you were right to do what you did, or were you just hurting so badly that you wanted everyone else to be miserable, too?”

“I knew I was wrong.  I just wanted them to be miserable.”  Remembering that made her feel ashamed.  What right did _anyone_ have to spread their misery out like that?  She’d taken her pain, her anger with _one_ person, out on their entire world.  The fact that anyone forgave her would always be a miracle.

“You can say that, yet you can’t see how much you’ve changed?”

She cringed.  “I know I’ve changed…I just don’t know if it’s enough.  Not for this.  Not for a child.”

“You’ve done well with Henry,” he countered.  “You adore Roland, and he adores you.”

“I wasn’t always good with Henry.  I tried to make him think he was crazy, all to protect my curse.  I should have put him first, and—”

“All parents make mistakes.  Some are bigger than others, but we _learn_ from them.  I knew something was wrong with ‘Marian’.  I just ignored it.  And now your sister—a woman who makes my _blood_ boil to think of—is carrying my child.  But I’m a parent, so I won’t hold that against the child.”

“Neither will I!  It’s just…there has to be someone else.  Someone more worthy.”  Regina turned her head away to keep from crying.  “I was so terrible.  Why would I deserve to carry a child, when that’s what I _want_ more than anything?  Your child.”  She gulped hard.  “I didn’t even want that until Zelena had it.  I’m not sure that makes me any better than her.”

“ _I_ think it makes you human, love.”  He kissed her hands again.  “And I can think of no one else who I would ever want to carry my child.  Because I know she’d be safe with you, and I know you’ll love her, no matter what.”

“Of course I will.”  Now she was crying, and Regina couldn’t stop, even when Robin stood to pull her into his arms.  She _hated_ crying, hated being weak, but she just couldn’t stop.

“We’ll try your plan first.  Even if we manage to lock Zelena away, there’s nothing that says we can’t use the potion if we want to—and nothing that says we have to.  But if we can’t catch her, will you do me the honor of carrying my child?”

Regina just nodded, her feelings welling up and making her want to sob.  She couldn’t trust her voice, but at least with Robin, she didn’t have to.  She just cling to him, her love for him warring with the ever-present knowledge that she didn’t _deserve_ this, and she never would.

* * *

 

He’d decided to teach Belle something complicated to get her mind off of her worry that she’d suddenly wake up evil one day.  Besides, giving her a challenge that actually was difficult to complete was becoming, well, challenging.  Rumplestiltskin was beginning to think that his mother might have been right about the source of Belle’s power; it was clear that she hadn’t inherited the whole of the White Faery’s strength, because her limits were far below his own, yet the _flavor_ of her magic was definitely not the same as her grandmother’s.

“So, I just imagine where I’m going and I’m there?” Belle asked skeptically.  “No…splinching or anything like that?”

“This isn’t _Harry Potter,_ dear.”

She gave him a look.  “You haven’t read that.”

“No, but Bae and Henry made me watch the movies.  All _eight_ of them, if you recall.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to scowl, but a fond smile wormed its way onto his face, anyway.  Who would have thought a trio of movie nights with his son and grandson could be so much fun?  “I know what splinching is.”

“You loved it.”  Belle snickered. 

“The movies were all right,” he allowed, but they both knew what she was talking about, so he didn’t argue.  Not when he’d enjoyed those movie nights so damned much, even with Henry trying to get him to read the books (which, of course, Bae had done long ago) and Bae making fun of his magic all the while.  “Now.  Teleportation.  _Focus._ ”

“Okay.”  Belle drew herself up, and he could almost feel her concentration.  “Where am I going?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “Wherever you want.”

Teleportation had been easy for him to learn as the Dark One, but then he’d had power and magic to burn.  _Not that I knew what I was doing, or that the myriad of voices inside me were terribly good teachers when it came to technique,_ he thought wryly.  Rumplestiltskin had come by much of what he’d actually _learned_ about magic the hard way, and he was determined to give his wife a magical education that he’d never had.

Trusting blue eyes turned to him.  “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Belle squeezed his hand, and her eyes narrowed in concentration.  It took a moment longer than an experienced and confident sorceress would need, but after a few seconds, Rumplestiltskin felt the familiar _tug_ of being teleported, and found himself standing—none too steadily—in their bedroom.  The world wobbled as he caught himself, automatically using magic to compensate for the disorientation.  Belle, however, didn’t fare quite so well, and she wound up sitting in an unimpressive heap on the floor before she could regain her balance.

“Ooof!”  Her yelp was a little distressed, but the look she gave him was downright excited as she jumped to her feet. “I did it!  I teleported!”

“And neither of us were reassembled with our heads facing the wrong direction, either,” he teased her, earning himself a swat on the arm.

“I thought you said that couldn’t happen.”

“No, I said you couldn’t leave body parts behind.  I remember being quite specific, actual—”

Belle cut him off with a kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and her body pressing against his in ways that _definitely_ weren’t conducive to him being a proper mentor.  Fortunately, at least this time he’d done things in the opposite order of his last disastrous teacher-student relationship.  He was _already_ married to the pupil whom he found utterly irresistible, and they’d already hurt one another grievously.  _Never again,_ Rumplestiltskin promised himself for the thousandth time, holding his wife tightly as she pulled back with a happy laugh.

“You’re impossible, Rumple.”

He smiled, and was able to say something that he would never have been able to say even six months earlier: “You like me this way.”

“I do.”  Belle bonked her finger against his nose lightly.  “ _Most_ of the time, anyway.  Sometimes you’re very annoying.”

“Says the woman who ordered _how many_ books off of that damned website last night?  And I know which one of us is going to get roped into helping with the sorting, shelving, and inventorying of said books, too.”

Belle pouted.  “Baelfire said he’d help.  Henry, too.”

“Oh, so now we’re using child labor, are we?” He gave her his wickedest grin, and was pleased to see her face go red.

“Rumple!”

A pillow smacked him in the face, and Rumplestiltskin almost grabbed it to throw it back at her before he realized that Belle _wasn’t standing near the bed._   That made his smile turn from teasing to proud in an instant.  “You did that with magic!”

“I—I guess I did.”  Belle blinked.  “I…I just _wanted_ to, and then it hit you.  I barely thought about it.”

“Sweetheart, that’s—”

“Horrible,” she cut him off.  “What if I did that with something else?  What if I hurt someone?  What if I hurt _you_?”

Quickly, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward to wrap his arms around his suddenly distraught wife.  “You’re not going to hurt anyone, Belle.”  She started to shake her head, obviously intending to voice a denial, but he got in first.  “If the worst thing you do is throw a pillow when you’ve _thought_ about doing so, I think we’re doing all right.  Better than all right.”

“But I could do so much worse.  What if I get angry?  What if I turn out like _her?_   I don’t think she started wanting to hurt people, either.  Grandfather keeps talking about how I’m their heir, and what if Morgan is wrong?  What if I’m Black Fairy through and through?”

“You aren’t.”

She pulled back to glare at him.  “You don’t know that.  People change.”

“Not that much.  Belle, I know your heart.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward again, reaching out to gently put a hand against his wife’s chest.  He could feel her heart beating, quickly and fearfully, and he squeezed her right shoulder with his other hand.  “You are strong and brave.  You find goodness where there should be none left, even in others.  Someone capable of as much love and as much kindness as you are is not inherently evil.  Magic will not make you like her.”

“But it means I could be.  Not the magic.  Just being me,” she whispered, leaning into his chest with a shudder.  Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around her again, stroking Belle’s back gently.

“Anyone can choose evil, but evil isn’t born.  It’s made.”  He kissed the top of her head.  “You are what you _choose_ to be, Belle.  No one decides your fate but you, remember?”

“Throwing my lines back at me isn’t fair.”  Her voice was muffled by his chest, but he could still feel her unease.

“No, it isn’t.  But I can tell you, with no bias at all, that your magic is _light_ magic, Belle.  It’s not darkness.  So long as you want to be good, you will be.”

Her voice was tiny.  “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”  Magic had a way of holding you to your vows, Rumplestiltskin knew, but that was a chance he was willing to take.  He knew Belle, and as he’d said, he knew her heart.  He could feel the goodness in her, could feel her fighting against even the _possibility_ of embracing darkness.  Her fear was actually rather healthy, and would keep her from ever indulging in the types of magic that had sent Regina spiraling so far downwards (magic he’d pointed Regina at and would never even hint at Belle trying).  But Belle wasn’t Regina, and she wasn’t Cora or Zelena, either.  She was herself, strong and true, and Rumplestiltskin would stand by her no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Eight—“Shadows of the World Appear”, in which Killian tries to help trap Zelena with disastrous results, Mordred pays the Blue Fairy a visit, Rumplestiltskin frets, Henry and Emma make a startling discovery, and Emma meets a stranger.


	58. Shadows of the World Appear

Mordred was not the only one who had used magic to build a fortress; Danns’ a’Bhàis had simply been more subtle.  While every eye was on the typically medieval castle that Arthur’s son built, she quietly created a maze of caverns and tunnels underneath the settlement that Camelot’s inhabitants had come to call their own.  Some of those that had moved out of the camp were even talking about moving _back_ there, forming a sort of secondary town away from the rest of Storybrooke, once they had jobs and a way to finance the building.  Others lingered at the refugee camp, refusing to leave the safety and security of the one place that made sense in their strange new world.

Lancelot had heard a number of Camelot’s peasants discussing just that possibility when he’d been hiding amongst them.  Now, however, he dwelled in a cell underneath the very settlement he’d wanted to protect, hidden away from the people who had once helped him.  _“Guinevere” never forgets a betrayal, does she?_ he thought sadly, staring at the dirt walls of his subterranean cell.  _I wanted to save Arthur—my friend, my_ brother _, my King—from her.  Little did I know that he knew everything she was, and he_ wanted _that._ He and Mordred had both been wrong, so long ago.  But even Morgan had believed Arthur had to be innocent.  Even Morgan had thought better of him than _this_.

“Comfortable, old friend?”  Leave it to Arthur to mock him.

Lancelot didn’t even bother to get up.  “I feel more honest than I did at your court, so yes.”

That earned him a sneer, which Lancelot was rather pleased to see.  “You could have had _everything_ at my side.  Instead, you tried to betray me—”

“By sleeping with your wife?” He snorted. “I hate to disappoint you, Arthur, but I was hardly the first.  That ‘Duke Cador’ who everyone claimed was her uncle, for example, turned out to be fae, and he spent far more time in her bed than I did.  Even Merlin did.”

“If you think I care about marital infidelity, Lancelot, you never knew me well at all,” Arthur retorted.  “I offered you the world, and you spat on me.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes.  “You offered me the chance to watch you enslave the rest of humanity.  That’s not much of an offer.”

“You stole my daughter!”

“Yes, I did.”  Finally, he met Arthur’s gaze.  “And I don’t regret it for a moment.”

* * *

 

He’d thought spilling the potion Regina had given him on Zelena would be easy.  Generally speaking, Zelena was hardly the most observant person in the world, or at least not when she thought she was safe.  She’d been lounging around Mordred’s castle, which gave Killian the perfect opportunity to ‘trip’ and spill the stuff on her when he was walking by—but things never seemed to work out the way he wanted them to, did they?

It was a damned shame, because his aim had been right on, and he’d even let go of the vial while he was busy catching his balance, all the better for it not to be blamed on him if Zelena noticed.  Regina swore up, down, and sideways that Zelena wouldn’t feel the potion hitting, but apparently she wasn’t as much smarter than her sister than she’d thought she was.  Zelena was on her feet, the clear potion frozen in the air like so much ice, before Killian could even catch himself, whirling around to face him with that sadistic smile on her face that he hated _so_ very much.

“Whatever are we doing, _love_?” Zelena sauntered forward as the potion hung in the air between them, screaming his guilt for all and sundry to hear.

Of course, there was also the lovely problem of the fact that there was no one else in the bloody room.  It was just him and Zelena, because he’d been trying to leave this damned castle of his uncle’s after making nice with Mordred.

When in doubt, bluff.  Killian just shrugged, gesturing at the magic.  “That’s more your area of expertise than mine.  I’m just a sultry-eyed pirate with crazy uncles.  Magic’s not exactly my forte.”

“Are you trying to say that you didn’t bring that with you?”  Her blue eyes were too wide, too innocent, and Killian knew that she wasn’t buying his act for a moment.

Still, what other choice did he have?

Not a damned thing, really.  _Uncle, this would be a_ really _excellent time for you to stop experimenting with that shiny bauble and come down here._   Hell, at the moment, he’d have settled for his Uncle Crocodile.  At least the cranky old bastard hated Zelena, too.  _Hey, look!  We finally have something in common!_

“I generally try not to toy with such things,” he replied as casually as he could.  “Magic’s never done me much good, after all.  Lost me two loves of my life, killed my brother, trapped me in a _nasty_ little world with the most childish serial killer ever, and—”

“And this would have tracked me—or am I supposed to think it was meant for the floor, which travels _so_ frequently—wherever I went.”  Zelena made an exaggerated effort at studying the still-hovering liquid.  “Regina’s spell-work, I think.  Are you still being friendly with my nauseating little sister, pretty boy?”

“I’d hardly call us besties.”  He shrugged. 

“Oh, I keep forgetting that you’re trying to be part of that adorable bumbling clan she calls her own.”  Zelena laughed, and the sound reminded him of the idiot seagulls who had followed his ship everywhere.  _Unfortunately, she’s smarter than the birds, Killian,_ he told himself dejectedly.  _I’ve gone and doomed myself with this one, haven’t I?_ He was going to have to talk very quickly to get himself out of this mess.

“You might want to watch who you insult,” he reminded her as casually as he could, gesturing back the way he came.  “Your protector back there seems to be of a mind to help those same people, so it might behoove you to stop making everyone hate you.”

“But being hated is so much fun!”

“Really? I’ve found it gets rather old.”  Killian really didn’t understand this woman.  She whined about Regina having everything, yet at the same time made zero effort to follow a path that might actually earn her friends or respect.  “You have realized that being a villain is only rewarding when you’re winning, right?  And despite that crock about the scales being tipped against villains, the truth is pretty simple: you actually have to _try_ to be something different in order to earn something better.”

Zelena rolled her eyes.  “You were much more fun when you were dark and sultry instead of gray and preachy.  Still, I suppose you’ve played your part, haven’t you, Captain Butterfingers?  No one will miss you, now, and a spell of Regina’s making is a _perfect_ way to end you.” 

Giggling, she materialized a goblet out of thin air and let the still-hovering potion fall into it.

“What are you—”

“Open wide!” Zelena flicked a finger at him, grinning manically, and Killian’s jaw popped open, cracking painfully and cutting him off.  “Now, this potion is one of those funny things that would be labeled with a skull and crossbones if it was a cleaning product under your sink.  Appropriate for a pirate, don’t you think?”

He tried to reply, but his jaw was held achingly wide open, and the objection just sounded like “Nurmph!”

However, Killian was smart enough to know that he could get out of there and had someone else fix his face, so he started backing away from her as quickly as possible.  Mordred wouldn’t let her shove that down his throat, particularly if it was as toxic as Zelena was hinting at.

“Stand still, now.”  Just like that, his feet stopped moving, and Killian tried to swear in frustration.  This time, the sound was even less intelligible, but Zelena clearly saw his frustration as she stepped forward, the goblet looming over his face.  “Oh, don’t complain.  It’s only going to be a messy and _painful_ death.  Though it’ll be sadly short, but I can’t complain when dear sis was kind enough to make the potion for—”

“That’s quite enough.”

Zelena froze, and Killian tried to laugh with joy.  He’d hoped for Mordred, but he hadn’t thought about his _grandmother_.  He’d realized that Morgan was fiercely protective over her brood—even when she didn’t know them—and he was willing to bet that his wily grandmother could wipe the floor with Zelena any day of the week.

“You can’t stop me!” The reckless words seemed to come out of Zelena’s mouth before she’d stopped to think, and she backpedaled quickly.  “I wasn’t actually going to kill him.  I just wanted to scare him a little.”

Magic tingled along his jaw, and suddenly Killian’s mouth and feet were free.  He snapped the former shut and slid several steps sideways away from Zelena before he looked at his grandmother.

“I don’t suppose you could do something equally nasty to her, could you?  I find myself on the less magical side of the family tree, alas.”

“She’s with child.”  Morgan looked like that fact really pissed her off, but Killian supposed that she had a point.  And it wasn’t _Robin’s_ kid’s fault, anyway.  The poor tike deserved a lot better mother than this crazy monster.

“Pity.”  Killian sighed.  “I suppose there’s always next time.  Even this one can’t stay pregnant forever.”

“She can’t stop me!” Zelena broke in, throwing the goblet down in fury.  The potion splashed everywhere _except_ the annoying redhead, of course.  _Damn it all.  Even her temper tantrums don’t help me out._

“Go away and whine like a child somewhere else,” Morgan commanded, her eyes dark and dangerous.  “If you continue this behavior, you will _not_ be welcome here.”

“That’s not your choice.  This isn’t _your_ castle.”

Morgan snorted.  “No, but Mordred is my son.  If he has to choose one of us to listen to, which do you think he will pick?”

Killian smiled.  “And don’t think I won’t be telling him, either, _love_.”

Zelena just stormed out, and they watched her to go together.  Killian hadn’t been entirely sure what to make of his grandmother before that moment; his thoughts of her were always fairly overshadowed by Mordred’s presence.  Yet his first instinct had been to like her, and he was very glad that he was right.  Mordred’s moral compass might have been stuck pointing somewhere other than true north, but _Morgan_ seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.  Maybe he should ask her about his father, see what type of truths that Mordred had been avoiding.

“Are you all right?” Morgan asked after a moment, and Killian shrugged.

“Takes a bit more than that to frighten me.  I’m a survivor.”

Her smile was thin, and a little sad.  “Surviving isn’t the same as living.  Take it from someone who knows.”

“Aye.”  The knowing look on her face made him swallow hard.  Killian had done a lot of that, hadn’t he?  Oh, he greeted every day with a grin and a saucy quip, but that wasn’t the same as living.  He’d _thought_ he was truly living with Emma, but he actually had listened to what she’d said. 

Emma thought they weren’t good for one another, and maybe she’d been right.  Maybe the fact that he’d shoved down his own misdeeds and refused to face them, pouring himself into a relationship because it was the only light in a world that had been dark for _so_ long, was a sign of that.  He’d been a good man, once, and he’d thought that being around Emma—so strong, so true, and so damned _good_ —could make him one again.  But that wasn’t her challenge to meet, and he had fallen in love with her because…because of what?  Because he’d wanted to?  Because he’d been looking for an excuse, for a way out of an existence that had become miserable but he wasn’t brave enough to walk away from without a “good” reason?

_There are only two things I’d risk my life for: revenge and love._ He’d said those words so often that he’d come to believe them, but he hadn’t ever just been talking about risking death, had he?  No, he hadn’t wanted to change for anything less than revenge or love, either.  Looking back on things, that was damned foolish of him.  Surviving wasn’t _living_.

“We can come back from that, right?” he asked his grandmother a little desperately.  “Even when it all becomes empty, there are ways to learn to live again, aren’t there?”

“I’ll let you know.”  Morgan’s smile turned wry.  “But I do believe so.  Perhaps we will find out together.”

“Perhaps.  I would—I mean, it’s nice to have family.”  Killian cringed when the words came out; they sounded utterly empty and lame.  But Morgan reached out and squeezed his elbow, anyway.

“It is.  Now, let’s get you away from here before our favorite temper tantrum returns.”

“Can’t you do something about that?”  Mordred clearly wasn’t ready to kick Zelena overboard, but Killian had seen how he listened to his mother.

She chuckled.  “Who says I haven’t?”

* * *

 

He was surprised that Reul Ghorm had not kept him waiting longer.

From everything his mother had always told him, the Blue Fairy was opinionated, narrow-minded, and was arrogant enough to call herself humble.  Mordred had never actually _met_ Danns’ a’Bhàis’ counterpart, who had stayed away from Camelot after the ideological split between herself and the Black Fairy, seemingly content to let the humans believe “Guinevere’s” lie.  _Either that, or her sister was powerful enough to_ make _her stay away,_ he reminded himself, recalling the deep and thick magic that had been wrapped around the kingdom he’d won via bloody conquest.  Mordred had done everything he could to burn it away—literally, in many cases, using dragonfire to scorch the Black Fairy’s influence from the realm—but he had never been able to chase away all the traces.

That didn’t matter, now, though.  Camelot was gone, thanks in no small part to that portal his great nephew had opened.  _Merlin left it for him.  Again, that damned Sorcerer ruined_ everything _, just like he did with Nimue._ Mordred tried not to snarl as the Blue Fairy walked calmly into her nicely appointed office.  _And he didn’t even have the courtesy to warn us when he became the Dark One, either._  

Those days were long behind him now, though.  He would destroy the Dark One in due time, but first, he would do as his mother had asked.  Mordred was here to face off with their real enemy, and to do that, he needed reliable allies who would do what had to be done.

“Mordred.  It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”  Reul Ghorm did not offer her hand, and nor did he expect her to.

He simply nodded in return.  “Likewise.  I fear I have waited too long to make your acquaintance, particularly when our purposes are so aligned.”

“Are they?” One eyebrow rose.

“Unless you have decided to stand with your sister and would suffer the Dark One to remain in this world, then yes.  We are quite aligned.” 

Mordred had never believed in talking around an important subject, and this was _the_ most pressing matter their world faced.  The Black Fairy had been content to remain in the shadows thus far, but he was not so much of a fool to think she would still do so.  His mother was determined to work with his new “brother” and the town’s so-called heroes, but Mordred knew their type.  They would lose, particularly since his mother now apparently lacked the stomach to be sufficiently dispassionate.  _She wasn’t always like this,_ he thought sadly.  _Once, she would have gritted her teeth and done what was required, no matter how unpleasant._   Now, however, Morgan was uncharacteristically hesitant, and Mordred still couldn’t puzzle out why.

“It appears that we are, then.”  Blue folded her hands, facing him fully.  “Is there a reason why you have come now?”

“I realized that my mother may be biased where you are concerned.”  He was certainly not going to tell her that August Booth had pointed him in this direction; if Blue didn’t already know that, Mordred was not going to volunteer.  “What has passed between the two of you is no concern of mine.  I am my own man.”

“Of course you are.”  Her smile was kind enough, he supposed, even if it did set Mordred’s instincts on edge.

Would she make him say _everything?_   Mordred bit back his annoyance with an effort.  “Your sister has a man’s heart.  It is clearly only her opening move, and we both know what she wants.”  

“Alas, we do.”  Finally, Blue seemed to show some emotion.  “She must be stopped before she can gain too much power—and before she can free the fae.”

“I agree.  Do you have a plan?”

“Of course.” 

Mordred waited a long moment, but Blue said no more.  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself not to make demands of her; after all, he was here as a friend.  And she was an original power.  “Is this a plan you care to share with an ally?”

Now she frowned.  “No.”  Blue’s gaze was steady as she met his eyes.  “Not yet.  I have no proof, King Mordred, that you truly fight for the same cause as I.  Until I have such proof, my plans will remain my own.”

“And what such proof do you need?”  Was he a child to need to _prove_ himself to this fairy?  Mordred wanted to snarl at her, and had barely been able to keep his voice civil.

“Bring me the Heart of the Truest Believer, and then we will talk.”

Mordred almost laughed aloud.  Something that simple would be easy to do.  He knew why she needed the heart, of course; he’d been the one to pull Gwaine’s heart out when Gwaine had volunteered it for this very same cause.  _My brother was willing to make that sacrifice.  So too must whomever the new Truest Believer is._   “Done.  Do you know who it is?”

And Blue told him.

* * *

 

There was no way around this kind of situation when one chose the path she had, but Maleficent didn’t have to like it.

The saddest part about it was that Geppetto seemed like a nice old man, the type that she—even during her worst days!—would have done her best to avoid hurting.  Really, he reminded her of her own father, who had been, contrary to what stories about her said, a kind and gentle man who had been murdered before his time.  Maleficent had loved him dearly, and she still missed him, despite the many years that had passed.  But she had to put that out of her mind to do this, because she had decided to ally with the Black Fairy.  _You made your choices.  Stand by them,_ she told herself firmly.  Danns’ a’Bhàis was not the sort whom you suddenly decided to break an alliance with.  Maleficent was not a fool.

So, she slipped in through the back door of Standard Clocks, moving up behind Geppetto and ripping his heart out before he even knew she was there.  It was easier if she did not have to look at his face.

“Go visit your friend Doctor Hopper,” she ordered him without preamble.  “He has a bloody shard of glass.  You will bring that to me, without telling anyone I have your heart.”

“I—but I—why are you doing this?” the poor old man stuttered, looking like he might have a heart attack any moment. 

Ruthlessly, Maleficent squashed any feelings of pity.  “Do as you’re told.”

“I—of course.”

“You will forget this when it’s over,” she added more gently. 

At least she would be able to give Geppetto his heart back afterwards.  The Black Fairy was not interested in keeping him under control; if she had been, she would not have tasked Maleficent with this.  Briefly, Maleficent wondered why she wanted the blood at all—or whose it was—but she’d known better than to ask that question.  _I don’t think I_ want _to know, anyway_ , she told herself firmly, watching Geppetto walk out of the room.  She’d keep an eye on him through his heart, of course, and stop him from saying anything foolish.  Assuming he tried to, which he probably couldn’t.

She would make him forget this afterwards.  That would keep them both safer, and then poor Geppetto wouldn’t have to live with being her enslaved errand boy.

* * *

 

“You’re pacing again.”

“I am not—” Rumplestiltskin cut himself off with a sigh.  “I am, aren’t I?”

Belle smiled slightly.  “Yes.”

He was supposed to be giving her a magic lesson, but Belle didn’t blame her husband for his nerves, even if the way he was erratically wandering around his workroom did drive her a little mad.  Since it was Sunday, that meant neither of them had work, and they’d decided to stay home.  Rumplestiltskin’s uncharacteristic nerves, however, were caused by something that Belle knew he found far more frightening than the thought of having a quiet and relaxing day together.

“It’s just…”  He shook his head, trailing off, and Belle stood up to squeeze his hands.

“She’s your mother, Rumple, not a demon.  And you’re only having her over for dinner.”

He grimaced.  “I think I’d rather the demon.  At least I’d know what to do with one of _those_.”

Belle couldn’t help laughing.  “You’re adorable when you’re so worried.”  Gentle teasing usually jolted him out of his little funks, and she could tell he was torn between glaring at her and smiling.  So she leaned in and kissed him gently.  “You’ll do fine.  You’ve talked to her how many times, now?  Six or seven?”

“Eight.”  She could see him swallow hard.  “I think.”

“It’ll be fine.”  Belle squeezed his hands again.  “She cares about you, Rumple.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t leave you to do this alone.”

His voice went tiny.  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Moving closer, Belle wrapped her arms around his waist.  “It was your idea, and you’ll do fine.  You need a chance to get to know her.”

Besides, her husband was far stronger than he thought he was, and Belle knew that.  Oh, he’d gotten much better at using the courage she knew always lay beneath his prickly exterior, had learned to be brave much of the time, but being worried about spending time with his long-lost mother was perfectly natural.  _Even if it’ll be good for him.  For both of them, probably._

Belle had come to like Morgan rather more than she’d expected to.  Of course, Morgan’s gentle manner with Rumple—and the fierce caring streak she’d exhibited in her own awkward way—went a long way towards endearing her to Belle.  The older woman was sharp and canny, though, with an independent intelligence that Belle found easy to admire.  Morgan was straightforward, too, at least in her relationships, and she really did remind Belle of her husband.

“I know,” said husband whispered, holding onto her tightly.  “I just…I just wish I’d known her all along.  I wish…”

“I know.”  Belle just hugged him.  Had Morgan been there, everything would have been different.  Rumplestiltskin’s entire _life_ might have played out differently if he’d had a parent who actually loved and wanted him, and Belle’s heart bled for him when she thought about all that could have meant to him.

But he had that now, and they couldn’t change the past.  All they could do was move forward and live.

* * *

 

“So, I was thinking that maybe we could hold a fair or something,” Henry suggested as he and Emma walked down the street, munching on some chips that he’d talked her into buying at the store.  They were just hanging out, like they once had, and being so close to her son helped Emma quiet the voices in her mind so much that she almost felt _normal_.

“A fair?” she repeated, throwing him a doubtful look.

“Yeah.  Towns do that, right?  I mean, we could even make it a Renaissance Faire, and have jousting and everything, right out of the Enchanted Forest.  People would probably love that!”

Emma almost choked on a chip.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Her son just grinned brilliantly.  “Why?  It’s not like people here don’t know how to put on armor and joust, and it would be _really_ cool.  And maybe it would let the people from Camelot feel like they belonged.  They probably need that.”

The later was undoubtedly true, but just _thinking_ of those people brought someone else to mind, and Emma did _not_ want to think about Guinevere.  _The Black Fairy_.  She had seen too much in her predecessors’ memories, had seen too many of them controlled by the Black Fairy.  Merlin had hated her and loved her almost as fiercely as he had feared her, but the others had simply been terrified of her.  Even the mention of Camelot made Emma think of its queen, and that always made a shiver run down her spine.

“Mom?  Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”  Emma tried to smile.  _What do you do when she attacks you?_ one of her predecessors—one she didn’t have a name for—pressed.  _You can’t overpower her, and fool that you are, you’ve refused to take any useful sort of leverage._ Resolutely, she shoved the voice aside, but mocking laughter kept echoing in her mind.  “I’m fine.”

“ _Mom_.”

“Really.  It’s just a bad day with this thing, okay?  Some days aren’t…normal.”

“Can I do anything?”

Emma shook her head immediately.  She didn’t like sharing this mess with Henry; he was her _son_ , the light in her life, and he didn’t need to be burdened with this darkness.  Emma knew that Henry thought otherwise, that he wanted to help, but part of her job as a mother was to protect him, even from herself.  And besides, _she_ was the Dark One.  For better or worse, she’d taken this on willingly.  “I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if I can help?”  The hope in his voice made Emma stop cold, and she swallowed hard, looking Henry’s solemnly trusting face.

_There’s no helping you, dearie._   Now _that_ voice sounded suspiciously like Rumplestiltskin used to.  Did she have a piece of _him_ in there, too? That thought made her shudder.  _You are what you are._

“I’ll do my best,” she whispered.  _Don’t make promises you can’t keee-ep!_

“I love you, Mom.  No matter what.”  Abruptly, Henry hugged her, silencing the voice and making warmth rush through Emma as she hugged him back. 

_I can do this.  I can fight it, as long as I remember what I’m fighting for,_ she told herself.  Emma let out a breath, centering herself.  “I love you, too, Henry.”

Even that couldn’t banish her fears, though.  Those lurked beneath the surface, toxic and terrifyingly logical, telling her that if so many of her predecessors had been enslaved, what would stop the same from happening to her?  Common sense said that she had the dagger as protected as it could be, always carrying it with her, but what if the Black Fairy picked a fight and took it away?  Emma had encountered her terrifying power once, and she knew that she’d lose that battle, no matter how hard she fought.

She could give it to someone else, but the very thought—

“What’s that?” Suddenly, Henry pulled away, and the voices slammed back into her.

_Make yourself a willing slave?_ another Dark One she didn’t know demanded, but it was Rumplestiltskin’s voice, again, that told her: _They mean well, but they always break your heart.  Because you deserve it._

_They can’t make you better._ Nothing _can make you better; you’re the Dark One._ Nimue’s voice, soft and persuasive, came next: _Embrace it, and she can’t stop you.  She’s not enough alone, not if you truly become the darkness._

“Mom, over here!”

Henry’s shout snapped her back into reality, and Emma turned to see where Henry was crouching next to the wall of Storybrooke Bread.  He’d rushed into the parking lot while she’d been distracted, and once Emma saw that he was next to someone lying prone, she hurried over.

It was Sidney Glass.

“What the hell?”

Henry looked up at her, his eyes wide. “He’s not breathing!  Can you help him?”

She couldn’t say no, not to her son.  _The price, manage the price,_ Emma thought desperately, quickly using magic to look Sidney over and figure out what was wrong.  She couldn’t think of any way to mitigate the price, though—because she _definitely_ wasn’t going to let Henry pay it!  She could demand something of Sidney once he was awake, couldn’t she?  After all—

_Oh.  Damn._

Emma bit her lip.  “He’s dead, Henry,” she said softly.  “I can’t bring back the dead.  Magic can’t do that.”

“You’re sure he’s dead?” Henry, ever the optimist, checked for a pulse, but she saw his frown when he couldn’t find one.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”  Emma swallowed again, ignoring the dismissive voice in her mind.  No, she didn’t really care about Sidney, either—he’d been a real pain in the ass lately—but that didn’t mean that _any_ death wasn’t wrong.  _Better him than someone useful, though._   But there wasn’t a mark on his body, either.

A flick of her hand revealed the worst: someone had crushed his heart.  And Emma knew _exactly_ who everyone was going to blame.

_I sure as hell hope Regina’s got an airtight alibi, or we’re about to all be in one hell of a mess._

* * *

 

“She’s figured it out.” Lily leaned against the wall inside Storybrooke Bread, and Arthur liked the way she smiled as she watched the Dark One.

“But not who killed him, I trust?” he had to ask.

Lily shook her head.  “Mom says that you can’t tell _who_ crushed a heart, only that it was crushed.  Not that she knew why I was asking.  She’s still a little squirrelly about betraying Regina.”  She shrugged.  “I guess they were friends, though you wouldn’t have known it from how Regina treated me.”

“This town does seem to have a very _interesting_ version of a clique mentality.”  Arthur wasn’t even saying that just to egg Lily on, although he would have if he hadn’t agreed.  Maleficent’s daughter was a little volatile and extremely bitter, and she needed to be played just right.  At least until both mother and daughter were firmly on their side, anyway.  But Lily was a good ally to have, as was her mother, which meant they were both worth the effort—and worth being loyal in return, too.

Arthur knew most would consider him a villain, and he knew that there were many who would deem him insane for having taken the risk of marrying the Black Fairy.  But he _knew_ his wife, and he knew that her purposes were far better served by having a human at her side.  It would make the rest of humanity far more tractable if they thought one of their own was there to ‘protect’ them, and there was power to be had in that role.  Oh, he knew that she’d originally wanted Merlin to be by her side, but Arthur’s old mentor had refused her, and thus wound up as her slave.  _He was a fool.  He could have had_ everything, _and instead he stood on principle._    Yet principles were a luxury only the powerful had.  And he had always preferred to be a king rather than a pawn, which was all he would have been had he not accepted Guinevere for all she truly was.

Lily just snorted.  “That’s a nice way of putting it.”  But her sneer softened as she looked at him.  “Have you had any luck figuring out who my father might be?”

“Other than some Pendragon somewhere?” Arthur didn’t bother to try to hide his honest frustration; Lily wouldn’t think less of him because of it, and being honest was the way to keep her on their side.  “My family split in my grandfather’s generation, some choosing dragon form and some human.  They used to live in the mountains outside Orkney and Camelot, but Orkney was destroyed, and now Camelot is gone, too.”

“So, is that a no?”

“Pretty much, yeah.  But the dragons must have gone _somewhere_.”  Arthur hadn’t turned into a dragon since the war with Mordred, and he didn’t really relish the idea of doing so again.  He rather preferred his human form for _many_ reasons, but appearing as a dragon was properly terrifying for anyone on the receiving end of dragonfire.  So, that particular talent of his did have its uses.

The fact that he’d passed it onto his son, however, was _not_ one of them.

Lily looked a little like she didn’t dare hope.  “Do you think they came here?”

“No one saw them come through, but they might have chosen human form to avoid attention.  I think…I think my wife may know a spell or two to help find them, assuming you and your mother are willing to donate a scale each.”

“Why us?  Can’t you do it?”

“It will take three.  Dragons are notoriously difficult to find.”  Arthur couldn’t help grimacing; tearing scales off _hurt_ , and it would leave him bruised for weeks.  But at least Gwen knew how to do so safely.  And even if his wife was a bit of a sadist, at least she kept that streak of hers well away from him.

* * *

 

Emma dropped Henry off at Regina’s after the ambulance took Sidney’s dead body away—finding out, of course, that Regina was home.  Robin was there with her, but they both knew that the idiots of Sidney’s mob wouldn’t believe for a moment that Robin wouldn’t lie for her, and Roland was too young for his testimony to be useful.  For once, Emma was glad that she was no longer the sheriff, because that meant she could freely tell Regina everything she knew.  At least then she could give her friend a fighting chance.

_They’re going to assume_ you _killed him if not Regina,_ a voice inside her whispered.  _You know how these people are.  They’re short-sighted, terrified, and—_

“Shut up!” The words snarled out of her as she walked down the street; she didn’t want to drive.  Walking should clear her head, and her house wasn’t far from Regina’s, anyway.  “I don’t _care_ what you think.”

“Now, what was that?”

Whirling around, Emma found herself face-to-face with someone she’d never seen before.  He was a tall and bony man, with long limbs, white-blond hair, and startling blue eyes.  Had he not worn such an arrogantly confident expression, Emma might have called him _beautiful_ , because he was one of the single best-looking men she had ever seen in her life.  Not that she was attracted to him—rather the opposite.  There was something in his bearing that made her chest tighten warily, something that made her want to step away.  _Or do murder._ Her instincts, and not just the darkness, were screaming for her to get away.  _No one would know if I killed him.  There are_ _no witnesses here, and_ I _don’t need to leave a body behind._

_Down, you_ , Emma told the darkness, and then remembered that whoever-he-was had spoken to her.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”  She started to turn away, only for him to catch her arm.  Emma glared at the offending hand, but he didn’t let go.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You are the Dark One, yes?”  Those blue eyes were frighteningly intense, and Emma finally managed to jerk away.

“If you’re the last one in Storybrooke to figure that out, buddy, you’ve been living under a rock.”

“Storybrooke.”  He spoke the town’s name slowly, like he was seeing how it tasted on his lips.  “Is _that_ what this place is called?”

Emma stepped back, giving the stranger a second look.  He was dressed strangely, she realized, not quite like he was from the Enchanted Forest, but almost like an odd cross between Storybrooke and the land of fairytales.  _I think this is what Henry would call ‘steampunk’, or something weird like that._   Her kid really was too fond of all kinds of stories, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Yes.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be.”  _And I don’t want to murder you, so bugger off._   She gestured south.  “Town’s that way.”

He caught her wrist, the fool, and Emma couldn’t stop herself.  Her left hand, free as it was, came up, and magic slammed into the stranger.  He stumbled back, gasping in pain, and Emma couldn’t stop the nasty grin.

He only cocked his head curiously, catching his balance with ridiculous ease.  “I would think you’d be better behaved.”

_“What?”_

“Forgive me.”  The laugh was light yet somehow condescending.  “I search for your Lady, as she is mine as well.  Where might she be?”

“Are you drunk?”  _Did I hit him that hard?_   “I don’t have any ‘lady’, so why don’t you just leave before I do something only one of us will regret?”

“You _are_ a feisty one, aren’t you?”  Suddenly, he loomed forward, reaching out to touch her face.  “I _do_ like that in a Dark One.”

Emma jerked back, but he moved with her, and something snapped inside her.  She knew how to stop him, knew how to make the bastard keep his hands to himself.  He needed a lesson, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to indulge the darkness once in a while.  She had to pick her battles, after all, and power was rolling through her, dark and delicious and terrifying.  The fool tried to touch her again, and Emma let him this time, snarling and moving _closer_.  Her hand snapped out, seeking his heart—

But he vanished in a cloud of silver smoke before she could grab it, leaving Emma alone with her anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Nine—“She Has Heard a Whisper Say”, in which Killian and Bae run into Mordred, Maurice tries to convince Belle to see her grandparents, Rumplestiltskin and Morgan share dinner, Regina tries to patch things up with Maleficent, Emma goes to Bae for help, and Danns’ completes a certain potion.


	59. She Has Heard a Whisper Say

 

They’d decided to go out for drinks while they tried to puzzle out their family tree the same night that Killian failed to spill the potion on Zelena, but somehow the idea of drinking in Granny’s was just a bit too much.  So, they wound up heading out to the new Italian place not far from the docks, which was a great idea until Bae and Killian got waylaid by the moronic marina manager, who was passed out, drunk, and bleeding from the way he’d managed to bash his head on the way down.  By the time they’d finished waiting for the ambulance to arrive and listened to a long-winded drunk rant by the newly-woken Mr. Fischer (who apparently hated “that bloodsucking leech who thinks he’s entitled to the profits”, aka, Bae’s father, who owned the marina), the urge to go have fun had died down a little.

“You know, I don’t think he likes your father very much,” Killian commented with a grin. 

Bae snorted.  “I think the remarkable thing is that he likes Pop less than _most_ people in this town.”  He shrugged.  “Even though he’s different now, we all know he’s not going to win any popularity contests.”

“Just between you and I, the difference is, well, remarkable.”  The way Killian glanced down at his—apparently well-behaved—left hand wasn’t lost on Bae.

“Yeah.  He’s a lot more like he was, just without the constant beat-down that life used to give him.  I, uh, know you and mom were, well, together and all, but she and Pop were a really bad fit.”

Killian surprised him by laughing.  “He was too nice for her, I imagine.”  Now he shrugged.  “I loved your mother, Bae, for what she was.  And she wasn’t looking for a _nice_ man.  She was angry and bitter, and wanted someone who had a burning fire to pull the world apart at the seams and burn the remnants.  I felt the same.  We fit.”

“Let’s _not_ go into any greater detail than that, all right?  I really don’t need details on my mother’s sex life.”  The mental images of the two of them were bad enough; centuries might have passed, but the idea of the man who had become his friend and his _mother_ was just a bit disturbing.  

“Aye.  I suppose you don’t.”  Killian’s grin faded after a moment.  “Speaking of love lives…you haven’t asked me about Emma.”

“I didn’t really think it was my place.  She told me what happened.”  Bae took a deep breath.  “Just as friends, I mean.  That’s all we are.” 

The last thing Bae wanted was for Killian to feel like Emma had made her decisions based on him, because she _hadn’t_.  So far as Baelfire could tell, Emma wasn’t thinking of him in any romantic way, and although he’d have probably given up a limb or two (theoretically speaking; he didn’t envy Killian the pirate’s previous disability) to have her look at him like that, Bae was pretty certain that it wasn’t going to happen.  Hell, like he’d told Emma, any second try they’d gone for might have been a disaster, anyway.  He’d always love her, both for the teen he’d met so many years ago and for the woman she was now, but sometimes love wasn’t enough.  People changed, and that was all right.

“I suspect I played a part in that, to be honest,” Killian said after several seconds of silence.  “I pressed her, you know.  When you were dead and gone, I didn’t give her space.  I wanted her _so_ badly—wanted what she was, as much as who she was—that I stepped into the gap I knew was there.”

“Hey, man, I was dead.  I can’t really blame you for it.  If I ever was competition, I was definitely out of the running at that point.”  And he didn’t blame Killian, either.  Bae might very well have done the same thing in his shoes, because when you loved someone so damned much, leaving them to hurt alone was impossible.

“Sometimes I feel like she got involved with me because I was the only one left.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.  You know—”

“No, I don’t.”  Killian cut him off and then turned to face him, his expression sad.  “Whatever happens after this, after Emma is no longer the Dark One—because I _have_ to believe we’ll get her through this—if she’s going to choose me, I want it to be a fair contest.  Not a win by default.  And if Emma is right, and I bring out the worst in her…well, I want someone to be with her who will bring out her best.”

That made Bae blink.  Hard.  “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Well, you could say that you believe I’m an utterly irresistible god of romance who would win _any_ fair maiden’s heart, but that might be a bit overboard.”  Killian grinned suddenly.  Bae knew what he was doing, turning to humor as a defense mechanism, but since he often did the same thing, he went with it.

“Keep saying things like that, and I’ll throw _you_ overboard!”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bae snorted with laughter.  “You don’t wear a sword these days, so I bet I could take you.  I fight dirty.”

“I’m trembling in fear,” his cousin retorted.  “I think dirty tricks run in the family, Bae.  Look at all of us.  Even Henry’s inherited that trait.”

“True enough!”

“Well, then in that—” Killian’s grin died abruptly.  “Speaking of family, our mutual uncle is approaching.”

“Got a nickname for him yet?”  Bae turned to look, and sure enough, there was Mordred, walking towards them in a ridiculously perfect suit, with his curly black hair coiffed and flawless.  The man seemed to be even more of a diva than his own father, and Bae was _really_ glad that he didn’t seem to have inherited that family trait.  _I’ll take the dirty tricks any day._

Killian blinked.  “Come again?”

“Well, you’re calling Pop ‘Uncle Crocodile’, so I figure you’ve got to have _something_ else up your sleeve.”  He couldn’t resist the cheeky comment, even when it made Killian glare half-heartedly.  It was loud enough for Mordred to hear, but what did he care?  The last time he’d met his uncle, that same uncle had been calling him an abomination and trying to kill him.

“Uncle.”  Killian greeted Mordred less stiffly than Bae would have; he was already contemplating pulling a Henry and speed-dialing his father.

“Killian.”  Mordred’s nod towards Killian was friendly, but his gaze seemed to freeze a bit when he turned to Bae.  “Baelfire.”

“Hi.  You gonna try to kill me this time, or is it time to kidnap my kid again?” He spoke as casually as he could, but there was no hiding the edge in his voice.

Interestingly enough, Mordred grimaced, holding his hands up to show they were empty.  “I come in peace.  My mother would have us not be at odds.”

“Yeah, it’s great to know we’ve got a kind and loving grandmother, but I’m more interested in finding out if you’re going to be Uncle Kin-killer or not.”

“Oh, that’s bad.”  Killian grimaced.  “Crass, and not even funny.  Wipe those words from your mind and never utter them again.”

“You’re right.  That was pretty awful.  How about we just stick with ‘Uncle Monomaniac?”

Killian grinned.  “Aye, I’m rather fond of that one.”

“Do I get a vote in this?” Mordred asked, looking rather pained.

“Probably not.”  Bae shrugged.  “Are you done with the attempted familial murder?”

Mordred scowled.  “Yes.”

“Well, then maybe.  But I don’t think Killian gave my dad a vote on ‘Uncle Crocodile’, so it might just be the cleverest and funniest sounding thing that we can come up with.  Probably with Henry’s help.  Or we’ll stick with Uncle Monomaniac.  It does fit you pretty well.”

Mordred took that better than Bae expected; really, he’d been needling his new uncle to see how he might react.  Bae had spoken to Morgan enough times to know she was smart and had a decent sense of humor—and an exquisite sense of revenge when it came to Zelena, too.  Mordred, however, had ignored the family’s efforts to get to know one another, and he’d thought that was a pretty good sign.  Yet the expression on Mordred’s face reminded him a bit of his father in weird ways.  It was the one that said he didn’t know what to do with this social interaction and needed someone to bail him out, not the one that said he wanted to murder someone.

“I can see you’re a welcoming bunch,” Mordred said after a moment, his back the same kind of stiff that Rumplestiltskin’s was around people who hated him.

For a moment, Bae almost felt sorry for his uncle, at least until he remembered that the man had tried to kidnap his kid, lock Emma in the Vault, and then kill him.  _Yeah, but he didn’t manage, and if I hold that against him forever, nothing’s going to change, is it?_   Sighing, he tried to be a little friendlier.  “You didn’t exactly introduce yourself in the nicest way, you know.”

“To be fair, I had no idea we were related.”

“Does that make so much of a difference?” Interestingly enough, the question came from Killian, but Bae had been wondering, too.

“All the difference in the world.”  Mordred seemed to be honest, too, but Bae wasn’t sure he was quite ready to believe that.  Mordred’s expression twisted up in another grimace.  “I am sorry.  For whatever that might be worth.”

“It’s a start.”  He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying not to think about how this man had called him an abomination.  Mordred hadn’t apologized for that, Bae noticed, but like he’d said, it was a start.

Fortunately, Mordred didn’t stay long, because after that awkward conversation, Bae really did need those drinks.

* * *

 

“Do you really mean to give your grandparents so much the cold shoulder, sweeting?” Maurice asked while they shared dinner.  He’d cooked, which Belle found sweet but a little off-putting; somehow, her father’s mediocre cooking was really turning her stomach tonight.

At least she had awkward conversation to distract her.  Maybe she’d eat something else when she got home later. 

“I feel like they aren’t being honest with me,” she replied carefully.  _Papa would definitely tell them.  He means well, but…_ If Belle was a poor actress, she knew her father was even worse.  And she wasn’t sure if Arthur and Guinevere’s charm bonanza was turning Maurice’s head, or if her grandmother had used some sort of magic on him, either.

“They’re a tad old-fashioned.”  Maurice’s smile was amused.  “I think they mean well, but they look at you and see the ten-year-old daughter they lost, not a grown woman.”

Belle bit back the urge to groan.  “I _still_ think they might know where Lancelot is.”

“I asked Arthur, and he said he didn’t know.”

“He said.”  Belle pushed her plate away.  “They both say a lot.  I…I just remember how Lancelot was with Mother, and how much she trusted him.  I’d like to get his side of the story before I let them paint him as a villain.  Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does.  Now, why aren’t you eating?  Do you feel all right?”

Belle made herself smile.  “I’m fine.  I just ate a big lunch, that’s all.”

* * *

 

After dinner, Rumplestiltskin finally decided to broach the subject that he’d been burning to ask about ever since the realization had clicked in his mind.  Morgan had already proven a surprisingly welcome guest, and although their conversation had started stilted and uncomfortable, they’d found common ground quickly enough.  She’d told him about Camelot, about growing up and being one of humanity’s greatest sorceresses in an age where fairies and fae both commonly married humans and warred over who had more influence.  In return, he’d told her about his aunts, about the town he’d grown up in, and being a spinner.  She’d been surprisingly interested in the latter for someone who had grown up a princess, and Rumplestiltskin hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he hadn’t spun since being Zelena’s captive.

Thankfully, she hadn’t pressed when the topic clearly made him uneasy, and that gave him the opportunity to ask his question.

“So…I had a sister?”

 Morgan blinked.  “You knew?”

“Merlin lingered for quite some time.  I spoke to him about many things…and I, uh, might have inherited some of his memories.”  Rumplestiltskin winced a little.

“I hope not that!”  His mother looked properly mortified, at least.

He definitely agreed with her on that front.  “Not yet.  And hopefully not ever.”  He shrugged.  “They tend to be of a more relevant nature, anyway.  Creation of the Dark One, memories of Danns’ a’Bhàis, that sort of thing.”

Morgan let out a breath.  “Good.”

“Tell me about it.”  He knew his laugh was awkward, but Rumplestiltskin _very_ much didn’t want to see the conception of his much-older sister, particularly when it was his mother sleeping with the man whose memories he had somewhat inherited, and who had shared his body for a time.  _That would be…disturbing._

“Yes, you had a sister.  I named her Viviane, after my grandmother.”  Morgan’s smile was sad.  “She…my husband killed her, but I know who pushed him that way.”

“Who?” The surge of anger he felt for a death that had happened centuries before his own birth was not entirely logical, but Rumplestiltskin thought he would have _liked_ to have a sister who was like Morgan and Merlin both.  He’d come to respect, if not like, Merlin, and his mother was growing on him in terrifyingly wonderful ways.

“Danns’.”  She met his eyes as he felt a cold chill run down his spine.  “She loved Merlin.  So did I.”  Morgan laughed softly.  “He only ever really loved Nimue, though he was hardly _shy_ about sharing his affections before she came around.  But she could not stand the fact that I had his child and she did not.”

“Why didn’t she?  Clearly she could have a child.”

“Merlin knew her too well.”  Morgan shrugged.  “He always used to say that he liked Danns’ very well for what she was, but he was not going to create a child who would someday be forced to choose between the two of them.”

“Because he chose humanity over her.”

“It came down to that, yes.”  She sighed.  “I fear my actions may have contributed as well.  I…I was not there.  I allowed myself to be distracted by a rumor, and I spent years searching for the Black Fairy when she was married to my stepbrother the entire time.”

“Because of…Viviane.”  The name sounded strange on his tongue, but Rumplestiltskin thought it was a sad kind of nice.

Morgan nodded, her dark eyes glistening a little.  “Yes.  I loved Merlin, even though he never returned my feelings in the same way.  And I loved our daughter.”

“Your husband killed her.”  That husband had to be Hook’s— _Killian’s_ —grandfather.  King Lot, Rumplestiltskin recalled.  Now there was a man who history hadn’t even bothered to portray as worthwhile, even if his son Gwaine had apparently been much better.  _And the Truest Believer_ , Merlin’s ghostly voice whispered.  Was that important, or was it merely a strange coincidence that Henry came from the same line as Gwaine?

“Yes.  I released the darkness—the very same darkness that possessed you previously, and now Miss Swan—on him, thinking that I could control it.  I could not, and Merlin paid the ultimate price for that.  As did Nimue.”

“More than anyone else, she has become the darkness.”  He remembered Nimue far too well, and could still easily imagine the sound of her voice.  She hadn’t known what she was getting into, no more than he had, but Nimue had taken that darkness on when it had been raw, unshaped by _anyone’s_ humanity.  Had she tempered it?  While time passed, had it absorbed some of Nimue’s humanity, and become _less_ toxic?

“She was a good person.  Young and idealistic.”  Morgan’s smile was wistful.  “Nimue was actually Mordred’s best friend.”

“Is that why—?”

“Why he hates the darkness so much?  Yes and no.  It’s why he feels it must be destroyed, certainly.  Mordred saw what it did to Nimue, and he believes that if she couldn’t beat it, no one ever will.  Not even the Savior.”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “I may have made her into that.”

“You silly boy.”  The hand that landed on his arm startled him.  “A Savior was always going to come, someday.  You simply put the right events into motion and chose _her_.”

“I—I’m not sure that makes it less my fault.”

Morgan shrugged.  “We are what we are.  I fear you may have inherited my penchant for being at the center of things.  There will always be those who manipulate events—I believe that the Authors have called us ‘Architects’.  There must be at least one in every story arc.”

That made Rumplestiltskin blink, and then think of the annoying author who was still locked up in the asylum while Rumplestiltskin and Regina decided where they were going to let him live.  “Who was the author in your time?”

“Some loquacious monk known as Brother Gilbert.  He wasn’t the worst of his kind, though he was prone to embellishing heroic events.”  Morgan chuckled, making herself look years younger.  “Not as bad as yours, from what I’ve seen.”

“I hope you don’t mean Henry.”  He knew she didn’t, and it was strange to tease his _mother_ , but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t quite resist.

“No, of course not.  I’d never insult my great-grandson like that.”  Morgan grimaced slightly.  “Though I have to admit I did not expect to find I had a great-grandson.  I’d barely begun to hope for grandchildren.”

Her words made something stir within him, something he needed to know.  “You didn’t expect to find any of us, did you?”

“Oh, no.  Not until Henry opened my book of prophecy, and I realized that someone of my blood had to be alive.  I expected that it would be someone descended from you once I knew it wasn’t Killian, but…I was surprised.”

“If it’s any consolation, I knew Henry for eleven years before I knew he was my grandson.”

“That must have been pleasant.”

“Well, let’s just say that no one has gotten the guts up to host a Thanksgiving dinner for the whole family,” he replied dryly, and did not expect to watch Morgan’s eyes suddenly gleam with mischief.

“Thanksgiving.  That’s the holiday where everyone sits down to an obscenely large dinner, isn’t it?”

Mouth open, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at his mother.

“That sounds like a _challenge_ ,” she said, glancing around.  “I’d say your home is big enough for it, wouldn’t you?”

“I—”

“And I’m _sure_ that Belle would think it’s a wonderful idea.  As would Henry.”  Morgan grinned at him, and Rumplestiltskin suddenly realized how outnumbered he was.  She squeezed his arm.  “Unless you mind.”

“I’ve…I’ve just never really fit in with most of them,” Rumplestiltskin admitted softly.  “I was the Dark One, and now I’m…well, most of them still aren’t sure how much of the darkness was me, and how much of what I am now is a lie.”

Her smile turned gentle.  “Perhaps we can work on that together.”

* * *

 

“I’m feeling a bit…energetic, dear.  Would you mind terribly if I found myself a new toy?” Danns’ had no intention of _not_ doing as she pleased if Arthur demurred, but she thought it was polite to ask.  Besides, her human husband had never told her no before.  He knew what she was, and was perfectly content to keep her less-kind attentions elsewhere.

Arthur did, however, blink in surprise. “I thought you’d use the Dark One for that.”  He gestured at the potion simmering on the coffee table between them.  It was silver and just beginning to bubble; the spell would not need much longer.  “Isn’t that why you’ve had Maleficent fetch her blood?”

“Emma Swan may have better uses than to serve as my entertainment.”  She shrugged.  “I have plans for her in the short term, anyway.”

“Then play away, dearest.” Arthur didn’t look concerned, but there was no reason for him to be.  Not unless he stopped being useful in his current form, anyway; Danns’ had chosen carefully when she’d aligned herself with him, and Arthur was as ambitious, amoral, and ruthless as she could ask for.  Hurting him would have been counterproductive, and it probably would have negatively impacted their love life, too.

So, Danns’ gave him a genuine smile, but one that for a moment assumed she needed his _permission_ to do as she wished.  “I am grateful for your understanding, as always.”

“The pleasure is mine.”  Arthur snorted.  “Or, more accurately, _yours_.”

“Indeed it will be.”  She started to turn back to her nearly ready potion—the last ingredient necessary was young Henry Mills’ blood, waiting on the stained shard of glass holding lying on the table next to the crystal bowl the potion brewed in—but a knock on the door stopped her.  Danns’ breath caught, true excitement running through her.

“Who would visit at this hour?” Leaving his own chair, Arthur strode over to the door, his handsome face a scowl.

Danns’ merely smiled, rising to greet her old friend and companion.  “Nuckelavee.”  She breathed his name with a smile.  “I had not expected you.”

The lanky, white-blond fae knelt before her to kiss her hand, barely sparing Arthur a glance.  “My Lady.  My Queen.”

“You have escaped the realm my sister shut you in?”  Her heart was beginning to beat faster; Danns’ had always _hoped_ that her more resourceful fae might find a way to gain their freedom, but over three centuries had passed since Reul had locked them away.  She had regained her own powers shortly before their untimely return to the Enchanted Forest when the first curse had been reversed, and Danns’ had spent the year there unsuccessfully searching for her people.

Reul Ghorm had her fairies, but Danns’ a’Bhàis had her fae.  She did not _need_ their power to rule, but with it, she would be unstoppable.  And Nuckelavee was the most powerful of them all.

“I did.”  Nuckelavee rose, smiling his thin smile.  “The others await your call—we had enough strength to free one, and thus I came.”

“You know where they are.”

Now his face fell.  “Not precisely.  I could not lead another there, although I _do_ know who could.”

“Tell me more,” Danns’ commanded, and Nuckelavee did, speaking of the Author—a nonentity whom Danns’ had never bothered to concern herself with before.  Now, however, this Isaac was simply fascinating.  She would have to visit him, soon.

* * *

 

Her old friend was almost impossible to track down, and Regina ended up spending hours waiting in Maleficent’s home before Mal even bothered to show up.

“Most people knock.”  Mal’s voice was dry, but the droll look she gave Regina was unsurprised.

“Most people return phone calls from old friends.”

“Are we friends?” Maleficent cocked her head.  “I can’t quite recall.  I seem to remember you asking for my  help—in antagonizing Rumplestiltskin, not an action undertaken lightly—and then abandoning me for your dull stepdaughter and her family.”

Regina jerked back, surprised by the whisper-soft bitterness in her friend’s voice.  “I didn’t _abandon_ you.  We had a crisis on our hands!”

“I called you four times, Regina.”  Cold eyes met hers; Maleficent crossed her arms.  “Yes, you had a new Dark One on your hands.  Such a crisis.  _That’s_ never happened in the history of our world—except, oh, wait.  It happens once a century or so.  Longer if we’re waiting for Rumple to kick it.”

“Emma isn’t just _any_ Dark One.  You know that.”  Regina wasn’t sure how she’d wound up on the defensive, not when she’d come to Maleficent to re-kindle their friendship, ready to try to bridge the gap that had opened between them.

“Yes, she’s one without any inherent darkness of her own, because _her_ natural darkness is inside my daughter.  I hadn’t forgotten.”  Maleficent’s eyes flashed.  “A daughter who _your_ precious friends took from me.  I thought you would understand—one mother to another—why I have been desperate to help her.  I was wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong!”  Taking a deep breath, Regina struggled to find words to explain how everything had gotten so out of control.  “Look, I do understand.  And I do want to help you.  I’ve been distracted—by Emma, by Snow’s death, by this ridiculous merger with Camelot, by my _insane_ sister running around with Robin’s child inside her, and now by the fact that we have the goddamned Black Fairy in town.  And I’m sorry.  I should have returned your calls, but I’m here now.  I want to make things right.”

Regina had always been crap at apologies, so she really hoped that Mal knew how hard that was to say.  But she’d needed to, because she knew she should have been there.  _I shouldn’t have used her daughter’s blood for ink, either,_ she knew.  _I was just stupid and desperate, and if I hadn’t done the legwork, Isaac would never have been able to write his stupid alternate world, either._  That had been a world where Maleficent and Lily were separated, too, she realized suddenly.  No wonder Mal was angry.

“It’s too late for that.”  Maleficent sounded more resigned than sad, though, and that said far too much.

“Is that why you didn’t ever step forward to tell anyone that you knew I wasn’t the one to kill George?” Regina asked around the lump in her throat.  “I never thought I’d owe my freedom to Ruby Lucas, not when you knew, too.”

Maleficent shrugged.  “It’s complicated.”

“Why?  Why now?  I get that you’re angry, but unless you’ve suddenly decided to strike out as the town’s next ‘Big Bad’, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly against me.”

“I’d make a terrible evil overlord, dear.”  The smile was thin.  “But I must put my daughter first, no matter what.  As you should do with your son.”

“ _What_?  I know you didn’t just threaten—”

“Of course not.”  Maleficent took her by the arm, and led her towards the front door gently but firmly.  “I would never threaten Henry.  But you should keep an eye on him.  Be watchful.”

Regina twisted to look at her friend as the door opened in front of them, her heart sinking.  “Why?”

“That’s all I can say.”

“Mal, what have you done?” she whispered, but only received a slight headshake in return.

“Goodbye, Regina.  Take care of yourself, and your boy.”

Regina found herself standing on the doorstep, blinking and struggling not to break something in her suddenly heartbroken fury.  Maleficent was her oldest friend aside from Rumple, and she thought she knew her.  Oh, they’d cursed one another a time or two, and Regina would be the first to admit that she’d screwed Mal over more than once, but that had never been an issue before.  Was it now?  She couldn’t tell if it was her own actions or the fact that Maleficent had a daughter that had changed everything.  Her stomach was a mess of nauseous pain, and she almost whirled around to pound on the door and shout at the world until Maleficent provided answers.

But Regina knew Mal too well to think that might ever work, so she walked away with a heavy heart, instead.  Hours passed before she even stopped to wonder why Mal hadn’t so much as blinked when she’d said that the Black Fairy was alive, and by then, she was half asleep and the thought slipped away before she could write it down.

* * *

 

The next morning, Belle woke with a surprising need to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet.  After doing so—and washing her mouth out a half-dozen times—she felt much better, and was able to crawl back in bed without thinking too much of it.  She figured it was the pasta, and was too sleepy to worry much.  Rumple got up early that day, heading out to the shop to do inventory with Henry, and she just gave him a tired smile and a kiss before trying to get another few hours’ sleep.

Once she wound up in the bathroom _again_ , however, Belle started to get a little worried.  Her father wasn’t that bad of a cook, even if the sauce he’d made from scratch had made her stomach want to turn inside out.  Taking a shower made her feel a little better, though, and then she headed over to Game of Thorns.  If it hadn’t been his cooking, there was definitely something to worry about, but logic said she should check with her father before she got Rumple involved.  Belle’s own magical senses were still developing, but she liked to think that she’d know if someone had tried to curse and/or poison them with magic.  _Maybe he just used bad tomatoes,_ she thought, pushing the door to the flower shop open.  _It wouldn’t be the first time that Papa missed something obvious like that._

Even Sir Maurice could be ridiculously oblivious sometimes; he’d been good at war and a decent ruler of his lands, but minute details had always been left to her mother.  Later, Belle had taken on that mantle, managing the household and dealing with many of the tenants’ problems, too.  Maurice had never had much of a head for figures, which was why he had young Digory working for him to handle the books. 

“Belle!  What brings you back so early?”

“Can’t I say hi to my favorite Papa?” Ducking around a display of roses, Belle studied her father’s face.  He looked hale and hearty, like nothing in the world could bother him.  Then again, he’d always had a great constitution, and her mother had joked more than once that Maurice could eat bark instead of bread and never notice the difference.

“I’m always glad to have you, my girl, but I doubt you’re missing me after we ate together last night.”  Maurice wasn’t the idiot Moe had been, though, and that was nice.

Belle smiled wanly.  “I just wanted to check up on you.  Dinner didn’t sit so well with me, and I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“Hale as horse, of course.”  He laughed at his own joke while Belle tried not to cringe.  The curse hadn’t done anything for her father’s blunt sense of humor, unfortunately.

“Of course,” she echoed, wincing as her stomach tried to tie itself in another knot.  But the urge passed. This time.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Papa.  I’m sure that it’s just something about the sauce.  My stomach’s always been a little sensitive to tomatoes.”  Belle shrugged. “How are sales going, anyway?  I meant to ask you last night.”

“Wonderful!  Digory here is a whiz with numbers, and…”

Belle listened to her father ramble, thoughts of her upset stomach fading away rapidly.  Of course there was nothing to worry about.  She felt fine after another hour or so, and by the time lunch rolled around, she was ravenously hungry.  Whatever the problem had been, it seemed perfectly fine by mid-afternoon, so Belle put it out of her mind.

* * *

 

For some reason, meeting in the park on weekdays had become their habit.  Emma wasn’t sure how it had started, but she always wound up sitting on the swings, and somehow Neal— _Baelfire_ —always ended up joining her there.  They hadn’t actually talked about it, but they just kept finding themselves on the swings, talking about everything and nothing.  They only came when kids were at school, of course, often after one or the other of them had dropped Henry off on the days he wasn’t with Regina.  Their three-way parenting was working out fairly well so far, even if none of them had ever bothered to set up an actual schedule. 

_Maybe we come here because our first ‘date’ was on one of those circle-swing-ride-things,_ Emma mused.  This wasn’t a date, of course, and they brought their own coffee, but it was nice to do something familiar.  Even when she was a guilty mess that just wanted to lash out and kill someone.  _He won’t blame you if you do,_ the darkness whispered enticingly.  _Tell him you can’t stop yourself.  See if he’ll take the brunt of it to save others._

No.  Emma was going to focus on the _good_ things in her life, not on the horrible evil busy chewing on her soul.

_Yes, like you focused on the good last night.  Just like that._

“So, anyway, Henry thinks that since he talked Pop into watching _Harry Potter_ with us, he can get him to watch _The Lord of the Rings_ next,” Bae said with a grin.  “He wants to invite your dad over, too, though, so I told him that he might want to pick something a little more action packed.  What kind of movies does David like, anyway?”

“I almost ripped someone’s heart out last night.”

The words tumbled out of her without warning; Emma had meant to say that David was more the _Fast and the Furious_ type than the high fantasy watcher.  Her dad seemed to like mindless action movies with cards smashing into things, but her mouth didn’t seem to want to talk about normal things.

“Shit.”  He’d never been one to mince words, had he?  “Did you do it?  Did you hurt anyone?”

“No.”  Emma scowled, trying not to be offended at the blunt questions.  She swallowed, her voice turning small.  “But I wanted to.  He disappeared before I could.  I was going for his heart when he teleported.”

“What happened?”

Somehow, his direct attitude was easier to deal with than anyone giving her pity because of the darkness _she_ had chosen.  “He kept getting into my personal space.  Kept touching me, talking about his lady.  It was weird.”

“Then he teleported.  Damn.”  Bae scowled.  “We’ve got a new mysterious magic user, right when we haven’t figured all the _old_ ones out.  The fact that he thinks baiting the Dark One is a good idea is downright fantastic, too.”

“I would have killed him if I could.”  _Stop complaining.  You_ like _this, and you know it._   With an effort, Emma pushed the darkness aside and met Bae’s eyes.

“Not sure I could blame you if he was being that much of a jerk.”

“Nea—Bae—that’s not funny.”

“Didn’t mean it to be.”  He shrugged.  “Look, if you’ve got half a working brain and grew up in the Enchanted Forest, you know that antagonizing _any_ Dark One is just a creative way of committing suicide.  For a dude who’s got magic, that’s got to be doubly obvious.  He was doing it on purpose.  Don’t let it get at you.”

“I guess so.”  She still felt guilty, though.  Emma was supposed to be _better_ than this.  She’d been the Savior, and a part of her still wanted to be.  She didn’t _want_ to give into the darkness like that, not even when someone creeped her out and made her reach for it instinctively.  “I hate this.”

“I know.”  Bae bumped his shoulder into his.  “And I don’t mind if you call me Neal, you know.  Or even Nealfire, like you did the other day.  So long as you don’t confuse me with your baby brother, it’s all good.”

His crooked smile startled a laugh out of her, and Emma shrugged. “It’s your name, right?”

He shrugged. “Ruby goes by Ruby.  I can go by Neal.”

“Ruby says ‘Ruby’ is sexier than Red.”  Emma gave him a look.  “Not a great example, unless you think ‘Neal’ has a sudden and new sex appeal.”

“Well, it’s done more for me than ‘Baelfire’ has.  Do you have _any_ idea the looks I got when I tried to use that name in this world?” He laughed.  “It was crazy.  Didn’t take me long to wise up, though I went through a couple of names before I settled on Neal Cassidy.  Coming here from Neverland was crazy, though.  I felt about three hundred years old, but everyone treated me like I was a little kid.”

“Is that how you wound up in a stolen car in Portland?”

“Nah, that was a bit later.  I guess I was about seventeen then—or, it’d been about two years, anyway.  I picked a date for my false ID that made me a lot older, ‘cause by then I’d figured out I couldn’t get a job, otherwise.”  He yawned, and Emma finally noticed his bloodshot eyes.

“Are you hungover?” Emma asked incredulously.  She _knew_ that look, the one that said he’d drunk too much but was trying to pretend he hadn’t, and if he wished hard enough, the headache would go away on its own.

“A little.  Killian and I went out and tried to draw our family tree on the wall with darts.  Worked pretty well.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Well, it worked well ‘till we got down to our generation, anyway.  Then it got confusing.  I drew little caricatures of everyone, but trying to figure out if Regina was going to be Henry’s stepmother or his step-great-grandmother was too much for our little drunk brains.  Did you know that you’re also Henry’s step-niece?”

Emma could only stare at him.

* * *

 

If David hadn’t been driving by the second time, he might not have noticed at all.

But one tended to notice the man who had tried to kill your grandson and lock your daughter away in a vault with nothing but darkness for company, so when David spotted Mordred wandering down the street, he definitely took note.  He was driving his rounds in the squad car, though (the truck was still in the shop), so David just filed that away mentally and then headed over to get Mrs Carabas’ cat out of a tree.  By when he passed by the pawn shop a second time about an hour later and Mordred was _still_ in the vicinity, David started to wonder.

So, he stopped the car at the corner and tried to follow Mordred’s gaze.  It didn’t take long for Henry to cross the street on the way back from Granny’s, carrying a bag of takeout past where Killian was helping Geppetto rebuild the outdoor seating area.  Mordred’s eyes didn’t follow Killian, however; no, he was obviously watching Henry.  Seeing that made David’s eyes narrow.  He’d had it with Arthur and Mordred messing with his family, and while he wasn’t some magic user who could curse Mordred into next week, he was the sheriff.  For the moment, that would have to be enough.

Putting the squad car into park and turning the ignition off, David stepped out of the car as Mordred watched Henry head back into the shop.  _At least I can guarantee Henry is safe in there,_ David thought wryly.  From what Henry had told him, Mordred’s last encounter with Rumplestiltskin had ended pretty badly for the usurper (?) King of Camelot.  Having Rumplestiltskin fully on their side was a pretty nice change, and it was nice to be able to count on the wily old bastard to have their backs.  Particularly when David was going to have a chat with Mordred.  At least he figured that Mordred was smart enough not to try doing something to him out on the street, particularly if he just wanted to talk.  _If he does try anything, well, at least that’ll tell us exactly what he is and he won’t have any excuses to hide behind._   David figured it was worth the risk, and walked up as casually as he could.

“Find something interesting?” 

Mordred turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed slightly and back ramrod straight.  “Is it a crime to walk about your town?”

“Hardly.  But most people don’t keep staring at the kid they threatened to kill.”  David had never been one for subtlety, so he figured that he’d just hit the problem head-on.

“Ah.  You are the Dark One’s father.”  Mordred looked contemplative.  “A former king and now sheriff.  Fascinating.”

“Yeah, I’m Henry’s other grandfather.”  David ignored the rest; he had a feeling that Mordred liked to distract people with his silver tongue.  “And I don’t really take kindly to you lurking around him, given what happened the last two times you sought him out.”

“I…I mean the boy no harm.”  Mordred looked away, appearing slightly hesitant.  “He is…family.”

David crossed his arms.  “Something tells me that you’re not the kind of guy who lets a distant relation stand in your way.”

“You might be surprised.”  A wince.  “But I can understand why you would not trust me.  I will leave, I promise.”

“You do that.”  Maybe he should be nicer, but David couldn’t bring himself to do that after everything that had happened.  He believed in second chances, believed in giving people a shot to make themselves better, but those opportunities needed to be earned.  So far, Mordred hadn’t shown any desire to do so.

But Mordred _did_ leave, giving David a stiff nod before walking away.  Feeling paranoid, David ducked into the pawn shop to make sure something untoward hadn’t happened, but Henry was there, eating lunch with his other grandfather and doing just fine.  Henry being Henry, he invited David to stay.  He hesitated, and then ended up sticking around, only to find himself invited to some _Lord of the Rings_ marathon that Henry was apparently planning.

Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin didn’t look like he was particularly keen on that idea, so begging off of ‘Movie Night with the ‘Stiltskins’ was easy.  And Rumplestiltskin even thanked him for it.

* * *

 

He had been in the subterranean cell for three weeks, as near as Lancelot could tell.  All the while, he’d been looking for a way out, hoping for some escape path.  At first, his food had all been delivered by magic, and the only human being he saw was Arthur when his former king came down to gloat.  But after a week or so, “Guinevere” seemed to grow more cautious with her use of magic, and loyal guards started delivering his food.

Eventually, patience paid off, and one of them opened the door when he thought Lancelot was sleeping.  That was all the opportunity that the disgraced knight needed—kicking the guard’s feet out from under him, he pounced on the larger man immediately.  A few moments’ tussle proved Lancelot more determined than his foe, who he left unconscious as he scrambled out of the cell.  He was cautious enough to grab the keys and lock his former guard in, after searching the other man for what this world called a “cell phone”.  He found the offending handheld thing—which he had no idea how to use—and slipped it inside his tunic.  Lancelot had watched Arthur use them enough times to understand that they were some sort of long distance communications device, and he preferred not to let his jailer call Arthur just yet.

He knew he wouldn’t have long— _she_ was bound to have magic watching the cell and would realize he was gone before much time passed—but every moment was another chance to warn those who could take her down.

This time he would avoid well-meaning doctors who had clearly had their hearts stolen, too.

* * *

 

The potion was done, and the required summoning spell nearly complete.  All Danns’ had to do was dip her hand in the swirling silver liquid, and the Dark One would be hers.

_As all should be._   Nuckelavee stood by her side; her oldest friend, her closest follower.  He had been with her since the beginning, had helped bend even Merlin to her will.  His loyalty was hers in an absolute manner that Arthur could never match, having been with her since the very dawn of magic.  He had been the first faery she had created, much like the so-called Cyan Fairy had been for her sister.  It was fitting that he should stand by her right now, when she took the first steps towards achieving her final goal.

“It is ready?” Arthur asked, and Danns’ gave him a smile.

“Yes.” 

Slowly, she dipped her hand into the liquid, ignoring the burning sensation.  She could heal the burns, could withstand whatever was required.  She was an original power, and this, painful though it was, could not kill her.  Channeling power into her palm, Danns’ reached out, focusing and stretching out towards the darkness she had once known so intimately.  She could feel the magic surrounding Emma Swan, could feel the chains that bound the former Savior to the dagger, the way the fragile human soul was enslaved so that a greater darkness could be checked.

Tying the Dark One to the dagger had not worked out exactly as Merlin had hoped.

_There._   Her magic, aided by the spell, _stretched_ , and then Danns’ pulled.  Just once.  Once was all it took.

Weight filled her palm, the additional touch sending prickles of pain racing up her arm.  But Danns’ did not care; she was already channeling healing magic through her hand as she pulled it free of the bubbling potion.  Her hand, momentarily burned, bony, and wasted, pieced itself together swiftly, the skin re-growing flawlessly.  Perfectly.  And in that hand lay the dagger of the Dark One, glimmering slightly in the light.

_Emma Swan_ , the blade read.

The Black Fairy smiled softly.  “Now it begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading! I know this story has long and has now departed from canon quite a bit, and it means the world to me to know that you’re still along for the ride. Speaking of which, I’ve just written a drabble/oneshot in this universe titled “Battles of Patience”. You can find it on my tumblr.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Nine—“A Curse is on Her if She Stay”, in which Emma realizes the dagger is gone, Mordred finally has had it with Zelena, Killian admits he didn’t manage to get the potion on Zelena, and Regina asks for advice from an old friend.
> 
> And for those of you who read ‘Original Powers’ and thought you recognized Norco at the end of the last chapter, you did! Nuckelavee is more or less the new iteration of Norco, with a bit more mythology thrown into his sadistic mix.


	60. A Curse is on Her if She Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence and mild torture in this chapter.

She had thought it was just her imagination, at first.  Then Emma had thought something must have gone wrong when she teleported home from the park.

She’d sat on those uncomfortable swings for hours, after all, talking about everything and nothing with Bae and somehow managing to forget (mostly) that she had a raging darkness inside her that alternately wanted to kill her ex-boyfriend and wanted her to screw him soundly.  Surely, when she’d lost track of time, she could somehow have lost track of the dagger, couldn’t she?  The alternative wasn’t something she could even bear _thinking_ about.  The dagger had to be in the park, had to be by the swings, and at least no one would go by there when all the kids were in school—

Except it wasn’t. 

There was nothing _there_.  Nothing at all.  Panic threatened to close her throat; Emma looked around, tearing up the dirt around the swings in her terror until it swept around her like a muddy tornado of power.  The wind around her whipped wildly, making the swing set shake and creak; one of the chains holding the rightmost swing broke, sending it spiraling off until the remaining chain wrapped itself around the forward leg of the swing set.  Emma, however, did not notice.

She could already feel a different set of chains wrapping around her.  The pressure didn’t seem as heavy as it had in the beginning, when her mother had had the dagger, but it was building.  Her breath was starting to grow short, and it was almost like blackness was closing in at the edges of her vision.  _Don’t you wonder who it is, dearie?_ the darkness mocked her.  _Whose slave will you be today?  Could it be the dear old ex, tired of reassuring you and playing nice?  He knows all about_ us _, so wouldn’t he be a fitting master?_

“No.”  The whisper escaped her before Emma could stop it, and she looked around once more—frantically—before teleporting herself back home.  She had to be wrong.  She couldn’t have lost it.  She’d had the dagger in the small of her back, and—

“Calm yourself.”

The voice came from behind her, but it echoed in her mind, a command as much as an idle comment.  Immediately, the darkness echoed it, mocking and terrified all at once: _Calm yourself.  Calm yourself.  How can you calm yourself?_  For once, Emma found herself in complete agreement with those voices, because she _knew_ that voice.

Terror made it hard to breathe, but Emma Swan had never hidden from any threat in her life, so she made herself turn around.  The Black Fairy stood watching her calmly, but it was the dagger in the other woman’s hands that Emma’s eyes fell upon.  _Emma Swan_.  Her name was on the side facing her, taunting her.  It glittered dully in the light of her kitchen, _her_ dagger.  Her soul.  _I only have once chance!_

Quickly, she lunged forward, magic filling her hands and power rocketing through her.  She had to take the dagger back while she still could, while the Black Fairy was overconfident and high on victory.  She could do it, too.  There wasn’t much distance between them, and Emma had always been a brawler.  Punching the smirk off that face would be a wonderful reward, too.  If she got the dagger, she could go to Rumplestiltskin, and as much as she hated needing help, she knew he’d understand.  All she had to do was get there—

“Stop.”

Emma crashed face-first into an invisible wall of her own magic’s making.  Her feet simply stopped obeying her commands, and when she tried to summon a spell to her hands, the magic just fizzled out.  “What the—?”

“Kneel.”

_Kneel._ The one word command sent her crashing to her knees, and as much as Emma wanted to, she couldn’t stop herself.  Her knees smashed into the hardwood floor, making pain shoot up and down her legs, but she barely noticed through the sudden _darkness_ surrounding her.  It was worse than being in chains.  Worse than being cornered, worse than being locked away with nothing but the darkness for company.  _This is your life,_ one of the Dark Ones whispered; she couldn’t tell who.  _You are now her slave._   _Kneel to her._ A chill ran through her, shaking her entire body as Emma strained to fight this hold—but she couldn’t even begin to rise.  It was like her limbs were someone else’s to command.  She tried again, _willing_ her feet to come under her body, but they ignored her.

Even when she tried to call magic to her hands, a twitch of the dagger made that fizzle out.  Digging deep within herself, Emma tried to banish her growing panic and fury, tried to reach for _her_ magic.  Surely the Black Fairy couldn’t control that, and if Emma could only find her own power—no matter how disastrous Rumplestiltskin had said it would be to do so—she could fight back.  _Think of something worth fighting for,_ she told herself desperately.  _Think of someone worth protecting._ Henry.  She could think of Henry, could pull his face up in her mind and think of all the ways that she loved him and would fight for him.  Almost immediately, Emma felt the warm thrill of light magic stealing through her, felt _her_ magic, not the darkness.  _I can do this.  I really can._

“Enough.” 

One word was enough to make a sudden flood of blackness engulf the light, snuffing it out and pushing it out of Emma’s reach.  _Enough._ Pain reared up on its heels, twisting in her gut like fire, and Emma cried out through gritted teeth.  Stubbornly, she reached for her magic again, only to find a wall of darkness blocking her reach.  Her head pounded wildly, but Emma kept trying, only to find the darkness growing stronger and stronger.  Her magic was _feeding_ it, and she could feel the darkness wrapping into parts of her that had previously been shielded, could feel it growing, claws digging deeper and deeper into her.  Frantically, Emma tried to push the darkness back, but her defenses would not work.

“Look at me.”

Her head snapped up, and Emma snarled.  The sight of the dagger in another’s hand was enough to break her—and it was infuriating.  Red danced across her vision, and she spat the words: “I’m looking at you.  Now what?”

“Ah, there’s my dear temperamental Dark One.”  The Black Fairy stepped forward, reaching a slender hand out and placing two fingers under Emma’s chin.  Immediately, Emma tried to yank away.  “No.”

_No._   The word echoed like it was bouncing around in an empty cave; was that all her mind was, now?  A blank slate, waiting for someone else’s commands?  _No._   Emma could not pull away, no matter how hard she tried.  _Commands don’t even have to be specific?  The dagger interprets her_ intent _, too?_

“You will never pull away from me.”  How calm the other woman’s voice sounded was unreal, and more than a little terrifying.  “You are now mine to do with as I please.  If you behave yourself properly, your existence will be a pleasant one.  If not, I will take you to depths of pain you never dreamt existed.”

Emma twisted her head to glare as best she could.  “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, lady, but I’m not the well-behaved type.  And I am no one’s slave!”

The dagger slashed down, slicing nothing but air, yet fire tore through Emma, sending her crashing to her hands and knees.  Sparks twisted up in her vision, and it felt like something _exploded_ inside her.  Darkness tore at her, _her_ darkness, ripping and clawing, turning on Emma like she had turned it on others.  She felt like her soul was being flayed to pieces, like she was being torn apart from the inside out.  Emma screamed.

And screamed.

* * *

 

She was really starting to get on his nerves.

His mother had been right about Zelena, and learning what the witch had _dared_ do to _his_ brother—never mind that Mordred disliked Rumplestiltskin and still felt that he was unworthy; the man was his brother and that was that—only put him more on edge.  He didn’t have to like the Sorcerer to admit that he was family, but unfortunately, that brought up the fact that the Truest Believer was his own great-nephew.  _And he’s dear to Killian; I noticed how they interacted,_ Mordred thought heavily, trying to push aside the raging headache forming between his eyes.  Of course, just when his mind turned to Henry, Zelena had to bring him up.

“It’s quite simple, really.  I don’t understand why you can’t see the _benefits_ of controlling the Dark One,” his houseguest sniffed, yet again wearing her welcome thin.  “Of course you can destroy her or do whatever you want, but we really should try to get some use of out of her first.”

“Like _what_?” he snapped, unable to stop his right hand from reaching up to touch the Greater Sapphire.  He wore it around his neck, as always, nestled underneath his shirt for safety, and touching it seemed to ease his headache a little.  “There is nothing the Dark One can do that I cannot.”

“Then why don’t _you_ get Merlin’s spell book and find the spell he used to bind the dagger to the Dark One?” Zelena smiled in what she probably thought was a beguiling way, but it just made Mordred’s head pound.  “I want that spell.”

He could barely summon up the energy to grimace at her.  “Why?”

“So I can get your brother out of the way for you.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

“No.”  The word ground out hard enough to hurt his teeth. _Of course I would like it, but I will not have any brother of mine enslaved like the Dark One, even if he_ was _that creature._ Mordred lifted his head to glare at her.  “And I won’t have you taking the boy, either.  Henry.”

“Why ever not?  He’s the perfect bait, as you’ve already discovered, and it’ll hurt Regina—”

“Oh, do stop with your incessant whining about your sister!  Can you not simply accept things the way they are and get _over_ it?”

“Says the man who spent days ranting and raving about having a new bastard brother?” Zelena shot back.  “You’ve complained more than I have!”

He felt like a giant was trying to hammer its way out of his skull.  Instinct made him try to quell the headache with magic, but all that did was feed his temper.  A stiff wind picked up, rattling the candlesticks to his right and making the table in the corner shake precariously, and Mordred barely caught himself before he did something regrettable to Zelena.  _Not that I’d regret it, but Mother would have my head if I hurt an unborn child.  Even if it is the spawn of this detestable creature._

“Yes, and I’ve learned to live with it,” he replied through gritted teeth, reining his temper in with an effort.  Pulling on the Greater Sapphire, using Circe’s power, seemed to be the only way to stop himself from exploding, but at least its cool power washed over him gently enough.  “I do not have to _like_ my relations to respect the fact that they are family.  Enough is enough.”

“Fine, then don’t do anything.  _I’ll_ do the dirty work, and then we’ll—”

“No.”

Zelena drew back as if he’d slapped her, and Mordred really wished that he had.  “What?”

“Your immature scheming has only served to distract me from my goals.”  Standing to meet her eyes, Mordred felt everything playing out in front of him, felt possibilities opening and power presenting itself.  Yes, he’d been distracted by Zelena—and by his own temperamental inability to accept the truth.  _No longer.  I cannot fulfil my destiny if I am my own worst enemy._   “I am finished with you.  Leave.”

“You can’t do that!  You can’t kick me out—where will I go?”  Finally, she seemed something other than foolishly overconfident, staring at him in alarm.  “Everyone in this town that didn’t hate me before I teamed up with you hates me now!”

“I don’t care.  But it won’t be here.”

Briefly, Mordred paused to wonder if Zelena might team up with his father and the Black Fairy.  That possibility presented a danger, but he didn’t think it an insurmountable one.  Besides, she would probably prove at least as much of a distraction to them as she did him, and if she didn’t, Danns’ was certain to be cold-blooded enough to be rid of Zelena in fatal ways Mordred found less than desirable.

“You can’t—”

“Get out.”

Drawing on the Sapphire—and oh, that felt sweet and right; his headache was almost gone!—Mordred let magic flow through him and change him.  He was absorbing more of it every day, and he was very nearly an original power, now.  He knew that, and so did Zelena.  They both knew that if she made an issue of it, she’d never be able to defeat him, so he only drew himself up and waited.

“This isn’t over!” she screeched.  “I will take everything from you—including that precious little stone you’re grasping!  By the time I’m through with you, you’ll have _nothing!_ ” 

Mordred just snorted.  “You do that.”

Zelena disappeared before he could finish the sentence, but Mordred didn’t care.  She was gone, and so was his headache.  Now he could devote time to studying the Greater Sapphire and uncovering its many secrets.  He knew the key to defeating the Black Fairy lay within the pendant.  He simply _knew_ it.

* * *

 

They met in the Sheriff’s Station after lunch, though Killian really wished he could find somewhere else to be.  He’d failed to dump Regina’s tracking potion on Zelena the day before and had almost ended up drinking it for his pains, a fact that _still_ put him in a foul mood.  Needing to be saved by his grandmother hadn’t made that any better, though going drinking with Baelfire afterwards had helped.  So had a nice sleep, which had left him in a good enough mood to help Geppetto measure and cut beams for Granny’s new outdoor seating area without complaint.

Now, unfortunately, he got to share the good news that he’d tried to drink away.  “Before you ask, no, I didn’t get the potion on her,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the way Robin put a calming hand on Regina’s arm and how close together they stood.  “She spotted it before I could.”

“Oh, that’s just perfect.  You had _one_ job, Captain.  Just one.  All you had to do was spill the potion on her—something even a _nincompoop_ could do!”

“Regina, perhaps it’s not his fault—”

“Of course it isn’t!” she snarled.  “I _told_ him it wouldn’t be easy, but he had to go and say that it ‘wouldn’t be that hard’.”  Regina twisted away from Robin to glare at him once more.  “What else did you manage to screw up?”

“Oh, that’s rich.”  Killian couldn’t quite take the abuse any longer; Regina was prone to running off at the mouth, but this was a bit much, even for her.  “Here I am, volunteering to help you with _your_ problem, and you’re berating me?  Your lovely sister tried to kill me, _Your Majesty_ , so pardon me if I don’t weep bloody tears over your heartbreak!”

“I’m not asking you to cry!  I’m asking you to _succeed!_ ”

“Regina!” This time, Robin managed to turn her to face him, and Killian found it nice to have a friend stand up for him.  “You’re being unfair, love.  Killian tried and failed.  It’s not the end of the world.  We both know we have other options.”

“Locking her up first would have been easier,” Regina grumbled.

“Robin’s right.”  David had been standing quietly off to the side, but he spoke up now.  “This only a setback, and it’s not Killian’s fault.  We’ll find a way to catch Zelena.”

“The problem isn’t _catching_ her.”  Regina looked calmer, yet still murderous—a combination that only the Evil Queen could pull off.  “The problem is finding a way to get the magic-blocking cuff on her without a pitched battle.  We can’t risk the baby.”

Wrangling in his temper, Killian cleared his throat.  “Aye, we all know that.  If not for that child—no offense, Robin—we’ve had her in chains long ago.  The question is how we do it now.”

David and Robin both looked at him in surprise—and was that respect?  Killian tried not to let his pleasure at that show.  He wasn’t usually the voice of reason, and he usually rose to baiting with more of the same, but he was trying to be better.  _And eating a bit of crow while I help rebuild Granny’s front porch might just be doing me favors no one anticipated,_ he thought wryly.  Oh, Killian wasn’t about to win any awards for modesty; he knew himself too well to ever even think that he might.  But perhaps he could try to be helpful instead of rising to meet Regina’s temper.  It wasn’t like she didn’t have reason to be frustrated.  He could only imagine how he would have felt if someone he loved was going to have a child with someone else.

_Looking at Henry makes me feel that way, sometimes, and I’d not even_ met _Emma when he was conceived.  Still, how many times did I wish that I could have been his father, and not Baelfire?  Perhaps I have more in common with Regina than I want to admit._ That thought was extremely unsettling, but not more so than the way Regina suddenly turned to him.

Her voice was harsh and abrupt, but the words were what counted.  “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.  You tried to help.”

“Is that an apology?” Despite his resolve to be less obnoxious, Killian couldn’t always stop himself.

“Don’t push it!”

“But this new leaf of yours is so much less mouthy than the—oh, scratch that, it’s much the same.”  He grinned, and although Regina glared, he could see that she wasn’t actually angry at him.  They understood one another too well, sometimes.

Regina rolled her eyes.  “Oh, shut up.”

Killian could remember a time, not too long ago, when they’d both been villains stumbling towards the light.  Neither had the excuse of being cursed, of having some elemental darkness corrupting their souls.  No, they’d both chosen darkness, chosen to be their worst selves, and sometimes they found that the only way to battle back the worst of the darkness was to wear their sharp edges like armor.  They’d goad one another, and they’d snap constant insults, but when push came to shove, they were on the same team.

He could have worse friends, Killian decided, and turned his mind to helping the others figure out how to catch Zelena once and for all.

* * *

 

The pain finally let up after Emma did not know how long.

She only knew that she was dizzy and hoarse, that she hadn’t been able to scream in what felt like forever.  She’d only been able to curl up on her side and shake and spasm—only when the Black Fairy had _let_ her fall, having kept Emma on her knees throughout most of the pain—and pray for it to end.  Emma liked to think of herself as tough.  She’d had a hard life, and she’d faced a lot of pain.  She’d always been able to push through any hurts, been able to force herself to keep fighting no matter what.  But this was different.  This was her own curse being turned back upon her, this was something she could not defend against.

“Get up.”

The command sizzled through her, and before Emma even knew what was happening, she’d dragged herself to her feet.  Or her body had, anyway; as she stood swaying dizzily, Emma realized that she’d had no cognitive input on the decision to stand up.  She had been commanded, and her body had simply obeyed.

“You cannot fight me.”  Green eyes met hers steadily.  Emma fought the urge to look away.  “So long as I hold this dagger, you are my slave.  As you should be.”

“You can’t hold it forever.”  Her voice was a croak; her throat was burning drily.

“I can.  However, you will find I am not a cruel mistress if you obey me.  But if you disobey me, the consequences will be dire.  And you will find that the punishment you have just experienced is the most mild you will undergo, should you disobey me again.  Do you understand?”

Emma wanted to glare sullenly, but her mouth moved on its own: “Yes.”

She almost snarled aloud in fury, feeling like a puppet on strings.  It took everything she had not to start swearing and railing at her captor, but Emma reined in her temper with an effort.  _I just have to play it smart.  She can’t keep me by her side forever, and even if she does, she’ll slip up, and I can get the dagger from her,_ she told herself firmly.  _And if she doesn’t, I can get help._

“I imagine you’re thinking of all the ways that you can get the dagger away from me.”  A soft smile crossed the Black Fairy’s face as she lifted the dagger, running a finger down its waved blade.  Emma’s name glinted dully, mocking her inability to simply reach for her freedom…but her hands would not move.  “Do you know how many Dark Ones I have enslaved?”

“No.”  Again, the answer—and the truth!—came out before she could stop it, and Emma let out an infuriated hiss.  “Too many.”  At least those words were her own.  “But I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“There is no need.”  But another flick of the dagger sent Emma stumbling back a step, pain closing in on her like a giant’s fist, crushing the air out of her chest as she staggered drunkenly. 

“What the hell?  I didn’t—”

“Mind your manners.”

Emma cut herself off before she could say something nasty; clearly, this insane bitch was going to hurt her if she did, and Emma wasn’t dumb enough to bring that down upon herself.  How had she never guessed that the dagger holder could cause the Dark One this much pain?  _How could Rumplestiltskin not_ warn _me?_   She wanted to cower and shake with terror, but Emma Swan had never been the cowering type.  So, she met the Black Fairy’s gaze defiantly, even if she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Better.”  Another smile; the bitch of a fairy was enjoying herself.  “Now, we will discuss how your life will work from now on.  As you have rightly guessed, I cannot watch you all the time.  What you may not realize is that I have no desire to.”

That made Emma’s eyes narrow.  “What are you going to do, just let me wander around town like nothing’s happened?”

A soft laugh.  “That is precisely what I am going to do.  However, there are some rules you will obey.  Firstly, you will tell no one I have the dagger.  In fact, you will give no indication—verbal or otherwise—that anyone save you possesses it.  If anyone asks you, you will tell them that the dagger is yours and that it is hidden where no one can find it.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”  The word ground out of her; try as she might, Emma couldn’t figure out a way around that set of commands.  _There’s always a loophole,_ she told herself.  Given enough time, she’d find one, right?

_You can’t.  She’ll know,_ the voice whispered, full of fury and despair.  _We tried to warn you.  She always knows._

“Excellent.  You will not indicate that anything is wrong, or that you are in any way less than _perfectly_ loyal to your family and the other lovely heroes of this town.”  The words burned into her mind like a searing brand, and even when Emma tried to tune them out, they echoed inwards, anyway.  It was like she could listen to nothing else, as if these commands had become the very center of her being.  They were imprinted onto her soul.   “You will not share any information about any of our conversations, nor even reveal that we have spoken unless it is in public.  When I give you a task, you will not allow anyone to know who has commanded you, or that you have been commanded at all.  In the case of…”

Emma listened with growing horror, unable to block the commands out or even pull away from the Black Fairy by an inch.  She wanted to argue, wanted to scream that she wasn’t a slave, wasn’t some puppet to be played with at anyone’s whim, but she couldn’t.  The crushing weight of the darkness pressed down-down- _down_ , and she felt like she was drowning in despair.

_She_ will _hurt you._   Somehow, it felt like the darkness was almost gleeful about that, which was strange.  Didn’t it want to be free?  Or did part of it _want_ to be chained like this, a slave at the feet of someone darker still?  Emma couldn’t tell, could barely feel anything around her growing terror.  _I am not afraid.  I can get through this,_ she told herself as firmly as she could, but even the thought sounded foolish.

“Hold your hand out,” the Black Fairy commanded when she was done laying down the rules by which Emma would live.

Yet again, her limbs moved on their own, her left hand snapping out automatically, palm up.  Emma stared at it in dismay, trying to tell it to drop by to her side.  Nothing happened, of course.

“Remain standing.”  A hand grabbed her wrist tightly.  “And do not pull away.”

She had already commanded that, earlier when Emma had tried to pull away from the hand on her chin.  Now, Emma learned how _deeply_ repetition made the claws dig in, and she cringed in pain as the darkness made that word bounce painfully between her ears.  She didn’t say anything, though, until the Black Fairy raised the dagger above her palm.  Every instinct she had screamed in terror.

_Don’t let her cut you!_

“What are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson.” 

The dagger sliced down, cutting her palm open almost to the bone, and Emma screeched in pain.  Blood gushed out of the wound immediately, but that wasn’t what caught her attention—no, that was the black latticework of poison racing outwards from the wound.  It engulfed her entire hand in fiery pain, and had she not been commanded to stay still and not pull away, Emma knew she would have collapsed.  She felt like someone had poured acid into the wound, but her knees were straight and her hand steady…save for the spasms shaking every muscle.

“Stop the bleeding,” was the next command, and before Emma could even twitch her fingers, the blood stopped flowing out of the wound.  A flick of the Black Fairy’s fingers cleared the blood away from Emma’s palm, but to Emma’s horror, being able to see the wound only made it worse. 

Then the Black Fairy sank two fingers very precisely into the center of the cut, and Emma screamed again.  Her knees buckled but she could not fall, and she _burned_ to jerk away.  Yet her hand would not move.

“Why are you _doing_ this?” she panted once she’d caught her breath, and once the fingers were gone.  She felt like her hand was going to fall off; Emma had never felt pain like this before.

“Again, this is an example.  A reminder, if you will.”  Finally, the Black Fairy released her hand, and Emma snatched it to her chest, cradling it carefully.

“Of _what_?”

“Disobedience, no matter how slight, will cost you.  You will carry that wound with you—it cannot be healed, anyway—to remind you to obey me.”

Emma snorted, trying to ignore the way her eyes were watering.  “People will ask where it came from.  I can’t really claim to have sliced my hand open on a—”

“No, they won’t.  You will put a glamour over the wound, which you will not take down without my express command.”  Those green eyes were deadly, calm and serious.  “Put it up now.”

That took a little more concentration; it was a finer bit of magic that the command nevertheless _forced_ her to create.  Biting her lip, Emma watched as the wound disappeared, covered so carefully by magic that even she couldn’t see it.

“You will not allow anyone to see the wound, but you _will_ act normally.  You will hide how much it hurts.  You will hide that it hurts at all.  You will hide all evidence that you are wounded in any way.  And you will _not_ , under any circumstances, dull the pain.  Not with magic and not with any of the quaint little pills or other methods this world has.  Understood?”

“Yes.”  This time the word was a snarl.

“‘Yes, My Lady’.  That is how you will address me from this moment forward, unless in the presence of anyone who does not know I have the dagger.”

“The hell I—”

Somehow, Emma wound up on her knees again, screaming in pain and feeling like she’d been hit by a speeding truck.  Her eyes were watering madly; her entire body was howling in protest.  But the Black Fairy still stood over her, calm and collected.

“Say it.” 

The command seared in, and Emma hated herself.

“My Lady.”

* * *

 

She knew that she shouldn’t have exploded when Hook failed to spill the potion on Zelena.  Regina had known that him pulling it off had been a long shot, even when he’d offered, but she had been afraid.  Afraid of _everything_.

But Robin trusted her.  Robin wanted _her_ to carry his child, wanted Regina to be a mother to a little girl who deserved so much better than the horrible woman who had conceived her.  Regina tried to look at it that way, tried not to think about how horribly jealous she had been when she’d learned that Zelena was carrying Robin’s child.  She knew that Robin loved her and trusted her, and she knew how it was to be a child with a horrible mother.  She wouldn’t wish that on Robin’s daughter, not for a moment, and she desperately tried to tell herself that she _would_ be better.  Still, she couldn’t keep herself from clinging to Robin’s hand as he explained the plan to Henry.  She should have talked to Henry about this sooner, should have—

“I think it’s a great idea,” Henry said when Robin finished, making Regina’s head jerk around.

“You do?”

“You’re a great mom, Mom.”  His smile warmed her heart.  “I mean, you had your kind of awful moments there, but I never doubted that you loved me.  And I know you’d love Robin’s daughter no matter what, but _she_ deserves a lot better than Zelena.”

“Oh, Henry.”  Her eyes misted over as she wrapped an arm around her son.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“Roland’s the four-year-old.  I’m old enough to get it, and I don’t think that my great-grandmother would make a potion that would screw you over.”

“Language!”

Henry laughed, and she could see Robin trying not to snicker, too.  Still, her lover spoke up seriously enough: “I’m glad you have confidence in Morgan, Henry, but if it’s all right with you, we’ve called another expert in, just to make sure.”

Henry perked up.  “Who?  Emma?”

“No.”  Regina barely managed not to roll her eyes.  “This potion isn’t dark magic, which is more your other mom’s purview at the moment.  It’s not her fault, but it’s what she is.”

“So who?”  The doorbell rang, and Henry was off like a shot.  “Nevermind.  I’ll get it!”

Regina watched in resigned amusement as her son rushed to the front door, squeezing Robin’s hand again.  He reached out to rub her shoulder, and she could feel herself relaxing at his touch, enough that she ignored Henry greeting their expected visitor.

“I don’t know why _I’m_ the nervous one.  You’re the one who should be a wreck,” she admitted softly.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Gina.  You’re the one taking the risks here, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Her eyes went misty again, and Regina’s throat grew thick.  “Please don’t thank me for giving me something that I’ve wanted ever since I cursed myself to never have it.”

“How about I just thank you for keeping _our_ child safe?” Robin kissed her on the forehead, and Regina found a broken smile crossing her face.  She’d never thought she’d be able to love again, let alone find someone who loved her for everything she was and had been.  Sometimes she thought this was a dream, a beautiful but painful dream that she’d wake from and never find again.

Rumplestiltskin clearing his throat brought her back to reality, though.  _At least I know he wouldn’t usually factor into my good dreams, even if he is a lot nicer these days,_ she thought wryly.  Still, she didn’t like him standing over her like that, even if it was from a few feet away, and Regina always felt better after she’d razzed someone.

“You going to stand around all day or sit down like a civilized human being?”

“Usually, it’s customary to wait until invited when visiting someone’s home.”  He shrugged, but folded himself into a nearby chair.  It didn’t escape Regina’s notice that Henry sat down midway between his mother and grandfather.  Once, that would have bothered her.  Now, she found it a little heartwarming.

She’d never imagined having such a large family to support her, particularly not when all she’d had was a loving father who was terrified of her domineering mother.  _We’ve come so far and we’re doing so well…but what will be the next thing to break us?_   That thought was terrifying, but fortunately Rumplestiltskin startled her out of her silence.

“You want to use the surrogacy potion.”  He didn’t make it sound like a question, but Regina nodded, anyway.

“Yes.”  Why did her voice have to turn so small?  Regina squared her shoulders and continued as strongly as she could.  “I just…I just want to make sure it’s absolutely safe for the baby, first.  I’ll do whatever I have to.  I don’t care how sick or how miserable I get, and I don’t give a damn what it does to Zelena.  But if this is going to hurt the child, I’m not doing it.”

“It won’t.”  His dark eyes studied her for a moment, and then Rumplestiltskin gestured at the potion sitting on the coffee table.  “My mother has some very strong feelings where children are concerned, and…from what I gather, Zelena said a few things on that front that made her notice that Zelena treats the baby more as an object than as a child.  The potion will do as she said.”

“I know she’s your mother, but can you trust her?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged.  “She hasn’t given me a reason not to.  Yet.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was a little bitter, but he met her eyes levelly.  “I think you and I have equal experience when it comes to not trusting parents.  I did ask for details on its brewing.”

Regina swallowed.  “You’re sure it’s safe?”

Her voice had gone tiny again, damn it.  Robin squeezed her hand.

“Positive.”

“Would you let Belle take it?” she pressed.

“I trust that’s not a request?” Rumplestiltskin quirked a smile.  “But yes, I would.”

Well, at least that answered that.  Regina and Rumplestiltskin might have screwed one another over as often—if not more so—than they’d helped one another, but at least she knew how deeply he loved Belle.  If he thought it was that safe, Regina would believe him.  She nodded shakily, trying to open her mouth to thank him, when Rumplestiltskin continued:

“It may change your magic, you know.  Being pregnant.”

“That should be hormone driven.  I’m—”

“I know, dear.  I knew the moment you did that to yourself.”  His voice was surprisingly gentle.  “Any curse can be broken.  Frankly, I’d be surprised if you two hadn’t broken that one already, albeit unknowingly.”

That made her jerk back in surprise.  “But…”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Give yourself a little credit, Regina.  Your love—the love you two share—is every bit as pure and as true as any other True Love.  _Any_ curse can fall prey to that, so long as it’s a curse.  Your infertility was, or is.  And if it hasn’t broken already…it will be.”

“How can you be sure of that?” she whispered.

“You just have to let it go.  A curse isn’t a curse if the bearer _wants_ it.”  Much to her surprise, Rumplestiltskin reached out briefly to squeeze her free hand.  “It’s time you let go of the Evil Queen and learned to live as Regina.”

“I don’t know how.”  The words came hard.

“Don’t you?”  He let go of her, quirking that damned mysterious smile of his. 

Regina tried to glare, but it just came out watery.

“We believe in you, Mom.”  Henry spoke up quietly, but his voice was full of conviction.

“We all know you aren’t who you were, love,” Robin said softly.  “Perhaps it’s time for you to accept that, too.”

For the first time in her life, surrounded by her True Love, her son, and the man who had become something of a father for her, Regina felt like she could let go.  Maybe.  Perhaps she was ready.  _Maybe it’s time._

Her nod was hesitant, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-One—“The Most Disloyal Friend in all the World”, in which Isaac provides some shocking information, Belle goes to talk to Blue, Baelfire suspects his father of wrongdoing, Emma finds a friend to help her deal with her problems, Danns’ makes a new ally, and Lancelot stumbles in front of someone’s car. 
> 
> For anyone who is interested, we are now 54 days after Emma became the Dark One.


	61. The Most Disloyal Friend in all the World

They went to see Isaac first thing the next morning.  Bae had half-hoped that his father would come along, but his dad had gone over to Archie’s with David, to take a look at the wards and make sure that no one unwelcome (like the Black Fairy) had walked in on the poor therapist.  Honestly, he was pretty glad to know that other adults were visiting Archie, because as much as Bae didn’t blame Archie for what had happened, the idea of Henry hanging around someone who didn’t have his heart was really starting to bother him.  Under normal circumstances, he would have thought that Henry’s relationship with Archie was great, but when some unknown villain had Archie’s heart…well, it wasn’t all that shiny.

He was still trying to figure out how many parental legs he had to stand on, though, so Bae was hesitant to bring it up.  After all, he hadn’t even known that Henry existed until he was eleven, and then he’d only spent a little while around his son before they ended up in separate worlds.  Then, of course, Bae had gone off and gotten himself killed like an idiot who’d never heard that magic had a price (which was still rather embarrassing, even though it had worked out mostly okay in the end), and now he was back.  He was a third parent when there were already two moms, the one who had memories of raising Henry or had _actually_ raised him, and Bae was trying not to step on Regina or Emma’s toes.  That meant he was really grateful when people like Henry’s two grandfathers stepped in and visited Archie instead, even if he was pretty sure that his dad was only doing it for magical reasons and would probably never get the therapy he’d needed for literal centuries.

Still, that left him and Henry to visit Isaac without backup, though it would hopefully be their last visit to the asylum.  Bae started the conversation by throwing down a few printouts in front of the old Author, letting him select the house he’d live in so that the bastard would stop whining about creature comforts and get to the point. Even then, they had to put up with a ridiculous amount of Isaac trying to negotiate himself into something better, which left Bae snapping an offer for Isaac to discuss that with his father.  That, thankfully, shut the twerp up and let them get down to business.

“Let’s see,” Isaac mused all too theatrically.  “What shall we talk about today?”

“How about you tell us where the fae are?” Henry asked immediately, and Bae was damned proud of his son.  Henry wasn’t taking any of Isaac’s crap, either, which probably came from the fact that the old Author had tried to get his replacement eaten by ogres.

“Nope.  No way.  Not until I’m _in_ the house.  That’s my best hole card.”

Bae barely managed not to roll his eyes.  “Well, you’re not going to get any house if you quit giving us information right now.  So, just give us a heads up if you’re going to be useless, okay?  We’ll skip the trip.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t have useful information.”  Isaac did roll his eyes.  “Just that I’m not giving you _that_.  I have plenty more.”

Henry leaned forward eagerly.  “Like what?”

“How about…we talk about the Truest Believer?”  Isaac’s sharp eyes zeroed in on Henry.  “I think that one falls a little close to home, doesn’t it?”

“Pan already tried to take my heart so he could be immortal.”  Henry shrugged casually.  “Good try, though.”

“Are you _sure_ that Pan is the only one who’d use your heart?”  The calculating smile on his face really pissed Bae off; he was damn sick of watching people try to use his kid.  _At least this jerkoff isn’t related to us!_

_I hope._

“We’re not here to play guessing games, remember?” he cut in.  “The deal’s simple: you give us information, and we get you out of this padded-wall paradise.  So, start spilling the beans or we walk.”

Isaac scowled.  “You have _no_ imagination, do you?  It’s a wonder this kid ever had a single creative thought with his parents.”

“I’ve got plenty of creativity, thanks.”  Bae glared, and after a moment, Isaac sighed and leaned back against the wall behind his bed.

“Fine, have it your way.  Henry, how much do you know about actually _being_ the Truest Believer?”

“Just that Pan said he could use my heart to restore magic to Neverland, and that was a lie.  He really wanted it because having my heart would make him immortal.”

Another theatrical sigh.  “Tiny imaginations must really run in your family.  I take back what I said.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Being the Truest Believer makes your heart what they call an ‘incidental power’.  Your heart is extremely powerful.  It can grant immortality, but even more importantly, it can be used to control an actual original power and isolate them completely from their magic.”

“An original power like—like the Blue Fairy?” Henry recovered quickly to ask what he did; Bae knew that his son had almost asked about an original power ‘like my grandpa’, instead. 

“Or like the Sorcerer.”  Isaac’s eyes danced.  “Though I’m not entirely sure how that inheritance worked out—would you like to provide details?”

The question was directed at Bae, who scowled.  “Just keep talking.”

“Fine.  Have it your way.  At any rate, it’s funny that you should mention the Blue Fairy, because she’s the one with the history of using said heart.”

“What do you mean, _using_?” Henry’s eyes narrowed, and Bae was glad to see that his son was suspicious, too.  Granted, he didn’t trust Blue any further than a cockroach could throw her, but Bae knew that his own experiences were coloring things just a bit on that front.  Normally—when you weren’t the Dark One’s kid, anyway—Blue seemed to be the helpful sort, even if she didn’t always tell the whole truth.

_Come to think of it, now that Henry’s wearing my shoes, Isaac may not be the biggest ass in this equation after all._

“I mean that’s how she exiled the Black Fairy.  How else to utterly marginalize the _other_ most powerful fairy in existence?  Legend says that the Black Fairy is even more powerful than Blue, which means that Blue had to do _something_ to get her out of the way.  She used the Heart of the Truest Believer.”  Isaac made a show of studying the ceiling.  “How many times was it?  I think it was…four?  Five?  I’m not sure.  But the first time was over eight hundred years before the Dark Curse.  The Black Fairy got loose again after five centuries or so, but how many hearts must Blue have used to keep her in check during that time?”

Bae felt empty, felt like some icy hand had closed around his innards, squeezing until there was nothing left of his soul.  He found himself looking at Henry, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.  Pan had been one thing—he’d been hard to beat, yeah, but they’d had a good group lined up against him and they’d never once doubted they could get Henry back from him.  But going up against the Blue and Black Fairies both?  When they _both_ wanted Henry’s heart?  _Only an idiot will think that the Black Fairy is going to sit around and wait for her sister to take that thing,_ he thought, and then another thing occurred to him.

“Pan seemed to think that the heart had to be given willingly.”  And man, Bae hoped that was still true.  That would help a lot, because Henry had definitely learned not to yank his own heart out for anyone.

“Yeah.  He needed me to take it out.”  Suddenly, Henry looked more hopeful than wary, but Isaac’s next words crushed that.

“Pan was a human being who stupidly let a demon merge with him.  An original power is something else entirely—one of them could take your heart without even breaking a sweat.”

“You don’t have to look so damned pleased about it,” Bae snapped before he could stop himself.

Isaac just shrugged.  “It makes for a hell of a story, doesn’t it?  Two—maybe three, depending upon what your father the new Sorcerer really has under the hood—original powers, all in little old Storybrooke, duking it out?  That’s going to be one hell of a battle, particularly when you throw the rest of your surly friends in for kicks.”

He couldn’t listen to this anymore, and Bae popped off of his stool with a purpose. “C’mon, Henry.  Let’s go do some less-biased research.”

“You’re not going to find someone who knows the answers better than I do.”  Isaac’s smile was complacent, and Bae fought the urge to punch it off his face.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

This time, her stomach waited until after breakfast to object to its own existence.  Belle was really starting to think she was coming down with something, but she really didn’t have time to be sick, so she went to the library to check on Tiny, anyway.  She wasn’t scheduled for that morning, but she had other plans for the day, and she wasn’t going to let some stupid stomach bug deter her.  So, she headed out to the convent, determined to talk finally get some answers.

Fortunately, Blue didn’t keep her waiting for long at all; Belle had barely had a chance to get comfortable when the senior fairy walked in with a smile.

“Belle! It’s so nice of you to come out.  It’s been too long.”

Not smiling back at Blue was hard, even if Belle was trying to be cautious.  _I know there’s lots of bad blood between her and Rumple, but that can change, now.  I’m sure she’ll want to help._ “I’m been busy, but yes, it really has.”

“What can I do for you?” Blue sat down on the couch next to Belle, folding her hands neatly.

“I know you didn’t want to share much with David and Grumpy when they came to ask about the Black Fairy, but…I was hoping you might be willing to at least tell me about your history with her,” Belle said as diplomatically as she could.  “Maybe we can work out a way for everyone to work together, assuming she is a threat.”

“This really is a fairy issue, child.”  Blue’s face tightened for a moment, and the sudden scrutiny she gave Belle was chilling.  “Why are you here about this?”

Belle took a deep breath.  She thought that Rumplestiltskin’s worry that Blue might tell her grandmother was a bit off base; Blue had indicated that she would ‘deal’ with the Black Fairy, which didn’t sound to Belle like she was going to work with her sister.  But caution was certainly in order, which meant she needed to phrase this carefully.  She opened her mouth to continue, but Blue got in first, suddenly looking concerned.

“Oh, no.  She told you, didn’t she?”  A hand landed on Belle’s, and the compassion on Blue’s face made her want to open up and spill everything.

“Told me?” Playing dumb probably wouldn’t get her anywhere, but Belle disliked her sudden compulsion—was it a compulsion?—to tell the truth.  She could feel magic at work under the surface, perhaps not something Blue was doing consciously, but it was definitely urging her to open up.

“Let’s not be evasive with one another.” Blue squeezed her hand kindly.  “We both know exactly what I am speaking of.  I understand how hard this must be for you, what a shock it is, but you have come to the right place.”

“She’s my grandmother,” Belle found herself saying, her voice small.  Surely Blue would understand better than anyone; they were talking about her _sister_.  Did that make Blue her great-aunt?

“Yes, she is.”  Another hand squeeze.  “I will help you learn.  I will teach you what you need to know to get through this, how to use your powers—and I sense you have inherited quite a few—for the _right_ purposes, and not hers.”

That last sentence was enough to break through Belle’s emotional daze.  “Rumplestiltskin is—”

“Not a fairy, my dear.  He won’t understand.”

“Neither am I!” She pulled back a little, staring at Blue.  Did Blue expect her to be different from who she was, simply because Belle knew that her grandmother was a fae? 

“You are a human, yes, but your power is all fairy.  You remind me a great deal of my other sister, Fionna, actually.”  Blue’s smile looked wistful.  “She had a good heart, much like yours.  Danns’…as much as I love her, she has chosen a very dark path and refuses to leave it.  She was not always like this, but she could not resist temptation.”

Listening in horror, Belle could _feel_ the unspoken words working on her, could hear the implication that, without Blue’s help, she would wind up walking the same path.  Belle was straightforward and not manipulative by nature, but she had learned a thing or two in these past few months.  She had talked to Rumple about this more times than she could count, and she _believed_ him.  Yes, he’d lied to her in the past, but he was no longer the Dark One.  He was more open and more honest, and she trusted his judgment.  More importantly, he wasn’t telling her that she had to meet a certain standard, that she had to be anyone that she _wasn’t_.

Blue was clearly about two seconds away from a lecture on just that subject. 

“I am not my grandmother.”  She told herself those words at least twice a day, and Belle was determined to make them true, so she raised her chin and looked Blue in the eye.

“Of course you aren’t, child.  I would like to help you be anything but.  There is great goodness in you, and properly channeled—”

Belle interrupted briskly, not in the mood for a holier-than-thou lecture.  “Tell me about her, then.  And how you can stop her and keep everyone safe.”

“I would rather we focus on you, first.  I worry about what you have learned, if Rumplestiltskin—for all his good intentions—may be unable to detect such subtle darkness due to his own…experiences.”  Blue had clearly substituted the last word in for something stronger at the last moment, and that was a good thing; otherwise Belle might have snapped at her.  She was damned tired of people trying to tell her that she shouldn’t love her husband, who had fought against the darkness for _so_ long and was only now free of it.  Blue, however, blithely went on:  “You are at such a crucial junction.  If you decide to learn magic, you might lose yourself.”

“Why would that happen?” Belle felt her chest grow tight, but she couldn’t be sure if Blue was intentionally playing to her fears or if everything she said was true.

“With such power, it is easy to choose the easy road instead of the _right_ one.  I know you love Rumplestiltskin, child, but I worry constantly that he is not vigilant enough in his own battle, either.  Humans were not meant to have such power, and power _so_ easily corrupts.”  Blue shook her head sadly.  “The human parts of you will always make this difficult.”

Well, at least Blue’s cheap shot at Rumplestiltskin answered Belle’s question about how truthful she was being.  _The worst part is that I actually think she believes every word she’s saying, but she’s trying_ so _hard to twist me to her own ends._ Not scowling—or yelling—was hard.

“Did you know?” Belle asked bluntly.

“Know?”

“About me.  My entire life.  That I was your great-niece.  Or about my mother, who died saving me from ogres that you could have banished with a flick of your wand.”

“I knew,” Blue said slowly.  “But you have to understand, that such power comes at a price—”

“I paid it!” The words burst out of her with more force than Belle intended, but she couldn’t stop herself.  “I don’t regret going with Rumple for a single moment, but do you know how many of _my_ people died before we were desperate enough to call upon the Dark One?  We asked for fairy help, and you never lifted a finger.  Even though you knew.”

“Our way is not to interfere in human affairs unless we must.  I know that is hard to understand, but I believe that you will in time.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll _ever_ understand that.”  Belle stood up, ignoring the way her equilibrium wavered back and forth for a moment.  “But I do understand that you’re only telling me these things now because it suits your purposes.  Your ‘way’.”

Blue frowned, rising slowly.  “Belle, this isn’t what you think.   Please don’t react with emotion.  You must dispassionately consider your actions.”

“What I’m considering right now is the fact that you haven’t actually offered to help any of us against someone you _know_ would enslave all of humanity,” she retorted.  “You told Rumple that he needed to choose between you, but you were wrong.  We _will_ fight—we all will—and you can either help us or not.  We’re not going to wait for some fairy to save us.  Too many of us know how long that will take.”

“This is not humanity’s fight.”  Blue’s eyes went hard.  “It never has been.”

“Yeah, you know, it’s funny how we wind up doing the bleeding for you when it’s ‘not our fight’.”  Belle had always liked Blue, but listening to these excuses just made her want to scream.  “I’m not here to be lectured, or talked to like I’m a child.  If you want to help us, you know where to find me.”

Turning on her heel, Belle marched out of the room before Blue could say another word.

* * *

 

Perhaps a telling Emma that he would be done in week had been optimistic.

Frowning, Rumplestiltskin turned the page in Merlin’s spell book, trying to find just the right _tie_ to allow the Peace Amulet to suppress dark magic while allowing light magic—inherent magic, rather than that imbued by the darkness—to function.  He’d tried six different spells so far, and none had done the trick.  He was trying not to let himself get frustrated, but Rumplestiltskin believed in delivering upon promises made, and he was damned well going to find a way to make this work.

The door to the shop slammed open, the hinges screeching in protest as the bell jangled wildly.  Rumplestiltskin ignored it, however, until a voice called out:

“You in here, Pop?  Kinda need a minute.”

The urgency in his son’s tone brought him out of the back in a hurry.  “Is everything all right?”

Henry stood next to Baelfire, thankfully, which indicated that the boy hadn’t been threatened again, but the slightly panicked look on Bae’s face told Rumplestiltskin that _something_ had happened.  Could it have been Emma?  No, Bae would probably have dealt with any Dark One-centric problem better than this, given the time he’d spent living inside his father’s head.

“Isaac just told us something pretty disturbing about the Heart of the Truest Believer.  He said that it can be used to trap an original power, to keep one away from their magic.”  Bae’s face was screwed up in a frown, but Rumplestiltskin could see the fear in his eyes.  _It feels like we played this game not long ago_ , he thought unhappily. 

“He said that Blue’s used it on Guinevere,” Henry put in.  He looked less afraid than Bae did, but that was the way of children, always more reckless than their parents wanted them to be.  “More than once.”

“I know a little of the first time.”  Rumplestiltskin took a breath.  “Though that was actually Morgan’s doing.”

Bae’s eyes went wide.  _“What_?  But she’s—”

“It’s not what you think.  The Truest Believer was, I guess, your uncle.  Hook—Killian’s father.  He volunteered.”  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t asked for the details, but Morgan had told him how they’d all hoped it would be enough, that getting the heart in ‘Guinevere’ would let them show Arthur who she truly was.  Then, Morgan had hoped to free Merlin and save Camelot all in one fell swoop, but nothing had worked according to plan.

Gwaine had been murdered before too long, too, which had necessitated getting the _new_ Truest Believer’s heart into Danns’ chest all over again, but those were details that neither his son nor grandson was particularly interested in at the moment.

“You _knew_ about this?” Bae exploded.

Henry tried to defend him.  “Dad, it’s not a big deal—”

“It sure as hell is!”  Bae loomed forward, looking half-broken and entirely furious.  “You said you were being more honest, and I _believed_ you!  Why wouldn’t you tell us about this?  Are you thinking about _doing_ it?  Because, if so, you’re going to have to go through me first.”

“No.  No, Bae, it’s not like that at all.”  Seeing his son so angry with him made Rumplestiltskin’s heart seize up, and he stepped towards Bae quickly, raising his hands.  “I didn’t mention it because it _isn’t_ an option.  Yes, it’s been done before, but it _will not_ happen again.  No matter what.”

“Yeah, but what happens when my suddenly not-so-awesome grandmother decides she needs Henry’s heart to stop the unstoppable Black Fairy?”

“She won’t.”  He could say that much with confidence; Rumplestiltskin didn’t know his mother that well, but he knew there was a deep and dark history of self-hatred inside her, particularly where this very issue was concerned.  “And if she suddenly changes her mind, we will stop her.”

“Please, Papa.  Please tell me you’re telling the truth,” Bae whispered, and Rumplestiltskin reached out to put a hand on his son’s arm.

“I am.  I know I haven’t always shown it, and I know I haven’t always been the father—or the grandfather—that I should be.  But Henry is _your_ son, my grandson.  I will not let anyone take his heart.  Not while there is breath left in my body.    Besides, Danns’ a’Bhàis and Reul Ghorm are not the only original powers in this town.  I will do whatever has to be done.”

A look of horror suddenly crossed his son’s face. “I know.  I lived in your head too long to think that those things were all you.  I know.  And I’m sorry.  I just…”

“Hey.”  Grabbing the back of Bae’s neck gently, Rumplestiltskin pulled him close.  “Overreacting about your son’s safety is a trait you inherited from me.  I get it.”

“Thanks, Papa.”  Bae looked like he was struggling to hold emotion back, so Rumplestiltskin turned to Henry.

“Do you want me to call my mother here so you can learn the details of what’s happened in the past, or would you rather not know?”

“I want to know.”  Henry squared his shoulders.  “It’s probably better if I know what’s coming, ‘cause I’m not gonna fall for tricks like Pan’s again, no matter what.”

“Brave lad.”

Henry’s smile was blindingly bright.  “Thanks, Grandpa.”  Suddenly, the teen darted forward to hug him, taking Rumplestiltskin by surprise.  He’d spent the last month or so growing much closer to his grandson, yet displays of affection like this still shook him to his core.  “I knew you wouldn’t take my heart.  Dad’s just been stuck in the Vault for a bit, so he’s got some catch up to do.”

“Thank you, Henry.”  Rumplestiltskin felt warm inside; his grandson believed so completely that it floored him every time.  “And it’s all right.  I think we’ll survive a few harsh words from time to time.”

Once, his relationship with his son had not been strong enough to do so, but now things were different, and Rumplestiltskin could not be grateful enough for that.

* * *

 

He had introduced himself as Nuckelavee, and that immediately put her mother on edge.  Lily wasn’t sure why—she’d have to ask later—but Maleficent did not seem happy to meet the fae who had come by the house.  Was it because his presence indicated that Arthur and Guinevere might have more magical support than the two of them, or was there something she was missing?

“I didn’t know that fairies could be men.”  Once the words were out, Lily immediately regretted them, but she couldn’t always stop herself.

Nuckelavee, however, did _not_ look pleased.  “I am not a _fairy_ ,” he snapped.  “I am _fae.”_

“I’m sorry.  I, uh, don’t really know the difference.  I’m kind of new with all this magic stuff—I grew up in the wrong world for it.”  Turning into a dragon was easy enough; that was instinct.  But the rest involved an awful lot of study, which Lily had never been very good at.  _I was better at skipping classes than doing homework.  Should I mention that to Mom next time she hands me a book and assumes I’ll devour it?_

_I’d rather light a book on fire than sit around and read some boring history of whatever._

“Ah.”  His bony face relaxed, turning an ugly expression into someone very handsome.  “Forgive me.  I have been gone a long while, and this…modern? world is very confusing.  I imagine my world is much the same to you.”

“Completely.”  Lily sighed.  “I’m starting to get a hang of the magic thing, sort of, but having grown up in a world where everyone here was part of a fairy tale is just plain weird.”

“It is a fairly simple distinction, really.  Originally, we were all _fae_ ries, but our dear Reul Ghorm decided that _she_ would be the arbiter of all that is ‘right and good’ in the world, leaving those of us who did not follow her like blind and drooling idiots out in the cold.  We became fae while her followers became fairies.  We warred several times across the centuries, but eventually, for the crime of our loyalty, she exiled the fae to a pocket realm we could not exit.”

Lily felt her eyes narrowing slightly.  That explanation sounded entirely too simplistic to her—like the kind of description a teacher might give an annoying student who they wanted to keep the whole truth from.  But she didn’t argue; it was obvious already that Nuckelavee was high in Arthur and Guinevere’s esteem, and Lily wasn’t going to rock that boat.  She had pushed for her mother to ally with them, after all, and this _was_ definitely the route to power.

_“I’ve never seen that type of power,” Maleficent had told her quietly after they returned from watching Guinevere—now, revealed to them as the Black Fairy—build the subterranean maze of rooms, cells, and passageways underneath the refugee camp._

_Lily had frowned.  “Couldn’t you do that?”_

_“Oh, no.  Given enough time, I could make something like it, of course, but not without others noticing.  And certainly  not so quickly or so completely.”  Maleficent’s smile was tight.  “I did not realize how powerful she was, Lily.”_

_“That’s a good thing, right?  I mean, it means we picked the winning side.”_

_“I hope so.”_

The memory rose unbidden, and Lily tried not to shiver.  She liked Arthur well enough; she’d actually hoped he was her father for a little while, although that foolish thought had faded away.  Still, despite her mother’s worries, she was quite confident that they were on the right side.  It wasn’t like the town’s heroes would have ever helped them, anyway.  She knew that for a fact.  They were all over helping Emma, who now had a dose of darkness she didn’t know what to do with, when Lily had been coping with that kind of thing for her entire freaking life.  _Yet they really don’t care about me.  They shoved me into another world without a single thought about what it meant to me or Mom, and they still don’t care about us, even Mom’s so-called friend Regina._

So, she smiled at Nuckelavee and decided that she really didn’t care who was right between the fairies and the fae.  “But you’re out now, right?  I guess Blue’s protections didn’t hold so well.”

“I escaped, but the others are still there.”  His smile was a dangerous thing.  “Though they will be free soon.”

“Let me know if I can help.  Dragons are good at transitioning between realms.”  _That_ was one thing she had read, and Lily liked the way it made his eyes light up.

“You are a dragon?”  The way he said it made it sound like that was _far_ better than being a mere human, and Lily liked that.

She met his eyes brazenly.  “I am.”

“Then I think we have much to talk about.”

She caught a warning glance from her mother out of the corner of her eye, but Lily wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with this man—or fae, if that was what he was.  He looked human enough, mostly, but that didn’t really matter.  Nuckelavee was certainly attractive, even gorgeous, but Lily could smell the darkness and danger on him.  No, she’d be friendly, but she’d keep her distance.  Maleficent was right about that, though Lily thought her mother might be taking her unease just a little too far.

* * *

 

Angry and disappointed in herself more than in Blue, Belle drove home from the convent with a stomach full of butterflies.  Should she not have let Blue know that she knew who her grandmother was?  Would that get back to Guinevere, or would Blue stay silent?  Belle knew that she probably should have tried to play Blue, to get more information or at least learn something useful, but Belle wasn’t really that sort of manipulator.  Her mind just didn’t _work_ that way; she was direct and straightforward, and just wanted honesty out of people.  Blue hadn’t exactly lied to her, of course, but she’d tried to twist Belle up into a Gordian knot, and Belle was utterly out of patience with people who wanted to use her.

Still, that didn’t exactly excuse the fact that she almost hit someone with her car when she blew through a stop sign on the way home.  Tires screeched as she slammed on the brakes, making the dark-skinned man jump aside barely in time, and Belle leapt out of the car to apologize as soon as she could put it in park.

“Are you all right?” She rushed to him, touching his arm gently as he caught his balance.  “I’m so sorry.  I was stuck in my own head and didn’t see you there.”

“I’m all right, thank you.”  He turned to face her, and then his entire expression changed.  “Colette—no, _Belle_.  You must be Belle.”

That took her aback.  “I am.”

Lately, people guessing her identity hadn’t turned out very well for her, but his face suddenly split into a grin.  “I’ve been searching for you, but I only found your father.  I am Lancelot.”

“You are?”  That changed everything!  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He grimaced.  “Unfortunately, I’ve been locked up.”  Then his voice turned urgent as he took her arm in turn.  “Look, Belle, I understand that you probably don’t think very highly of me, but if you understand nothing else, understand this: Arthur lies.  And your grandmother is _not_ who she claims to be.  You are in very grave danger.”

“I know.”  Belle made herself smile grimly, having no doubt who had locked Lancelot away.  _Thanks for the lie, Grandfather_.  “I know who she is, although I don’t think she’d endanger me.”

“You have _no_ idea what she’s capable of.”  Was that fear in his eyes?

“Well, then it’s clear that we need to talk.  Come home with me—you’ll be safe there.”  Belle tugged him gently towards the car. 

“To your father’s?” Lancelot frowned.

Belle snorted out a laugh.  “Definitely not.  I love Papa, but he’s not the best for this sort of thing.  But my husband can help.”

“Husband?  You’re married?” He looked flabbergasted.  “The last I remember of you, you were a little girl climbing trees!”

“And I remember you catching me.”  She managed to direct him into the passenger side of the car and climbed back into the driver’s seat.  “It’s been a long time, and I grew up.”

“But—but—I’m doing terribly with this, aren’t I?” Lancelot finally laughed.  “I can remember all the dreams your mother had for you.  I only hope that whoever you’ve married has made you happy.”

“Very.”  Now was not the time to mention the ups and the downs, or how hard they’d had to fight to get where they were.  Now was the time to hurry home and then call Rumple.  There had to be a way to protect Lancelot from her grandparents, and they _would_ find it.

* * *

 

Emma had sat in the dark at home for most of the day.  She hadn’t slept the previous night, either, just had sat and stared at the smooth wood of her kitchen table, trying without success to ignore the burning agony in her palm.  Her fingers worked—she’d checked—but she felt like they shouldn’t.  Even closing her hand into a fist made her want to cry, but for some reason, the tears just wouldn’t come.  So, she stared blankly at her too-smooth palm, at an injury she knew was there but she couldn’t see, trying to make sense of her new reality.  Emma felt _empty_.  She felt like someone had taken ahold of her soul, squeezed it hard, and then had twisted it for good measure before ripping it away from her.  She’d never felt so lonely in her life, even when she’d been a runaway orphan.  At least then it had been her choice.

Now…now nothing was.

_You’re her slave, now,_ the darkness whispered.  _Best get used to it._

Every fiber of Emma’s being rebelled against that thought, but she couldn’t actually deny it.  The Black Fairy had the dagger, and Emma had no choice.  She’d tried—over and over and over again—to reach for her phone and call someone to tell them what had happened, but her hand wouldn’t move.  Not when that was on her mind.  She knew that she could call anyone and talk about almost anything else, so long as that _anything_ didn’t violate the commands she had been given.  But Emma had never been the one to find loopholes.  She had never had the twisty and tricky mind that required, and the trickiest part of the darkness inside her was no help, now.  The darkness felt equally resigned, terrified, and furious over being controlled, and it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how badly it burned for freedom.

She actually found herself hoping that this would make her lose control, that she’d wind up killing someone innocent.  _Or that she’ll_ order _me to,_ Emma thought, hating herself for even considering it.  But then the old deal would reassert itself, wouldn’t it?  If she killed an innocent, the dagger would revert to Rumplestiltskin.  _He’ll enslave you, too,_ the darkness whispered.  _He might make the cage a little nicer to look at, but he knows_ exactly _what you are.  He’ll use you as surely as any other._   That voice sounded like Gold, smooth and polished, and Emma couldn’t stop her violent shudder.

Anything had to be better than this, didn’t it?

She needed to get out.  She needed to feel again, be around someone—anyone!—who didn’t make her feel like she was some _slave_ to be commanded and punished.  The Black Fairy had said that she was free to go, that she could go about her business like she normally would, and Emma needed to get out of this damned house where she’d been enslaved and hurt.  Anywhere would be better than this, at least right now.

For a moment, she thought of going to Killian.  It was what she’d done the last time she’d been terrified, and it _had_ made her feel better.  He probably wouldn’t tell her no, either, even if Emma told him that she didn’t want to restart their relationship.  She was his weakness, and Emma was ready to ruthlessly exploit that right now.  In fact, the power inherent in doing so made a pleasant thrill run through her.  It would be nice to use someone else as she was going to be used.  _I still have power,_ she told herself firmly.  _I can use that power, and if it isn’t right, who cares?  I can just blame the fact that I didn’t have the dagger, so it wasn’t my fault._

She could use this situation, if she was smart.  It would be an easy excuse, a—

No.  Emma was better than that.  She was _not_ going to turn into something she hated just because she was terrified.  Or at least she hoped she wasn’t.  Being determined was so damned hard when she _knew_ that she had no way out…but at least she could refuse to use someone else.  She could do that much, even if she felt like all of the strength had been sapped out of her.  So, she pulled her phone out with a shaking hand, dialing the number from memory instead of opening her address book.  Emma told herself that she did that to give herself time to change her mind, but there really wasn’t any decision to make. 

She needed a friend, and she needed someone who would say no to her even if she did something she’d later regret.  That only left one person.

“Emma, hey,” Neal’s voice came from the other end after a pair of rings, and Emma almost cried in relief. 

“Do you want to get drunk?” she asked before she could stop herself.  It was almost dinnertime, she thought.  That wasn’t too early for drinking.

“You sure a drunk Dark One is a good idea?”

No, it wasn’t, but drinking was the only way she could forget right now, even if she hated the way her voice turned small.  “You’ll stop me from doing anything stupid, won’t you?”

“Obviously, yeah.  But what bring this up?”  The worry in his voice was obvious, and Emma _burned_ to tell him, but her lips wouldn’t move.

“I just want to stop thinking for a little while,” she whispered.

Neal snorted.  “Sure, then, I’ll meet you at the Rabbit Hole.  Half an hour work for you?”

“Yeah.”  She could be there in seconds, but Emma thought maybe a walk would do her good. 

They ended up meeting there in fifteen minutes; Storybrooke wasn’t that big, and Neal seemed to have hurried.  He seemed to sense that something was wrong with her, and asked if she was okay several times, but all Emma could offer were lame excuses about how she hadn’t slept, she felt _off_ , and everything was a mess.  Neal interpreted those as typical Dark One issues, unfortunately, and even though Emma tried a hundred different ways to tell him that she didn’t have the dagger, her brain just shut down every time she tried to force the words out.  He asked if she was okay, and she found her mouth telling him that she was just fine, even though she wasn’t and she didn’t want to say that.  Then, to make the night even better, her headache started to grow worse and worse, and even cheap whiskey couldn’t kill it.

_There’s no way out for you, now,_ the darkness gloated, and Emma wanted to scream.  But she couldn’t.  _“…you will tell no one I have the dagger.  In fact, you will give no indication—verbal or otherwise—that anyone save you possesses it.”_   She couldn’t even tell Neal that her palm was burning with pain, throbbing wildly from the way that the Black Fairy had sliced it open the night before.

Instead, she ordered another drink.

* * *

 

Humans really were ridiculously complacent around meal times.  Danns’ had observed that time and again, and getting past the guards in the asylum was child’s play.  She teleported herself straight past them, arriving in the former Author’s padded cell in a swirl of purple and black smoke.

Isaac jumped, scrambling away from her with wide eyes and a terror that she found absolutely delicious.  It really was a pity that he wasn’t _still_ the Author; he had a corruptible morality that she would have found incredibly useful.  Danns’ would have been happy to let him have as much power over mere humans as he liked, let him write all kinds of stories and watch the masses dance about like puppets, but that was not to be.  The new Author, she had learned from the former cricket, was Rumplestiltskin’s grandson, and he’d broken the necessary quill, anyway.  _Pity I did not insert myself in this process sooner, but I was so enjoying watching the drama play out._

“What—what do you want?” Isaac stuttered, and Danns’ smiled.

“A chat.  Nothing more.” Glancing around the cell, she spotted the single chair.  It looked uncomfortable and utilitarian, so she waved a hand and changed it into a comfortable armchair before seating herself.  “Sit down.”

“I…I know who you are.”  His voice shook beautifully.

“I should hope so, otherwise this conversation will be very boring.”  She folded her hands.  “Do sit down.”

She did not need petty threats.  Isaac sat.  “What do you want from me?”

“The location of my fae, of course.  I understand you know it.”

“I…what’s in it for me?” His voice was an undignified squeak, but Danns’ did not care about some pitiful human man’s dignity.

She smiled.  “Your life, of course.”

“I want more than that.”

“I don’t care what you want.”  Danns’ didn’t need to rise; she could see Isaac shiver in fear without moving a muscle.  “You can either be my ally or my enemy.  If you insist upon being difficult, I will remove your heart and force you to answer me.  If you do me this service, and continue to be loyal, I will treat you well.”

“How well?” Isaac asked cautiously.  He really was a greedy little thing.

“I always treat my creatures well.” Danns’ felt no need to give him specifics.  She was perfectly happy to take his heart, after all, but in her experience, venal and selfish humans like this one were always the type to ally themselves with a higher power.  Oh, he’d try to betray her if he felt like he wasn’t getting his “due”, but she could deal with that when the time came.

Isaac tried once more to wheedle specifics out of her, but in the end he told Danns’ what she wanted to know without her needing to harm a hair on his selfish little head.  Of course, the problem of freeing her fae from Reul’s trap still remained, but now that she had the location, untangling that web would be simpler.  Then she told Isaac what she wanted from him, and he was admirably quick to acquiesce.  After all, giving the humans information would only gain him more rewards, and what did Isaac care if that information led them on a merry chase in the wrong direction?

All in all, their little conversation took all of fifteen minutes before Danns’ teleported herself into town.  Walking along Main Street always taught her something, and today was no different.  In fact, doing so that evening proved more useful than most, particularly once she spotted the handsome man leading his daughter out of the diner.

_That one will do nicely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update—I was really sick and spent much of Tuesday at the doctor, which was no fun at all. Fortunately, I’m doing better now. I’m also finally back in the writing groove, so look for updates of This is No Game and A Different Battle soon!
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Two—“And All the Things I Dreamed”, in which Regina takes the potion, Zelena throws another tantrum, Bae and Emma wake up from their hangover, David asks Rumplestiltskin for help figuring out who killed Sidney, Mordred admits to a mistake, and Belle worries that she might have told Blue too much.


	62. And All the Things I Dreamed

The next morning,  Lancelot sat down with his hosts.  He was a little ashamed to admit how exhausted he’d been when he reached the Sorcerer’s House, but there was no hiding it.  He’d managed to talk to Belle a little while wolfing down the first real meal he’d had in ages, but he’d fallen asleep embarrassingly fast.  At least he’d been able to answer most of her questions about why he’d stolen her mother away from Camelot, but the idea of speaking Merlin’s successor still left him a little uneasy.

He’d had nothing against the old Sorcerer, or at least not the kind of grudge Mordred had nursed.  But Lancelot did possess a healthy amount of wariness, because he had been the one to discover that “Queen Guinevere” had been controlling Merlin for they knew not how long.  Whether or not Merlin had allied with the Black Fairy willingly in the beginning Lancelot neither knew nor cared.  He only knew that their cause had been nearly doomed by Merlin’s power, and that the person Morgan had been utterly convinced would help them save Arthur had been either unwilling or unable to do so.  Now that power was in a new man, one Lancelot did not know at all…but whom Belle seemed to dearly love.

 _I hope her taste runs to stronger men than her mother’s did,_ he thought, walking cautiously into the dining room, drawn by the wonderful smell of breakfast.  _Colette loved Maurice, even though I tried to steer her towards a man who could be depended upon to defend her from her parents if need be._ At least Maurice had always treated Colette with love and respect, though, which had convinced Lancelot in the end.  Besides, he had loved Colette like a daughter, and when she’d begged him to let her marry a mere landed knight, he could not tell her no.

“Good morning!” Belle swung to him with a smile.  “Are you feeling better?”

“Very much so, thank you.”  He felt a crooked smile tug at his lips.  “I am sorry for fading so quickly on you.  I underestimated how much escaping took out of me.”

“There’s no need to apologize.  You gave me the answers I needed, even if they weren’t pleasant ones.”  Belle gestured him into a chair.  “Now, sit down and breakfast will be ready in a minute.   It looks like it’s just us this morning—Bae spent last night elsewhere.”

“Bae?” He didn’t know that name, but not knowing someone happened to him depressingly often here in Storybrooke.

“Baelfire.  My stepson.”

“You have a stepson?”  Belle had neglected to mention that the night before, though Lancelot had to admit that he hadn’t managed to ascertain much more than the fact that she was happily married to the new Sorcerer.

“I do.  It’s…well, we have a very confusing family tree these days.”  Belle laughed as another man entered the room carrying several plates, and Lancelot knew from the way she looked at him that this had to be her husband.

Trying to ignore the misplaced surge of quasi-parental protectiveness he felt as she kissed the newcomer on the cheek, Lancelot studied Rumplestiltskin.  He was built narrowly, smaller than Merlin had been and far paler-skinned.  His hands were rough, not the fine fingers of a privileged sorcerer, but more those of a man who had earned his callouses honestly.  There was a wariness in him that seemed ingrained in his every motion, and Lancelot could tell that this man only really relaxed when Belle touched his arm.  Somehow, though, the uncertainty he could sense in Rumplestiltskin made Lancelot feel much more at home.

“So you are Rumplestiltskin.”  He rose politely; it never paid to irritate a magic user, even if the man was married to Belle.

“And you are Lancelot.”

They met one another’s eyes for a moment, and then Belle intervened. 

“Food first, and then we talk,” she decreed, and both men complied.

Later, of course, they started in on the details, and Lancelot found himself in the midst of the old battle once more.  This time, however, he had new allies, and he still wasn’t quite sure what to make of them.  _I still want to look over and find Belle a child, with her mother here in her place,_ he thought sadly.  _I was away too long, and I allowed Colette to die in a war that I thought utterly unimportant because it could not decide the fate of the world._   He would never forgive himself for that, just as part of him would always hate himself for taking Colette away from parents who had loved her, for all their faults.  _I may have saved her soul, but at what cost?_

“I became Guinevere’s lover before we knew what she was,” he said after the dishes were cleared away.  “We…we hoped that her influence over Arthur would wane, or that we could at expose her adultery and uncover her secrets.  My plan was always to tell Arthur, because I never once thought that he _wanted_ to be anything less than the king we all dreamed he would be.”

“But he’s allied with her willingly,” Belle put in, looking sad.

“Yes.  I don’t know why, really; he talks about power and becoming the One True King, but I’ve always hoped there was more to it.  He was my friend.”  Lancelot swallowed hard.  “He was always ambitious, but he’s let her turn him into a monster.”

“I asked him several times if he knew where you were.  He always said he didn’t.”

“He’s the one who put me in that cell, so I’d say that was a lie.”  _And if I didn’t believe our friendship was dead already, I know it now._

“What do you know of Danns’ a’Bhàis?” Rumplestiltskin entered the conversation, but his calm question made Lancelot jump a little.

“I hope you don’t plan to call her that to her face.  She’s…touchy about it.”

One eyebrow rose.  “Do I look like the sort of man who cares what makes others touchy?”

Lancelot forced himself to shrug.  The cool confidence was all Merlin, but the sharp edges were something else entirely.  “I don’t know what you are, to be honest.  I only know what she was able to do to Merlin without any of us knowing.  You should be careful.”

“I’ve been the Dark One.”  Rumplestiltskin’s face closed off.  “I have no desire to repeat the experience.”

“You’ve _what_?”

“It’s a long story,” Belle put in, but Lancelot didn’t miss the way she squeezed her husband’s hand.  “Why don’t you tell us what you know of my grandmother?”

“You know what she wants—as far as I know, it’s always the same.  But if Morgan is here, she’d be the one who knows details.  But Guinevere…she’ll take toys, she calls them.  Slaves by a nicer name, anyway.  Whomever she wants, she’ll take.  Or seduce.  I think she was playing with me the entire time, honestly, but if I hadn’t come to her willingly, she would have used magic to force me.”  Lancelot shivered, remembering friends long lost, promising knights who simply _disappeared_ , only later to be found half-mad or worse.  “She thinks herself above humanity.  To her, we’re just pawns.”

Swallowing, he turned to look at Belle again, studying her.

“Except for you,” he added quietly.  “She did love your mother, and I think you might be safe from her.  But no one else will.”

* * *

 

Robin had convinced her to wait to take the potion until morning, even though Regina had been ready to do it the afternoon before.  Still, he had a good point—Zelena wasn’t an early riser, which meant that she’d probably be sound asleep.  That gave Regina an advantage, and she _wasn’t_ going to take any chances with this child.  Yes, the potion worked instantaneously, but what if Zelena was quick enough to try to stop it?  Or what if Zelena, as poisonous with envy as she always was, tried to curse her own child as the babe left her? No, doing it when Zelena was asleep was the best way, which brought them to this moment.

“Thank you again for doing this,” Robin said softly, sitting on the couch next to her.

Regina turned to look at him, fighting back tears.  “Don’t thank me for doing something that I want so badly it hurts,” she whispered.

“Well, then we want this together.”  He smiled, and Regina leaned in to kiss him.

“Yes.  We do.”  She glanced at the vial held in her right hand.  “Bottoms up, I suppose.”

Henry was with them, too, of course, but he was watching in rapt fascination.  _I suppose it’s better than him watching the_ actual _conception of a child,_ Regina thought to herself, and then wanted to shake her inner voice for that little gem.  _I don’t need to think of that right now!_  

At least swallowing the potion gave her something else to focus on, and Regina downed it in one gulp.  She’d expected a terrible taste, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had no flavor at all.  The potion even went down easily, tingling a little until it slithered down her throat.  Yet it wasn’t unpleasant at all, and Regina even had the time to take a deep breath before everything in her body _changed_.

“Regina?”

Robin’s distant voice floated in on her, but she barely noticed.  Regina felt like her body had been thrown into a blender, some parts expanding while others shrank, her stomach _growing_ and her eyes beginning to water.  Her hormones went haywire, struggling to deal with the sudden invasion of a _baby_ , and Regina didn’t know which way was up.  Suddenly, there was life inside her, life she could _feel,_ and she’d never dreamt it could be so wonderful.  There was a slight movement, as if Robin’s daughter was testing out her new home, and then a huge kick made Regina laugh out loud.

Unfortunately, the laugh turned into a sweeping wave of nausea, and Regina doubled over, retching.  She almost vomited on the carpet, and would have, had Henry not suddenly shown up with a trash can.

“Here, Mom.”

“Than—” She didn’t get further before her breakfast—she _knew_ she shouldn’t have eaten first!—attacked the trash can.  Then smelling that made her vomit again, swearing and crying and hating this idea.  _Everything_ felt terrible, even when Robin rubbed her back or gently held her hair out of her face.

Regina only puked again when Henry offered her some water, and the crackers they tried twenty minutes later only made things worse.  She finally managed to wash her mouth out and make it to the bathroom at some point, but it was only the beginning of a very long twenty-four hours.

* * *

 

Morgan arrived just as Zelena started yowling in pre-birth agony.  She had thrown a few monitoring spells on Zelena when she’d given her the surrogacy potion, all of which were designed to notify Morgan when the potion began its work.  She hadn’t _quite_ been accurate when she’d told Regina that the potion worked instantaneously; the actual transfer would take a few minutes, although once the transfer started, it was well-nigh irreversible.  Zelena could slow it down with her malice and foolishness, of course, but the child was going to leave her regardless.  And she’d feel every moment of the difficult birth that she would now never experience.

“You did this!” Zelena screeched at her, propped up in her bed by the elbows and looking equal parts murderous and miserable.

Morgan stepped into the bedroom of the farmhouse that Zelena had claimed after the Second Curse brought them all to Storybrooke.  She was incredibly happy to know that Mordred had finally kicked Zelena out; her firstborn might have been foolish enough to steal the Greater Sapphire back, but at least he’d demonstrated good sense in this case.  That had forced Zelena to return to her old home, but Morgan did not feel a bit of pity for her.  “I did.”

“What did you _do_?”  The question was punctuated by another wail, an overly theatric one if Morgan was any judge.  _I birthed five children and never made so much noise._ It felt like the walls were shaking.

“I took exception at the way you treated your daughter like a possession to play keep-away from your sister with.”  Morgan shrugged easily, but couldn’t stop her expression from darkening.  “As well as the way you raped a man to become pregnant.”

“It had nothing to do with him!  It was all Regina’s fault.  If she hadn’t been so insufferably— _ahhhh_!”

“The pains you feel are the child is now transferring to a woman who _Robin_ chose.  I’m sure that there aren’t any laws in this adorable town to cover the situation, but I thought that the one competent parent should be able to make that decision.”

Zelena managed to sit up, panting and glaring, and writing a little.  “You had no right to take my baby from me!”

“You’re hardly one to talk about rights, my dear.”  Drifting forward, Morgan met Zelena’s eyes.  “Given your history of raping men.”

“This is _my_ baby!  It’s mine!”

“Your child is not a thing you can own.”  Morgan stopped by the bedside, studying Zelena’s sweaty face dispassionately.  The redhead cried out again, but she merely waited until the wailing was through.  “And your daughter belongs as much—if not more—to the man who you deceived to create her.  At least he will love her.”

“She’ll love me _more_ ,” Zelena swore, utterly missing the point.  Morgan could feel her magic racing out, struggling to find purchase on the potion, but the transition was already complete.  The child was inside Regina, now, and now it was time for Zelena to pay the price.

“Love is not a competition.”  It had taken Morgan a long time to learn that; she had spent years furious with Danns’ a’Bhàis and Nimue, both for the parts of Merlin’s heart they’d owned.  _Especially Nimue._   Eventually, she had come to understand that love had to be earned, and giving it freely was never without worth.  “And it cannot be taken, you stupid girl.”

“Urgh—” Zelena cut off mid-groan, looking at her in pained confusion.  “Whatever are you talking about, you useless old crone?”

“Old I may be, but useless I am not.”  Morgan smiled thinly.  “The potion transferring your child is of my making, and if you have any intelligence within that empty head of yours, you will take it as a warning.”

“A warning?”  Another grating cry.  “A warning of what?  That you’re a monster?”

“Perhaps I am.”  She shrugged.  “If I am, however, I will rest assured that I am a monster of a lesser class than you.”  Leaning close, she shoved Zelena back down on the bed with a hard hand to the shoulder.  “But understand this: if you ever touch _either_ of my sons again, or my grandsons, or great-grandson, I will end you.  And you will not go softly.  I have dirtied my hands with far better blood than yours over the centuries, and if you harm anyone in my family, you will pay the price tenfold.”

“Sons?  What do you mean sons?”  Zelena struggled out from under her grip, looking confused.  Clearly, Mordred hadn’t wanted to tell her about his newfound half-brother, and Zelena had made no effort to find other sources of information in town.

“Have you already forgotten about the man whom you lamented did _not_ sire the child whom you conceived via rape?”

Zelena’s eyes went comically wide, stark whites surrounding the blue irises as she stared at Morgan. “You can’t—you can’t…”

“Remember my warning, Zelena.  Others have a greater call for vengeance upon you, so I will stay my hand to allow them the chance.”  She stepped backwards, relishing Zelena’s look of shock and despair.  “But I believe you have had far too many second chances, so do not expect one from me.”

“It’s not my fault—”

Morgan walked out, refusing to listen to the rest of the excuse.

* * *

 

Bae woke up face down on a couch for the first time in, well, he wasn’t sure how long.  Certainly the first time since coming to Storybrooke in the first place, and he thought at least a year or so had gone by since he’d found himself drooling on someone else’s leather couch.  Sitting up groggily, he blinked and tried to get his bearings, only to find that swinging his feet onto the floor made someone else yelp.

“Emma?” Looking down made his head pound, but his first thought was still to make sure that he had all his clothes on.

“Mmm.”  She squinted back at him, still curled up in a tiny ball with her arms wrapped around herself.  Thankfully, they were _both_ still dressed, which made a sigh of relief rattle around in his very hungover skull.

“Are we in your living room?”

“Think so.”

“Why aren’t you in bed?  You do have one, right?”  Bae didn’t want to think about the fact that she’d probably slept with Killian in that bed—thinking of Henry’s mom sleeping with _his_ mom’s old boyfriend made his stomach turn over extra hard after a night of hard drinking—but at least that was proof that she owned one.

“Didn’t want to deal.”

Something sounded off about that sentence, and it wasn’t just his hangover talking.  “With what?”

“With— _gah_ , everything.  Just everything.”  Emma scowled fiercely, sitting up.  There was a tiredness and a strain in her face that Bae knew she’d tried to drink away, but somehow it was worse today.

He hadn’t asked the night before, but maybe he should have.  Emma wasn’t usually the drink-to-forget kind of person; they’d both tried it a few times in their youth, and it had never worked out well.  He’d just figured that being the Dark One was taking its toll and Emma needed to forget everything for a night, so they’d drunk and done trivia, and then failed miserably at playing pool.  Tucked away somewhere in there were some very vague memories of Emma trying to seduce him, but he hadn’t been _that_ drunk, and she didn’t seem to expect it to work.  He remembered falling asleep on the couch while watching the Three Stooges, which they’d both found hilarious in their drunken state, and had let Emma laugh a little.  Somehow or another, she’d wound up on the floor while he was on the couch.  _Wow.  I’m utterly failing at being a gentleman these days, aren’t I?_

“Are you okay?” he asked as gently as he could, hoping that she wouldn’t throw her walls up instead of answering.

“Aside from being the Dark One and hungover, sure.  I’m fine.”  Emma turned to face him, and now her expression was normal.  Or at least as normal as someone with a whiskey-induced headache could look.  “Isn’t there a magical cure for hangovers?  There’s got to be.”

He shrugged.  “You’d have to ask my dad that one.  Or Regina. She’s probably made more use of it, if there is one.  Pop’s never really been the partying type.”

“I am _not_ asking Regina if there’s a magical cure for a hangover.”  Emma glared at him, but the look didn’t have any bite.  “Or your father.”

“I’ll ask him if you want, ‘cause I could sure as hell use it, too,” Bae said as lightly as he could, trying to study Emma without her noticing. 

Should he press?  She looked fine, now, but her dejected attitude the night before had been strange.  He’d tried to cheer it out of her, had asked if she was okay a half-dozen times, but Emma had brushed his concerns off as blithely as she was doing so now.  Usually, his instincts were pretty good when it came to reading Emma, even after a long while apart, but today Bae was coming up blank.

It had to be the hangover. He’d ask her again when they both felt more human.

* * *

 

Emma had found Sidney’s body three days earlier, and David had already had three would-be reporters lurking around the station looking for information.  Whale had taken his good sweet time with the autopsy, of course, though in the end it had come up inconclusive.  That—added to what Emma had told him—left David with no choice but to call Rumplestiltskin.

It really was an odd situation when the former Dark One was considered the most disinterested magic user in the town; Emma was automatically considered tainted because she was the _new_ Dark One, and all the troublemakers wanted to assume Regina was guilty of this murder.  So far, no one had actually stepped up to take up Sidney’s mantle of chief rabble-rouser, but David knew that was only a matter of time.  So, he asked Rumplestiltskin to meet him in the morgue, just so they could make certain that Sidney had indeed died via the means Emma had detected.

“Whale says that his heart is gone, but he can’t determine if he died because of that or because of something else,” David explained as they stood over the body.

Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that their conversation was taking place with a corpse as a centerpiece, but then the man had been the Dark One.  He’d undoubtedly seen plenty of bodies in his time.  Now, he simply shrugged. “Medicine won’t be able to determine that, anyway.”

“Can you?”

“Certainly.”  Rumplestiltskin lifted his left hand, letting it hover over Sidney’s chest from a few inches away.  “Although, for future reference, this sort of thing is far easier to tell when the body is fresh.  The longer you leave it, the more magical traces disappear.”

“Oh.”  David hadn’t thought of that.   “Sorry.  I mean, Emma found him right away, and she called the ambulance…I guess we all just were doing it the, um, normal way.”

“There’s nothing normal left about this town, dearie.”  But the comment was murmured, and not even a bit sarcastic.  David even thought that he saw Rumplestiltskin’s lips quirk in a quick smile.  “His heart was crushed, but I doubt he knew it was coming.”

That bit of information made David blink.  “You can tell that much?”

“There would be signs if he knew enough to be afraid.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “He was too relaxed.  He never saw it coming.”

“Then it was quick, at least.”  He’d never really liked Sidney, particularly not after the nasty pieces he’d written about Mary Margaret back when she’d been accused of murdering Abigail, but that didn’t mean that Sidney deserved to die in fear.  _No one_ deserved that, no matter what they’d done.  Sidney hadn’t really been a bad person, either.  He’d just been overcome by events so many times that he decided to lash out at those who had hurt him.

“I have no doubt.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, and then David had to ask: “Any idea who did it?  People are going to blame Regina, and if not her, Emma…”

“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid.”  Rumplestiltskin glanced up at him, and David couldn’t see a lie in the frank response.  Granted, even the people who knew the former Dark One best probably had a hard time detecting falsehoods from him, but David’s instincts said that there was no reason to lie.  _It’s not like anyone with half a brain thinks it’s him.  Not now._

Besides which, they all knew that if Rumplestiltskin had wanted Sidney dead, no one would have ever found the body, and the death probably wouldn’t have implicated Regina.  No, this one was far more likely to be Zelena’s fault, or even the evil fairy they all knew was lurking in the shadows.  That was a challenge that David still hadn’t figured out how to meet, and despite their repeated family get-togethers, he knew that his allies didn’t, either.  _I hate to think a murder is unimportant…but this one really pales in importance when you compare it to the war we’re about to face._

“I figured as much,” he admitted, making a mental note to get someone to look at the body a lot sooner—someone who wasn’t Emma, and who wouldn’t be blamed right off the bat.  Then David turned his mind to their bigger problems.  “You know…I feel like we’re playing someone else’s really sick game right now.  We keep reacting instead of acting.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “That thought’s occurred to you, too?”

“You’re supposed to be the chessmaster, here.  Any ideas?”

“We know who the players are now, and we know what they want.”  Dispassionate eyes met his.  “The only question now is what lengths we are willing to go to in order to stop them.”

“I can’t condone wholesale killing.  No matter what someone _plans_ , that isn’t right,” David said immediately.

Rumplestiltskin held up a hand, chuckling.  “Relax, Charming.  I’m no longer the Dark One, and murder isn’t my first instinct.  The problem, of course, is Danns’ a’Bhàis.  Zelena is a nuisance, but—”

“How can you say that when Zelena might have killed Sidney, too?  We already know she killed George and Griff, and she tried to kill Ruby!”

“Allegedly, yes.  That’s not my point.”

“Allegedly, hell.  We know she was impersonating Regina, and we know Regina didn’t do it.”  David was so sick of people blaming Regina, but Zelena seemed to be getting exactly what she wanted on that front.  Had she been the one to put Sidney up to his tricks, only to wait until Sidney had annoyed Regina enough that people would blame the former Evil Queen?

“Allegedly.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged what looked like something of an apology.  “The curse made me a lawyer, remember?  It can’t be proven, and if you want to practice Land Without Magic justice, that is an obstacle you cannot ignore.”

David met his gaze angrily.  “Well, I can’t just let her off the hook, either.”

Rumplestiltskin just snorted.  “You can either be a king or a sheriff.  Pick one.”

“Regina’s the mayor—”

“Co-rulers need not be married, dear.”  Clearly, Rumplestiltskin had grown impatient, and his eyes burned with something David could not identify as he continued in a sharp voice.  “There has been no true law in this town since the curse broke.  Now, under other circumstances, I would recommend a rewrite of the town charter, and—because we all know how the bulk of Storybrooke will vote—elections.  But we hardly have time for such foolishness.  We are facing a foe who will enslave us _all_ if given half a chance, and having been on the receiving end of such treatment in the past, I assure you that it is not a pleasant experience.”

David blinked.  “I guess you’re right.  I just…well, we’ve been so busy rushing from crisis to crisis that all we’ve done is react, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” said the man who had alternatively helped with or caused at least three quarters of said crises. 

“Are you suggesting that I ignore murders to focus on the larger picture?” David wanted to get the words out in the open; he didn’t have patience for subtle beating around the subject.

“Yes.”  A cold smile crossed Rumplestiltskin’s face, and suddenly David was reminded that he’d nearly destroyed them all two months earlier.  “Besides, I suspect Zelena is rather occupied right now.”

“Occupied?”

“Oh, yes.”  The smile turned a little gleeful. “You might say that my mother gave her a present.”

* * *

 

He’d managed to skip out on the first half of the school day because of how sick Regina was, but when Robin had noticed that the months’ worth of morning sickness wasn’t abating, he’d sent Henry to school, anyway.  Henry had grumbled, but not too much.  It had been kind of cool to see his great-grandmother’s handiwork in action (and really neat, in a dark and twisted way he was pretty sure none of his parents would approve of, to know that Zelena was even _more_ miserable than his mom).  Still, watching Regina vomit, curse, and swear to eviscerate Morgan le Fae had gotten old after a while, and they were covering the history of Agrabah after lunch, which Henry really didn’t want to miss.

The ride home on the bus, however, proved even more interesting than class had.  One minute, Henry was talking to Grace about the new hat that Jefferson had made, and the next moment, the bus was upside down.  Screams surrounded them, and he hit his head hard enough to see stars.  By the time he came to, Henry was lying on the roof of the bus, half underneath Grace, and all the other kids grabbing at one another in terror.  Craning his neck, Henry tried to look at the bus driver, but there was no head left on top of her shoulders.  A shiver ran through him, but he looked away resolutely even though he wanted to puke.  _I can’t think about that now._  

“Come on!” he shouted, reaching for Grace’s hand.  “We have to get out of here!”

Henry didn’t know if they’d hit something or the bus had been flipped over by magic, but he knew that staying inside it was a bad idea, particularly now that the bus was starting to rock back and forth ominously.  Fortunately, Grace followed his lead, and together they got the younger kids off the bus and onto the road.  It was a good thing, too; the engine of the bus seemed to be leaking something, and there was smoke coming out from under the hood.

“Everyone get in the grass!” Grace pointed at the side of the road away from the bus, and Henry really wished that Storybrooke Elementary wasn’t out on the far side of town, opposite the park.  If it hadn’t been so far from everything else, there would have been people around to help, but right now it looked like it was just them—

Except for the tall blonde man whose bearing screamed _evil_ standing off to the other side of the road.  He was watching them with a smirk, and Henry felt another chill run down his spine.

“Great.  That’s just what we need: another villain,” he muttered, making Grace turn.

“Who _is_ that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking chances.”  The stranger started walking towards them, and Henry backed up a step on instinct.

So did Grace.

“No need to run, children,” the stranger grinned.  “I only want to play.”

“I don’t think we’re into your kind of games,” Henry shot back.  He couldn’t call on Regina, and this guy didn’t seem to be the type to wait on a cell phone call.  But that was okay.  He had an instantly-ready angry mom.  “Emma Swan.”

Emma had told him that he only needed to say it once, and she appeared almost right away.  “Henry, is everything— _you_ again?”

“Oh, my.  The Dark One rides to the rescue.  How _ironic._ ”  He laughed.  “Is this boy dear to you?  I always like to know who would mourn my—”

Emma’s magic hit him hard in the chest, but he hammered her back almost as hard, making Emma stagger with the blow.  But she whipped her hands out, her eyes blazing with a fury that Henry had never seen before, and a sudden blast of black and red power made the stranger go flying.

“Mom!” Henry started to move to her side, but Emma held up a hand to stop him, danger radiating wildly from her.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Henry.”  Her hazel eyes were dark, darker than Henry remembered them being even in her earliest days as the Dark One.  They never left the man who had attacked the bus.  “I know this bastard.  He’s trouble.”

The stranger started to get up, but Emma closed her fist, and magic slammed him back down, shattering the pavement underneath him with an earsplitting _crunch_.  Chunks of asphalt flew through the air, and Henry thought he heard a cry of pain.

“Mom, don’t!  You’re better than this.  Don’t hurt him.  Just make him leave, please.”

“Henry…” Finally, she turned to look at him, and Henry stepped forward to take the hand that wasn’t outstretched.

“Please, Mom?”

Emma snarled softly, and Henry gripped her hand even tighter.  “Fine.”

Her outstretched hand came down, and Henry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Unfortunately, that gave the stranger a chance to get to his feet.  “Listen to the boy, Dark One.” He was still laughing, somehow, despite the blood matted in his hair.  “You never know who might turn out to be your _friend._ ”

“You are not my friend!”  Emma blasted magic at him again, but he was already gone.

“Who was that?” Grace asked quietly.  She seemed the only one of the kids brave enough to come near Emma, who glanced her way expressionlessly.

“I don’t know his name, but I know he’s up to no good.”

Emma wouldn’t say more, and after a moment, Henry and Grace turned away to try to sort the younger kids out.  They were in sixth grade, their last year in elementary school, and since the only adult from the bus was now dead, the older students needed to take care of the younger ones.  Emma seemed very uncomfortable with the idea, but she eventually used magic to fix the bus and then drive it back towards town, slowly and unsteadily.  Obviously, Emma had never driven a bus before, but at least she got them to safety.

Henry didn’t ask where she put the bus driver’s body; he was just glad that most of the little kids hadn’t noticed the headless corpse that the stranger had left behind.

* * *

 

Using the Greater Sapphire to battle his headaches no longer worked without pulling forth far greater amounts of power than Mordred was comfortable with.  Oh, he’d use whatever was required to defeat his enemies— _all_ of humanity’s enemies—but employing such power to quell his headaches was unwise.  Even if he couldn’t bring himself to put the gem down, he knew that.

His mother walking in the room, however, was enough to make him stuff the pendant back inside his shirt, quickly buttoning his collar to hide it.  “This is my private room, Mother.”

“And, as you have so succinctly pointed out, I am your mother.”  Morgan sounded completely unperturbed.  “I have seen you in far worse states of undress than this.”

He turned to face her as she gestured to his rumpled slacks and half-buttoned shirt; Mordred had thought taking a nap would help push back the pain, but he’d found himself staring into the Sapphire instead.  Part of him knew that was a problem, but ever since he’d banished Zelena, he’d found himself short of ways to distract himself from it.  _Not that I regret being rid of her.  She is insane, and deserves whatever fate Mother hinted she had in mind for her._

“What do you want?”  He was too tired to come up with a witty retort to her comment, even if it was cringe-worthy.

“I know you have the Greater Sapphire, Mordred.  There is no use hiding it.” She gestured at where the pendant lay hidden by his shirt, making him jump.

“How…?”

“Your brother is the Sorcerer.  Did you think he would not notice the remnants of an original power around your neck?”  Morgan snorted.  “He told me right away.  I was hoping you would be truthful when I asked.”

“You’re siding with _him_ again.”  Mordred couldn’t help spitting those words out.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous.  You always wanted a child with Merlin, and now he’s your pathetic substitute for Viviane.  Do you even still mourn her, or has Rumplestiltskin replaced every—”

 _Slap!_   The stinging in his check took a moment to register, and even then, Mordred had to blink several times before he could believe it.  His mother had hit him very few times in his life, and he’d always deserved it.  _Be honest with yourself now, Mordred.  You should not compare your half-brother with your dead sister, not when you know who killed Viviane._  Perhaps he had deserved it this time, too.

“I apologize,” he whispered stiffly after the ringing in his ears calmed down and his mother continued to stand in silence.  “That was uncalled for.”

“It was beneath you, yes.  Another comment like that, and I will leave you and not return.”

Mordred reared back, feeling as if she’d slapped him again.  Morgan had made her share of ultimatums over the years, but she had _never_ threatened to leave him.  She was his mother!  He was her firstborn son, and if Morgan had taught him anything, it was that family looked out for one another.  That was why he had reached out to Killian right away, and—

 _And you used him.  You used him, and then unknowingly—because you could not be bothered to find out otherwise!—tried to kill your own great-nephew.  Followed by your nephew.  You have made an enemy of your own brother, you who wept when you pulled Gwaine’s heart out and swore that you would do everything you could to protect him._ Mordred felt like someone had poured cold water over him, and a massive shiver shook his entire body.  What had he become?  Once, he had fought to defeat darkness, and not because he believed in his own destiny.  Back then, he’d done it because it was _right_.

Now he was turning into everything he hated.

“I…I fear I have already gone too far.” The words were hard to get out.  “I spoke to Reul Ghorm some days ago.  She told me that she would ally with me if I delivered the Heart of the Truest Believer to her.”

He could tell by the look in her eyes that his mother knew exactly who housed said heart.  Morgan’s voice was sharp.  “And?”

“The Heart is from our line again.” He shook his head, wondering if he would be so hesitant if the damned Truest Believer was not from a family member, and wondering if he _should_ have been hesitant.  Was the sacrifice worth it?  Mordred did not know.  Not for certain.  “I will not do it.”

“Good.”  Finally, Morgan stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm.  Mordred resisted the urge to melt into her like he had when he was a child, when Lot had been boorish or cruel, telling him that he was naught but a bastard, and he’d never measure up to his legitimate brothers.  Morgan had taught him to ignore such taunts, that he was royal on both sides and was his brothers’ equal in all ways.  Without her love, Mordred did not know what he would be now.

“What have I become, Mother?” he whispered.

“Harder and darker than you were.  Whatever magics you used to stop time in Camelot did you no favors.”  As always, he could count on his mother to be honest.  “And the Greater Sapphire is only making things worse.  You’re hoarding, Mordred.”

“I am not—” Looking at his mother’s raised eyebrow made him cut off.  “I haven’t worn dragon form for years.”

“You remain a Pendragon, dear.  It shows in your ambition and your inability to let go of a precious gem.” 

Mordred sighed.  He knew she was right, even if everything within him protested.  And he _should_ give her the Greater Sapphire, should relinquish Circe’s power…but he wasn’t sure that he could.  Just the thought was painful.  Besides, the pendant wasn’t the problem, was it?  He’d started himself on this road long before he took the sapphire.  _I can still hold it and yet be better.  Now that I know where I have failed, I can fix things._

“I…I don’t know if I can give it up.”  Being so honest was hard, but he’d rarely lied to his mother and thought continuing to do so was unwise.

Her hand touched his face, brushing lightly over his cheek.  “It’s already burning through you, isn’t it?”  Morgan’s expression turned worried.  “You have headaches?”

“Yes.  I tried to quell them with the Sapphire, and it worked for a while, but…” He shrugged.  “It stopped.”

“Oh, Mordred.”  He’d not heard such pain in her voice since she told him that she would have to follow her own portal to the Enchanted Forest, and that she would not be able to return to Camelot.  “You _know_ what using an original power could do to you.  How could you delve so deep already?”

He studied his shoes, embarrassed.  “I thought I could manage it.  I thought you were just afraid of it.”

“No.  Such power will burn through a mere human, and Pendragon and magic though you may be, you are human.  Your fae and fairy blood can only protect you for so long.  If you were a half power, perhaps…” Morgan shook her head.

 _She_ was a half power, due to much of Viviane’s power skipping a generation and landing in her, but she had feared using the Sapphire.  Too late, Mordred understood why.

“What do I do?”

“Use it as little as you can.  I will research ways to delay the inevitable.”  Morgan’s hand came away, her tone brisk and expression focused.  “Perhaps your brother can help.”

“Mother!  I am not—”

“Mordred.”

He gulped.  “My apologies.”

Still, the acidic burn of envy would not leave him, and Mordred was fairly certain—now that he was being honest with himself—that the feeling did not come from anything the Sapphire had done to him.  _He’d_ been determined to become Merlin’s successor, to surpass the old sorcerer in all ways.  Yet Merlin’s power had gone to his much-younger brother, a man who had become the Dark One!  Mordred would always hate Merlin for that, yet perhaps he could absolve his brother of some of the blame.  Rumplestiltskin had, at least, been a far from ordinary Dark One.  That had to mean something, didn’t it?

* * *

 

Belle found her husband in his workroom that evening, after they’d shared a fairly cordial dinner with Lancelot and she’d sent the knight off to bed.  She’d thought about inviting her father over to talk to Lancelot, but had decided to wait for now; there was no knowing who might be keeping an eye on Maurice, and he had spent far more time with her grandparents than Belle was currently comfortable with.  She knew that she’d kind of given them the cold shoulder lately, ignoring two calls from her grandmother and three from her grandfather, but Belle couldn’t bring herself to talk to them.  _Not after this last screw-up, anyway._

“Rumple?” She hated the way her voice shook as she stepped into the room, but it did have the benefit of making his head snap up immediately.

“Are you all right?  Did something happen?” Immediately, he stepped away from the book he was reading, leaving it to flop closed on the desk as he came to her side. 

“No, and no.”  Belle swallowed hard, crossing her arms and ducking her head to study her feet. “I think I made—I _know_ I made—a big mistake.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll make it right.”  Rumplestiltskin came to stand beside her, and Belle felt his arms wrap tightly around her.  Letting out a shaky breath, she leaned into his chest, treasuring the closeness.  But the guilty lump in her throat made words hard to find.  Finally, he said: “What happened, Belle?”

“I told Blue.”  She knew her voice was tiny, a stark contrast to the way she’d mouthed off to the senior fairy, but she felt so awful.  “I didn’t mean to, but she made me so _angry._   She was condescending, and kept saying that no one but her would understand, and…and I just spit it out.”

“You told her that you know that your grandmother is the Black Fairy.”  His voice was flat, not condemning her at all, but somehow that made Belle feel even guiltier.

She cringed.  “Yes.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that _all_?”  Belle pulled back to look at him.  “Rumple, you’re the one who said that we needed every advantage we could get, that keeping her in the dark as long as possible would keep people safe!  You can’t excuse it just because I’m the one who did it.”

“I’m not.”  He cupped her face, and as frustrated and angry at herself as she was, Belle leaned into his touch.  “Sweetheart, we always knew it would come out eventually.  We bought ourselves a few weeks.  I never thought we’d get more than that.”

“It’s still my fault.”

“It’s not like Blue didn’t know.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Don’t get too far down on yourself.  We’ll be all right.”

“Then what now?” She let him pull her back into his arms again, though, letting out a breath and trying to focus on the future. 

“We move forward.  We gather our strength and try to beat your grandmother at her own game before it starts.”

“How do we do that?”

Rumplestiltskin hesitated.  “I’m not sure.”

Belle swallowed again, reminding herself that her husband didn’t know the rules of this game any more than she did.  He was a master manipulator, but he was working off instinct alone.  No one really knew how to stop her grandmother, because they didn’t really know what she wanted, aside from freeing the fae and collapsing the walls between the realms.  But they knew she couldn’t do the latter without two original powers, which meant that as long as Blue didn’t join with her, they were safe from _that_ threat. 

As for the rest, though…there was no way to know what was to come.  And that was far more terrifying than Belle’s mistake could ever be.

* * *

 

She was fairly sure that it was over.

Regina had not felt so dirty since she’d tromped around the Enchanted Forest in peasant guise, unable to use her magic or get back to her castle where warm baths and clean clothes awaited.  She’d hadn’t really been sick since learning magic, either; although she was still working out the kinks on how to heal others, anger and bitterness worked fine as catalysts to heal oneself.  Now, however, she felt like she’d been run over a truck driven by Captain Guyliner, and she was fairly certain that at least a quarter of the vomit had gotten all over her favorite pantsuit.

 _I will burn those clothes once I feel better,_ she promised herself, climbing out of the shower.  Her balance was still off, either from the hormones, the wild ride of nausea or the fact that Regina was carrying more weight than her brain thought she should be.  She had the belly of a woman who was almost fifteen weeks pregnant, and her pants had become ridiculously tight after the transfer.  She _felt_ huge, even if Robin and Henry had tried to tell her that she wasn’t showing too much.  Hell, Regina felt like a whale, felt like she should be waddling instead of walking, and she was already starting to regret the fact that her wardrobe included exactly two pairs of flats.

 _Clothes shopping tomorrow._   First, however, she needed to find sweatpants, which she didn’t own either.  Thankfully Robin had a half dozen pairs, since he liked sleeping in them.  And his pants size was bigger than hers, which meant she should at least be comfortable.  _I should have thought of this_ before _getting myself pregnant.  Why didn’t the fact that my pants won’t fit occur to me?_ Regina wanted to scream out her frustration at the universe, but she managed to keep herself to a quiet snarl, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. 

For now, she shrugged into a robe, glancing warily at her stomach once more.  She could feel the baby, every now and then—and what an amazing feeling _that_ was!—but it was still weird.

“Everything all right?” Robin peeked his head in the door, and Regina smiled wanly.

“I think the worst of it is over.”  She took a deep breath, and was rewarded by her stomach _not_ rolling wildly.  “Hopefully, nine hours of ‘morning’ sickness was enough.”

Robin stepped forward to wrap his arms around her.  “I can’t thank you enough for doing this, ‘Gina.  Knowing our child is safe, knowing that _you_ get to carry her…it makes me feel like my heart will burst from happiness.”

That made her smile until she noticed how his arms fit around her differently, and the sudden change made Regina cranky.  “I feel like a whale,” she complained.  “And if I never see a wastebasket again, it will be too soon.  I am _burning_ that suit.”

“I think we can get it clean, and the floor isn’t so bad—”

“ _Burning._ ”  She twisted to glare at him.  “And replacing the carpet.  First thing.”

“It’s your house.”  Robin had the good sense not to argue with her, and kissed her on the side of the neck, instead.  “But you’re not a whale.  I think you look beautiful.”

“I think you’re contractually obligated to say that.”

Robin laughed.  “No, but I’ll have you know that I _would_ lie to you about it if I had to.  Not that it’s needed.  You _are_ beautiful.”

Part of her wanted to hate everything, to take her suddenly wild emotions out on everyone around her, but Robin had always been able to make her laugh.  So, she smiled again, turning to kiss him—until a wave of nausea swept over her, and next Regina knew, she was vomiting her guts out in the sink.

Robin held her gently, but she wound up wanting to burn that robe, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Three—“ And in the Darkness O’er Her Fallen Head”, in which Emma tries to figure out a way out of her situation, Henry starts wondering about his mom, Baelfire has a chat with his grandmother, Regina adjusts to being pregnant, Mordred runs afoul of Nuckelavee, and Rumplestiltskin worries over Belle's health.


	63. And in the Darkness O’er Her Fallen Head

Emma had been the Dark One for almost two months.  She’d counted every day, every moment, for fifty-seven days, waiting to be broken free of this hellish prison and desperately furious at the mere idea of being anything else.  The power was certainly useful; she’d delighted in how easy it had been to defeat that laughing bastard who had tried to hurt Henry and his classmates.  It stood to figure that he was the same asshole who had tried to crawl into her personal space a few days earlier, and Emma’s hands itched with the urge to hurt him as she watched the clock tick over to midnight.

 _Fifty-seven days as the Dark One,_ she thought glumly, using her despair to quash the need to break her opponent into pieces.  _And I am further from freedom than I was the moment I took this damned darkness on._ She did want to be herself again, didn’t she?  Emma hated—loved—being the Dark One, and she knew that the longer it took, the more power she used, even for the best of reasons, the harder it would be.

Not that she had a lot of options, now.  Emma had almost been able to forget the chains surrounding her when she’d taken on that laughing fool, because there she’d been able to be herself.  She’d been able to do what _she_ thought was necessary, but that didn’t negate the bars around her, did it?  The cage she was kept in might have been less physical than the one Zelena had put Rumplestiltskin in, but it was no less real.  As was the sudden _tug_ she felt—

Suddenly, Emma found herself on her knees in front of the Black Fairy, fury whipping through her.  The summons had _hurt_ , and for one wild and unhinged moment, Emma wondered if even _thinking_ of the dagger’s holder could alert them.  _No, you just have no luck and no freedom,_ one of the voices inside her whispered.  _This is all you are, now.  Her slave._   Anger made her see red; Emma wanted to claw those voices out and burn them all.  _I am not a slave!_

Still, she knew better than to say those words out loud.  She had learned that lesson.  Emma would keep her defiance to herself…mostly. 

“What do you want?” she snapped, trying desperately not to think of Henry, who had spent the night at her house and was now there alone.  _I can fight this for him, can’t I?  True Love is the most powerful magic of all.  That’s got to be enough._

 _True Love didn’t save Rumplestiltskin,_ the imp’s sing-songy voice reminded her, and Emma scowled harder.

“I would advise you to greet me with more respect.”  The Black Fairy looked down at her, seeming more intrigued than angry.  That was good, at least.  Emma had no desire to earn herself another so-called reminder about how to behave.  “I’ll not warn you again.”

“Fine.”

The dagger twitched, and pain exploded in Emma’s head, in her sinuses, behind her eyes, and along her jawline.  She screamed, feeling like she was bleeding out her ears, biting her tongue and convulsing as the wave of agony washed over her—and then stopped cold, leaving her panting and shaking in its wake.  Emma struggled for air, wondering if the punishment had lasted a second or an hour, and unable to tell.  She was still on her damned knees, too, though one hand had somehow found immaculate hardwood floors to lean on for balance.

She could _feel_ the Black Fairy waiting through the dagger, could feel the heavy expectation and the promise of pain.  Emma hadn’t known that it could hurt so much, even if she was uncomfortably aware of how much pain the dagger’s holder could cause her with a mere thought.  _Be smart.  Strength isn’t shouting at people and blustering; it’s doing what you have to do and surviving._   The thoughts sounded almost like Neal, and Emma found that oddly reassuring.  Still, she hated herself as she ground the words out, knowing exactly what the Black Fairy was waiting for.

“My Lady.”

A dangerously sharp-edged smile.  “Better.”  The Black Fairy strode over to sit down in what looked like a comfortable arm chair, leaving Emma on her knees.  “Now, I thought it was time for us to have a little chat.”

“A chat.  Is that really what you call this?” Emma couldn’t stop herself from gesturing at the way she was still on her knees, held there by an invisible force inside _her_ that wouldn’t let her rise.

“How uncivilized of me.  You are correct, of course.  So long as you behave yourself, I should treat you better.”  She gestured at the chair to her left, the one separated by her own by a gorgeously carved end table.  “Sit down.”

Just like that, the invisible bonds holding Emma down released, and she found herself walking to the chair and sitting down.  At least she was able to move around once she was there, shifting to be more comfortable and trying not to feel like a puppet on strings.  _Sit, little doggy.  Stay!  Maybe she’ll pat you on the head next and call you a good dog._   A chill of anger raced through her at that thought, but Emma tried to push it aside.  She couldn’t tell if it had been hers or the darkness’s, anyway.

Green eyes met hers, either ignoring her fury or oblivious to it.  Somehow, Emma doubted it was the later.  “So, have you tried to tell someone that I have your dagger, Dark One?”

Pain rose, hot and fast, as Emma clamped her jaw shut.  She wanted to say no, wanted to lie, but she _couldn’t_.  The words just wouldn’t come out, and her head was starting to pound madly, pressure building and building and building, making her feel like the answer was going to explode out of her.  She could fight, but at what _price?_   Everything hurt—“Yes.”

The pressure relented immediately, and the Black Fairy laughed softly, running her fingers over the wavy edge of the dagger.  “Three days in, and you are still trying to fight me.  Impressive.”

“Not really,” Emma grated out, twisting to glare at the other woman and wondering if she could get the dagger away from her.  “Not if it doesn’t work.”

“It won’t, of course.”

Emma just made herself smile.  _We’ll see about that.  There’s got to be a loophole.  There’s always a loophole._

“What are you thinking?”

“That—gah, _no!_ ” Pain hit her when she tried not to answer, and Emma found herself clutching desperately at her head.  But of course her cut palm burned when it made contact with her forehead, and Emma cried out despite her best efforts to remain silent.  The world around her swam in pain, and again, her lips started moving on their own.  “That there’s always a loophole.”

 That made the Black Fairy laugh.  “Of course there is.  Eventually, you will find one, I’m sure.  But there is a price.”

“What do you mean, a price?” Her vision had cleared enough to glare. 

“Every time you defy me, someone you love will die.  Choose who dies first.”

 _“What_?”

“You heard me.  Choose one.  Your father, perhaps?  Or maybe your brother.  Or your son.”  The green eyes that met her glare were devoid of compassion, and there was very little victory dancing in their depths.  She meant every word, Emma realized despairingly.  “How many will I have to kill before you learn to behave?”  The Black Fairy sat back in her chair, every line of her body relaxed.  “I will make you watch, of course.  And after the first one, you will do the killing.  It will not be quick.”

“No.  No one.”  Emma didn’t have too much pride to plead, not when her family was at stake and she could _feel_ the fact that the darkness would force her to do this sick fairy’s bidding.  “No one.  Please.  I won’t—I’ll do what you want.”

“Yes, you will.  How graciously you do so, however, _is_ up to you.”

Emma could barely breath through her terror.  _Not my family.  Please, not my family.  I don’t care how much she hurts me, but I_ can’t _let them get hurt.  If I do, everything has been for nothing._

“Now, onto my next subject.”  Had the Black Fairy not held the dagger, Emma would never have heard her speak; she was too wrapped up in her own fears to listen.  But the darkness _made_ her listen, made every word echo in her like a shout.  “I understand you made a deal with Rumplestiltskin the day you fought.  He gave you the dagger back and demanded something in exchange.  Tell me what it was.”

There it was, her last hope evaporating into thin air.  Emma had been counting on that deal to save her, counting on it to send the dagger to Rumplestiltskin, who could at least keep it from this crazy bitch.  Emma didn’t want to be anyone’s slave, but she figured that the man who had all too recently experienced this same hell would probably be gentler.  _It’s a really screwed up world when I’m trusting Rumple-freaking-stiltskin to control me nicely,_ she thought brokenly, but she couldn’t escape the command.  It was echoing inside her, branded into her brain.  _Tell me what it was.  Tell.  Tell._

“Control.”  Emma’s eyes watered from trying to hold back the words, or at least she hoped that was why.  She would not let herself cry, not in front of this monster.  She was stronger than that, and if she had to cling to her rage to get through this, she would.  “I promised control, to hold the darkness back.”

That was enough, wasn’t it?  Strictly speaking, what Emma had said was even true, but she was beginning to realize that the deal had never promised that _she_ would be in control, had it?  They’d both implied that it meant Emma, but the words had never been explicitly said.  A sinking feeling filled her stomach, and then the dagger twitched, making sparks explode inside her vision.  Emma hissed in pain.

“Go on.”

She could feel her teeth grinding together but the darkness forced her to continue.  _No loopholes for you, dearie!_   “The dagger would revert to him if it started killing innocents.  Or turning them into pets again.”

“Yes, that bit with the cat was rather inspired.”  The way the Black Fairy’s eyes shone briefly with amusement was disturbing as all hell.  “So, you’re restricted from killing innocents or turning them into little animals.  But what happens if someone is _not_ so innocent, or you simply want to hurt them?”

“Want to?” Emma couldn’t help snorting.  “Lady, I didn’t take this thing on for power, and I _don’t like_ any of—”

“Stop.”

Just like that, her jaw clamped shut, her teeth snapping together so quickly that it hurt.  The unspoken command for _silence_ burned into her, and all Emma could do was glare.

“Continue without the commentary, if you please.”  There was nothing of a request in that command, either.

“Nothing,” she whispered dejectedly, forced to tell the truth.  “The dagger wouldn’t go _anywhere_.”

“Well, then.”  A satisfied smile spread over her captor’s face.  “As you said, there is always a loophole.”

* * *

 

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin had woken up to the sound of the Belle vomiting, and he’d almost leapt out of bed right away to check on her.  But the toilet flushed shortly thereafter, and he managed to rein his overprotective nature in—mostly.  _Belle would let me know if she needed help,_ he told himself firmly.  Part of marriage was trust, and if he had learned anything from his past mistakes, it was that he needed to trust Belle to deal with her own issues.

“Yup.”  She smiled brightly, and she _looked_ fine.  Glorious, even, in that short and sheer nightgown that he’d bought her the week before.  “I think I might have a bit of a stomach bug.  I’ll go see Whale for it later today if I don’t feel better.”

“You know, I could show you how—”

Belle cut him off with a laugh.  “I think I’d rather stick to medicine right now.  But if he can’t fix it, I’ll let you.”

“If you insist.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to frown; he knew he was prone to using magic to fix health issues, but why _shouldn’t_ he be?  Nowadays, his magic was predominately light, particularly healing magic, and it wasn’t like prescription medications didn’t come with a price, too.  Doctors simply called those _side effects_ , and tried to pretend they weren’t important.  At least magic was straightforward about it, and a clever sorcerer could manage the price and make sure it didn’t cause irrevocable harm.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”  Climbing back in bed, Belle snuggled back up against him, her warm body fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm.  Even though almost two months had passed since the darkness had been pulled out of him, Rumplestiltskin still marveled at their closeness, marveled at the fact that they were _here_.  Together.

Leaning over, he kissed her hair.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”  Belle tipped her head back to look at him, her blue eyes shining.  “What brings that up at this hour?”

“You.  You being here.  I should…I should have died, Belle.  Twice over, or three if you count the time I really _did_ die.  I never should have survived the darkness taking over, and Merlin should have conquered me, as well.  But I didn’t, and that’s because of you.”

“You had to fight your way back.  I didn’t do it for you.  You did that for yourself.”

“No, but you gave me a reason to,” he whispered.  “I’ve never been good at believing in myself.  It’s why I never could let your kiss free me from being the Dark One.  I’d never thought I’d be anything without it.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, not sure why he’d suddenly chosen to be so honest.  He was better these days, yet opening his heart like this was still hard, and still left him feeling raw.  “But even before I became the Sorcerer, I’d like to think I learned a little courage. You taught me that.”

Her smile was bright enough to power the house for months.  “I just helped you find what was already inside you.”

Perhaps she had, but that didn’t make what he’d said less true.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“Love isn’t about deserving, Rumple.”  Belle kissed him gently, and he could feel the echo of power even in a light touch of their lips.  How had he ignored that when he was the Dark One?  How had he fooled himself into thinking that the darkness was more powerful than their love?  What a fool he had been. 

“I suppose it isn’t.”  If it were, Rumplestiltskin knew he’d have been doomed long ago.

“Now, it’s early, and I want to get some more sleep.”  Belle cuddled back into him, curling up tiredly.  Still, he could hear the smile in her voice.  “Unless you have any more epiphanies to share?”

He chuckled.  “No, nothing that can’t wait until it’s light out.”

“I do love you, you silly man,” she whispered.  “Even if you make a bony pillow.”

Rumplestiltskin just snorted.

* * *

 

Emma had still been sleeping fitfully when Henry got up, so he decided to try his hand at cooking breakfast.  Emma had started teaching him how to make pancakes way back when they’d been in New York, but Regina had shown him how to do scrambled eggs a few days earlier and he thought it might be really nice to surprise Emma with that.  Besides, she didn’t seem to have all the ingredients for pancakes, anyway, but scrambled eggs didn’t need much.  Her fridge looked like she hadn’t gone grocery shopping in forever, which kind of figured because Emma was still having a hard time being normal around everyone.  The grocery store probably wasn’t the kind of place that the Dark One really hung out, Henry figured, so maybe that explained the fact that Emma’s fridge contained milk, bread, leftover fried chicken, ranch dressing, pickles, and eggs.  And nothing else.

Unless you counted the chili that was so old that it had grown _green_ on top.  Henry couldn’t help wondering if that chili predated their trip to Neverland and Emma had just moved it from the loft to here, because it looked older than the two months that had passed since Emma had become the Dark One.

Fortunately, the milk smelled okay, so Henry settled in to start cooking, wondering if the smell would bring Emma down stairs or if he’d have to wake her up.  But he had just poured the beaten eggs into the pan when Emma came trudging down the stairs, looking miserable and like she needed another week of sleep.  _That’s really weird, since as the Dark One she doesn’t_ need _sleep,_ Henry thought.  Why had she been sleeping, anyway?  He knew she usually didn’t bother.

“Morning, Mom!  Want some eggs?  I’m almost done.”

Stopping cold, Emma blinked, staring at him like she hadn’t seen him at all.  “Henry.  You’re still here?”

“Yeah, you’d have kicked my butt if I disappeared after spending the night.  Besides, I was hungry, and Mom taught me to make scrambled eggs.”  He kept his reply as normal sounding as he could, but there was something off in Emma’s stance that set Henry’s instincts on edge.

“Sure.  Eggs sound great.”  She blinked again, and seemed to come back to normal with a slight wince.  “Just don’t burn down my kitchen, okay?”

He shrugged.  “You could fix it if I did.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.”  But Emma’s smile seemed strained, and Henry turned to face her after making sure that the eggs weren’t really burning by moving them around the pan.

“You okay, Mom?  You look weird.”

“I’m just tired.” She shrugged.  “This Dark One stuff is no picnic, you know.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out a while ago.  But I thought you didn’t have to sleep?”

“Not having to sleep and not getting tired aren’t the same things, kid.”  Emma’s eyes focused on the clock for a moment, though Henry couldn’t tell if she was reading the time or looking right through it.  “Sometimes I try to sleep to block the voices out.  Sometimes it doesn’t work.”

“Can you talk to Grandpa Gold about how he managed it?”

Emma snorted.  “He’d say that all magic comes at a price, and this does.  The voices…well, they don’t go away often.”

Henry glanced at the eggs again.  “Not often means they do sometimes.”

“Not often enough.”  Her whisper sounded broken.

“Mom?”

“Never mind.”  Emma’s smile seemed more normal when she looked back at him.  “Now, how about those eggs?  I’m starving.”

Henry contemplated pushing, but if Emma was determined to say she was okay, maybe he should just go with it.  _I can ask Dad later.  Or Grandpa.  They’ll both know if I should ask more or leave her alone._ Decision made, he returned her smile.  “I hope so, ‘cause I made like a dozen eggs.  Well, eleven, really, cause I dropped the first one on the floor and had to clean it up.”

“Henry!”

“What?” He shrugged.  “I’m hungry, and you said you are, too.”

Emma just groaned, and for a moment, Henry could pretend that everything was normal again.

* * *

 

She wanted to kill someone.  In fact, Zelena couldn’t remember _ever_ having felt this murderous about anyone, including her sister.  She didn’t really want to kill Regina, after all.  She just wanted to make her suffer.  She hadn’t even really wanted to erase Regina from existence; no, her plan had always been for Regina to exist as the less-favored younger sister, who got to watch Zelena in all her glory.  But this, _this_ was worthy of murder.  That bitch had taken her child away, and Zelena was going to make her pay.

Granted, by the time she was able to get out of bed that morning, she felt better than she had in ages.  If one discounted the hours and hours of miserable pain, the transfer had actually been rather useful.  Zelena felt slim and beautiful again, without that little parasite gnawing on her insides.  Oh, she was sure that her little green bean would be beautiful and perfect in the end—with Zelena for a mother, how could she not?—but not having to carry the little monkey was actually rather nice.  Not that she was going to tell Mordred’s bitch of a mother that.  As far as Zelena was concerned, as excellent as the outcome was, _she_ should have been able to control who had her child now.

There was no way to know for sure, and no evidence at all that Morgan favored her obnoxious little sister, but Zelena  had a feeling where her baby had gone.

“I’m going to make you _suffer_ ,” she swore, not sure if she was talking to an imaginary Morgan or an imaginary Regina—or both. 

But Morgan first.  That self-satisfied bitch would pay for what she’d taken.

* * *

 

Somehow or another, he’d become his dad’s go-to handyman when it came to electrical problems across the variety of properties Rumplestiltskin owned, but Bae didn’t mind.  Dove was good at handling mechanical issues and was apparently the best drywall guy in all of Storybrooke, but his dad’s formerly avian henchman wasn’t very good at re-wiring entire circuit breakers.  Bae’s specialty was really I.T. stuff, but he’d learned an electrical trick or two over the years, and one of the odd jobs he’d taken back in the day had been as an electrician.  Besides, doing those jobs actually made him feel like he was earning his keep, and the last thing anyone wanted was to see his dad try to magic up a solution to a burned-out circuit board.

Still, he didn’t expect to run into his grandmother at seven in the morning, not when he’d been up before dawn to answer the trouble call that had left the entire east building of Bayview Apartments without power.  He’d been walking down by the water, just kind of enjoying the peace and quiet, and found Morgan staring out at the sea.  She didn’t look particularly upset or anything, just distracted and perhaps a little sad.

After a moment of going back and forth about it, he headed over to stand next to her.

“Hey.”  Bae hated how awkward the greeting sounded, but he didn’t really know his grandmother all that well.  He knew she’d been talking to his dad quite a bit, which he thought was really good—he could only imagine how he’d have felt in his dad’s shoes.  _I thought my relationship with my parents was weird, but Pop’s got me beat._

Morgan swung to face him, blinking in surprise.  “Baelfire.”

“Just Bae, please.  That’s pretty much what everyone calls me.”

Her smile was almost as shy as he felt.  “Bae, then.”

“So, what’s with the water-gazing?  Or did Killian inherit that crazy-for-the-sea gene from you?”

“Oh, no.”  Morgan sounded surprised to be laughing, but she chuckled all the same.  “I detest boats and the sea.  I suspect he got that from Lot, who—although a right bastard in many other ways—was an excellent seaman.”

“Lot.  That’s…Killian’s grandfather?”  ‘Right bastard’ sounded like an upgrade from Pan, but who knew?

“Yes.  My husband.”  The way her lips pressed into a thin pale line told Bae she hadn’t liked King Lot one bit, so he figured that changing the subject was in order.

“I think crappy relationship picking must run in the family.  I almost got married to one of _my_ grandfather’s evil minions, Papa and Mama were about the worst fit ever, then _Killian_ got involved with Mama, and, well, uh…”

“Then I slept with my own brother before marrying a man whom the entirety of Orkney and Camelot called ‘the Red Devil’?”  Morgan barked out a laugh.  “I think you might be right.”

“You also slept with Pan before he was Pan, which—coming from someone who spent an unfortunate amount of centuries around the jerk—doesn’t do you a lot of credit,” Bae couldn’t resist adding.  “And Mordred shacking up with Zelena doesn’t help the family reputation, either.”

Morgan grinned back at him.  “Yes, well, I suppose we must have _some_ family traditions.  I fear for Henry in that case, though.”

“Maybe he’ll have his mom’s family’s luck on that front.  Snow and Charming did pretty well with each other—not that you ever met Snow.”

“I was here since the Second Curse.  I remember her.”  Morgan’s gaze grew distant for a moment, and then she winced a little.  “Please tell your friend Emma that I am sorry about that.  When I helped enchant that bier for Arthur, I had hoped to wake him someday free of Danns’ influence…and that he might return to the man he had been.  Instead, he killed a good woman, and he does not regret it.”

“And she’s back.”

“That, also.”

They stood in companionable silence for a long moment, and Bae tried not to be too obvious about it as he studied his grandmother.  He’d definitely inherited his warped sense of humor and roll-with-the-punches attitude from her, he realized.  Morgan probably would have shattered into pieces long ago if she’d not been able to view the world with cynical humor, because she’d been fighting this battle for how many centuries?  _Too many._   Just when he’d been convinced that life in Storybrooke couldn’t get any weirder, the entire Camelot mythos just had to drop on their heads, didn’t it?  Under other circumstances, he’d have been happy to tell the lot of supposed heroes, hidden villains, and tricky magic users to go back where they came from, but gaining family was kind of nice.

Provided certain members of said family stopped trying to kill his kid and his ex-girlfriend, anyway.

* * *

 

“She’ll be out for blood once she finds out, you know,” Robin pointed out sensibly as Regina picked at a late breakfast.  She’d _finally_ fallen asleep around three o’clock, and the five hours she’d gotten since then really hadn’t done her any favors.  She no longer felt ready to vomit the world up—though she had when she’d woken up—but she still felt weird.

 _I’m carrying a child,_ she thought, laying an amazed hand on her own stomach.  _I’m carrying_ Robin’s _child._  

She would have thought it was a dream had the price for the magic not made her so miserable, and if she wasn’t acutely aware of how said child had been conceived.  That would never impact how Regina felt about _her_ daughter, about the child growing inside _her_ , but it meant she would never be able to forgive Zelena.  She wasn’t so angry that she didn’t hope that this child might give Zelena a reason to be better, but after watching Zelena endanger the child again and again, Regina wasn’t sure even the smallest redemption was ever going to tempt her sister.

“Let her.”  Taking an experimental bite of toast, Regina brought her eyes up to meet Robin’s.  “I’m pregnant and cranky.  I’d like to see her try to get through my magic when I’m like this.”

A half-horrified expression crossed Robin’s face before he all too obviously wiped it away.  “Regina…”

“I’m not going to go looking for a fight,” she snapped before she could stop herself.  Would she _ever_ stop being this hormonally angry?  She really hoped so.  “But if she brings one, I’m going to wipe the floor with her.  And now you can shoot her all you want, too.”

Robin brightened noticeably at that.  While the mayor part of Regina (and the redeemed part of her that was always at war with her darker past) knew that shooting someone really wasn’t the ‘right’ thing to do, she figured that Zelena had definitely earned it.  Sooner or later, Zelena would threaten someone else—probably Robin or Roland, knowing her—and then whatever happened was exactly what Zelena deserved.

She refused to feel responsible for her sister’s actions.  Regina had enough of her own misdeeds to make up for, as well as a new and very pressing reason inside her to be the best person she could be.

* * *

 

For the first time in his life, Mordred was truly uncertain about what to do.  He’d decided not to turn against his family, but now what?  He had no idea where he fit into the coming war if he wasn’t directing it, and he knew that he’d already burned too many bridges for the heroes to ever accept him, so what was he supposed to do?

Worse yet, he could feel the way the Greater Sapphire was drawing on him—or, rather, drawing him down.  _Mother was right.  It will burn through me._ Too late, Mordred realized that the way the pendant burned through him had nothing to do with how much power he had; it had to do with the fact that a human, no matter how accustomed to greater magics they were, could not withstand the way an original power tore through their body.  He was not fully human, of course, but Mordred suspected a plain fairy would suffer the same fate he was.  _Merlin’s power must have changed Rumplestiltskin; either that, or being the Dark One did.  But Circe’s power either cannot or will not do so for me._

He could not even take the damned thing off, now.  He’d tried and lasted all of fifteen minutes before getting so light headed that he almost fainted.  That, more than anything else, told Mordred he was in more trouble than he’d been since the time he’d foolishly picked a fight with Merlin.  But he had learned from his mother not to dwell on the inevitable, and Mordred had to find a solution, not dwell on things he no longer could—

 “Oooh, the unhappy ‘King’ of Camelot.  How long it’s been!”

The new voice made him whirl, magic leaping to his hands immediately.  Despite his resolve not to use the Sapphire, Mordred knew he might have to with this foe.  He’d never faced this particular fae, but he knew who he was.

“Nuckelavee.”  The word was a growl, but the fae bowed with a flourish.

“I would say that I am at your service, but I fear that is patently untrue.”  Nuckelavee looked around theatrically, his blonde hair shimmering in the mid-morning sun.  “Quite a castle you’ve built here—though it does seem to be a _bit_ archaic for this world, doesn’t it?”

Mordred scowled.  His mother was half fae, and perhaps her odd sense of humor came from that side, but she’d never been so annoying.  _And she has never been like_ this.

Nuckelavee seemed put out when he didn’t answer, and gestured grandly at Mordred’s chest.  “My Lady sends her regards and would like the shiny stone you wear, Dragon.”

“Then it’s a pity that I’m currently using it.” 

“Well, I shall simply have to make sure you no longer need it.”  Nuckelavee seemed perfectly relaxed, but Mordred could feel the power building.  How had this bastard escaped the prison in which the Blue Fairy had locked all the fae?   He was the most powerful of the bunch, and certainly the most dangerous—as well as the Black Fairy’s most devout follower. 

Mordred shrugged.  “You’re welcome to try.” 

Under other circumstances, they would have been quite closely matched, though Mordred knew that the pendant gave him an edge.  _Yet the more I use it, the more it takes out of me.  What happens if it burns through?_ He didn’t want to find out. 

Yet Nuckelavee had called him ‘Dragon’, and that was an option, wasn’t it?  A slow grin began to form on Mordred’s face, even once Nuckelavee launched his first attack.  There was room enough in the courtyard of his castle; Mordred was a large dragon, but once he’d started building the place, he’d made sure to leave himself space.  It had been _centuries_ since he’d assumed this form, but there was no time like the present to reacquaint himself with it.

Nuckelavee, it turned out, did not fancy being burned alive, and he left before Mordred wound up destroying more than a quarter of his own castle.  He had a few wounds and some impressive magics to pull off of himself afterwards, of course, but all in all, it had been worth the pain.  Dragons were remarkably resilient…and he hadn’t had to use the pendant at all.

* * *

 

She had intended to wait longer before speaking to her sister, to wait for Danns’ to come to her, but Belle had taken matters out of her hand.  Two days earlier, her great-niece had told her that the heroes did indeed know of “Guinevere’s” true identity, and Blue was not one to waste the slight advantage that she had.  Knowing Belle, she would not be able to stop herself from having another outburst—that one probably in front of her grandmother—and Blue needed to get in first.

Arthur had opened the door for her, glaring with undisguised hostility, but Blue had ignored him.  Danns’ might have chosen to dally with a human, but she would never understand the urge.  Fortunately, her sister was not so obnoxious as to make her wait, and she shooed Arthur out before he could try to join their conversation.

“I have news you may be interested in, sister,” she said without preamble.  Fairies did not make deals, did not play theatrical games.  She was always honest, when she chose to speak on a subject, and Blue would not dirty herself by being anything other than what she was.

Danns’ leaned back in her chair, her green eyes serious.  For once.  “Oh?”

“Belle knows who you truly are.   That means that the others do as well.”

“I know.”  A mysterious and self-satisfied smile crossed her sister’s face, but Blue barely noticed it.

“What?  How?”

“That is my secret, sister dear.”

For a moment, her heart beat loudly in her chest, worry making her throat tight.  _This is unexpected, but not insurmountable.  She still cannot reach the fae and has no army.  Even if she discovers their location, Danns’ will learn that I long since took precautions to prevent her from freeing them,_ she told herself firmly.  _Without an army to terrify humanity, she will not be able to rule.  I have time._

Perhaps it was time to dust off an older agreement, as well.

Squaring her shoulders, Blue wiped all surprise off of her face.  “I have thought about what you said.  Provided you are serious about your offer, I propose that we—”

“No.”

That made her blink hard.  “You might hear me out, first.”

“I don’t need to.  You’re going to propose an alliance to preserve the status quo, but I have no desire to do so.”  Danns’ smile vanished.  “Even if you would be so condescendingly kind to ‘allow’ me to rise to be your equal, I have no desire to be.  You destroyed any chance of that when you colluded with the humans you despise so much and put that Heart in my chest.”

“You cannot win without your fae.”  She crossed her arms.

“Oh, are you offering them to me?”

“Of course not.”  Blue snorted.  “Do you think me a fool?”

 “Do not ask questions to which you do not want to know the answers, sister mine.” The smile returned, soft and dangerous.  “Arthur will show you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Four—“Seeing All His Own Mischance”, in which Regina picks a fight, Lily tries to get August to lie for her, Lancelot visits an old friend, Jefferson meets the Black Fairy, Belle hangs out with Ruby, Isaac gets his new house, and Nuckelavee causes trouble.


	64. Seeing All His Own Mischance

Four days after getting pregnant in the most _un_ traditional way possible, Regina finally decided that she’d go stir crazy if she stayed at home any longer.  Much though she loved Robin, the man was too damned solicitous and caring, and she wanted to kill him.  In lieu of doing that, she went back to work, only to deal with a long litany of complainers, about a third of which had legitimate gripes.  The other two-thirds, however, were there to whine about things like the fact that the pharmacy had stopped selling the brand of diapers that they liked.  Since the particular brand the pair of complainers demanded seemed to have been created by the curse—though how they’d lasted so damned long Regina didn’t know—there was no way to rectify the situation, but Ms. Ballard and Mrs. Featherby seemed to think that Regina could magically bring them back.

_You can’t fix stupid_ , she told herself, shoving the door to the pawn shop open as forcefully as she could.  It hit the far wall with a gratifying crash, the bell ringing like it was desperate to escape Regina’s wrath.  _You’d better watch out,_ she thought, throwing the bell a dark look.  _I’m pregnant and I’m cranky, and that makes me more dangerous than ever._

“If you weren’t in such a delicate condition, I’d have something nasty to say about you abusing the infrastructure.”

Regina whirled to face her old mentor, burning for a fight.  Robin and Henry both treated her like she was made of glass, and the _idiots_ down at town hall were too stupid to start any kind of sparring match with.  But she’d come by because Rumplestiltskin was the one man certain to stand up to her; the more power he had, the more he got under her skin, and vice versa.

“You think I’m _delicate_?” she demanded, arching an eyebrow as hostilely as she could.

He spread his hands innocently.  “It is perhaps an old fashioned way to describe your condition, but—”

“I’m pregnant, not _dead_ , Rumple!”

“Did I say you were anything else?”  Oh, he couldn’t look so inoffensive by accident; the bastard had to be doing it on purpose.  And at the moment, Regina _adored_ him for it.

She snorted.  “You certainly implied it, you malicious little imp.”

“Technically, Emma’s the imp these days, dear.  Do keep up.”

“Says the man who slept through the important bits!”

“Well, it was a good way to pass the time.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged, but then his smile turned sharp, and his eyes danced gleefully.  “In fact, it’s one I highly recommend.  You could always try your own sleeping curse to get past the worst of it.  I’d suggest Maleficent’s superior vintage, of course, but these days Mal is batting for the other team, so to speak.”

“You can stuff that sleeping curse down your throat, old man,” she shot back, and then the last sentence he’d said sunk in.  “How did you know that about Mal?”

“It’s an educated guess, really, but given how often she’s been chumming around with my wife’s maternal family lately, I would say it’s a good one.”

“Damn it.  I’d hoped she was just angry with me.”  Regina scowled, trying to mask her hurt with anger.  It had always worked before, but now tears wanted to rise.  She knew it was just the damned hormones, knew that her emotions were bound to go haywire, but knowing that and feeling the gut-wrenching heartbreak were very different things.  “Why—why would she do that?  I thought we understood one another!”

“Betrayal begets betrayal, dear.”  His voice was surprisingly soft.  “No one knows that better than you and I.”

“Tell me about it.”  Regina breathed the words quietly, her anger leaking away, leaving only sadness in its wake.  “How did someone as _nice_ as you once were become the Dark One?  I’ve read Henry’s book.  You might have liked to hide in corners, but you were a genuinely kind man.”

She’d never been able to imagine Rumplestiltskin that way until he suddenly wasn’t the Dark One, but Regina could see that kind soul—weathered and scarred as it now was—peeking through every now and then.  He’d ruined himself as surely as she had, but he hadn’t always been like that.  _And he isn’t now, not any more than I am,_ Regina thought.  Strangely enough, the thought made her smile a little.

“Then you know the story.  Parents will do anything to save their children.”  His hand rose in a little helpless gesture.  “My intentions were good, but I made a deal I did not understand.”

Regina couldn’t help snorting.  “Oh, _that_ doesn’t sound familiar at all. You made a habit of sharing that experience, didn’t you?”

“Hardly.  I told you what would happen.  I always believed in letting people _choose_ the darker road, after all.”  His smile was sad.  “But I also manipulated events to make sure you wouldn’t listen to me.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  “I am sorry for that, by the way.  I know I’ve never said it, Regina, but I am.”

For a long moment, all Regina could do was stare.  She’d expected Hell to freeze over long before she ever got an apology from her old mentor, but here was Rumplestiltskin, _apologizing._   “I’m not.”  She shrugged guiltily.  “At least not for all of it.  I’m sorry for those I hurt, but I’m not sorry that I gained Henry from the curse.  And I’m not sorry that it made me stronger than I was.”

“You and me both.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, but this time it was an understanding silence.  What might they have each been without darkness trying to ruin their lives?  She’d been a weak noblewoman under her mother’s thumb, desperate to run away but never daring to do so.  He’d been the town coward, hated for running away from a war their duke could win with a word and so desperate to protect his son. 

“I forgive you,” she whispered, not sure if it was the hormones making her suddenly so open or if it was her own heart.  A weird little corner of Regina wanted to reach out and hug him, but she told that part of herself to sit down and shut up.  _I’m not into that kind of awkwardness today, thank you very much._

Besides, Rumplestiltskin was on the far side of the counter, and that would just be weird.

“Thank you.”  His voice was every bit as quiet as hers had been, and Regina _could_ have left it there.  But not if she wanted to be the better person she claimed to be.

“I’m…I’m also sorry for ignoring you when you told me the darkness was consuming your heart.  You told me twice, and I stupidly thought it was nothing.  I shouldn’t have.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted softly.  “We were enemies.”

“Yeah, well, I was stupid.  Being enemies doesn’t excuse ignoring a force that could destroy all of us.”  Regina shivered, remembering the way the darkness had wrapped around her, remembering the utter _cold,_ the feeling of all the hope and love being torn out of her. 

“We all make mistakes, Regina.  Some are more catastrophic than others.  We survived, and that’s what counts.”

“I don’t remember you being this understanding back in the day,” she said dryly, because sparring with him was the one thing she knew how to do even when the rest of the world didn’t make any sense. 

“Neither were you.”

Another silence fell, but Regina couldn’t stomach this one quite so easily.  But speaking of her stomach, she actually _had_ come there to ask a question, so Regina forced herself to ask as casually as she could: “So, um, got any pregnancy advice for me?”  His eyebrows shot up immediately, laughter lurking in his expression, and she scowled.  “Not like that, you moron.  I mean with magic.  Zelena already tried to mess this little one up as much as possible, and I don’t want to continue that.”

“Ah.”  Rumplestiltskin, to his credit, didn’t ask why she’d turn to him.  After all, who _else_ would Regina go to?  He looked far away for a moment, though, and she almost had to prod him before he answered.  “Your child is now a part of you.  The magic you use can color her soul as thoroughly as it can yours.”

“You mean if I use dark magic—?”

“It could affect her, yes.”  At least he didn’t beat around the bush.  “Small amounts should not leave a lingering stain, but you do need to be careful.  Particularly after Zelena’s idiocy.”

Her voice dropped to a tiny whisper.  “Do you think Zelena did permanent damage?”

“I doubt it.  You’re less than four months along; that’s plenty of time for the child to recover, particularly now that she’s carried by someone—”

“Less crazy?” Regina supplied before she could stop herself.

“I was going to say someone more loving.”

“Oh.”  The soft smile that crossed her face felt strange, if fitting.  “Thanks.”

Rumplestiltskin only nodded, and after that, somehow their conversation turned to child rearing, antics Henry and Baelfire had both gotten up to growing up, and some of the silly things Regina herself had done as a baby.  By the time Regina left the shop, she was feeling considerably less cranky, although those emotions really come as a surprise.  Her friendship with Rumplestiltskin had always been tempestuous and prickly; they’d baited one another and pushed one another, and rarely said a kind word.  They had betrayed one another far more often than they’d worked together, and once upon a time, her greatest joy had been besting him.

The change, Regina decided, was quite nice.

* * *

 

“C’mon, you know you like creating a bit of trouble here and there,” Lily tried again, only to have August frown.

“This is more than trouble, Lily.  It’s outright lying.”

She shrugged.  “So?  It’s not like you don’t have a habit of doing just that.”

He scowled at her, picking at his jeans like he had nothing better to do.  “Yeah, but this is different.”

“How?” Lily demanded, leaning back in her chair.  August had come over to the house she was sharing with her mother to hang out, and it had occurred to her that her friend could help them out with a little problem.  Sidney had been found dead a week ago, and no one had really raised much of a stink.  Sure, people were muttering about it, but no one was _doing_ anything, and that was really annoying.

After all, how were they supposed to damage Regina’s credibility if no one blamed her?

“I wasn’t there.  I didn’t see anything.  This isn’t twisting words to make someone else believe something; it’d be an outright lie.”  August sighed loudly.  “And I’m really more into saving my own neck than creating trouble, you know.  This seems more suicidal than fun.”

“C’mon.  I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“ _You_ can’t be around me all the time if the Evil Queen gets feisty.  And besides, what if she didn’t do it?”

“Do you really care?”  Lily knew that Regina wasn’t guilty, but _she_ didn’t care.  Arthur was good to her and her mother, and if he wanted to make Regina look like a villain, well, the woman had damned well earned the title, anyway.

“I do have to live in this town.  With these people.”  August sounded like he was starting to get annoyed.  “So do you, you know.”

“None of them have ever given a damn about me, so why should I care about them?”

August just shook his head.  “I’m not saying that you don’t have a point, but I’m still not going to lie for you.  You’re going to have to find another sucker, but luckily for you, there are still a lot of people who hate Regina in this town.”

It took an effort not to snap at him, but Lily managed.  August _was_ her friend, and maybe she shouldn’t push him.  Having friends wasn’t something she was really good at; she always managed to screw them over somehow, even when she didn’t want to.  _At least August gets that, and doesn’t hold it against me,_ she thought with a sigh of her own.  Having her mom around, having someone who loved her unconditionally no matter how screwed up she was, really did help, but sometimes Lily thought she needed a copy of _How to Make Friends for Dummies._ Or maybe just a cheat sheet on how to keep them.

So, she dropped the subject and turned the conversation to something more pleasant.  She and August had gotten an idea to open a real movie theater in Storybrooke, one that wasn’t a refitted gym with crappy seating and one tiny screen.  They both had been to enough movie theaters in the real world to know what needed to be done, but the problem had always been funding.  Her mom had agreed to help, though, and that was definitely a good starting point.

* * *

 

Mordred looked _old_.

Lancelot had spent the last several days with the Golds, trying to ignore the fact that Colette’s daughter was married to Merlin’s successor.  Doing so was hard, though, given that he knew how Guinevere had wanted Merlin to father her child, and had only turned to Arthur as a second choice.  Eventually, even though Belle was sweetness personified and Rumplestiltskin seemed to be a decent sort, he found the situation too odd to stay.  In a lot of ways, Lancelot felt like he was Belle’s grandfather, having approved of Colette’s marriage to Maurice, walked her down the aisle, and then played with Belle as a child.  So, seeing the way Belle was clearly happy with _all_ aspects of her marriage was more than a little off-putting.

However, he wasn’t stupid enough to go wandering around town where Arthur or Guinevere could find him, which left going to another old friend.  Lancelot had hemmed and hawed over the decision for days, but when Morgan had come to pay him a visit, he finally made up his mind.  He’d also discovered that Merlin’s successor was actually _Morgan’s_ son, which was another form of off-putting that he didn’t want to contemplate.  Respect Morgan though he did, Lancelot wasn’t sure he’d have wanted one of her sons for Colette’s daughter.  He’d known both Mordred and Gwaine far too well for that, and all of Morgan’s brood had inherited their mother’s ruthlessness.

Currently, that ruthlessness obviously was doing his old friend no favors.  “You look like hell,” Lancelot said by way of greeting. 

Morgan had let him in the castle without a word, and now Mordred’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes wide and startled.  “Lancelot?”

“In the flesh.  And not as dead as some might hope, though your father seems to prefer me in a cage.”

Mordred snorted.  “Well, I think he’d like me in one, too, so we still have that in common.”

The unspoken question hovered in the air: did they have anything _else_ left in common, or had they drifted too far apart?  Once, they’d been the strongest of allies, dedicated to bringing down Danns’ a’Bhàis and saving humanity.  But then it had become obvious that Arthur would not set his wife aside, and Mordred had let his ambition get the better of his common sense.  They’d united one last time to get Gwaine’s heart into Guinevere, but where did they stand now?

“I hear you’ve given up on the whole destroy the Dark One quest.”  He didn’t phrase it as a question, but Mordred still shrugged.

“Temporarily.”  A grimace.  “My mother had a good point.  The current Dark One isn’t the enemy.  Danns’ a’Bhàis is.  We have to stop her.  And my father, who is perfectly happy to let her enslave _everyone_ , so long as he gets to play master by her side.”

“He was better than that, once.”  Lancelot swallowed hard.  Arthur had been his friend, too, had been like a brother to him.  _Except he never once valued me as I valued him._  

“Well, no longer.”  Mordred’s voice was clipped.  “If you’re here to lecture me, please don’t.  My head hurts enough already, and my mother has provided all the lectures I can handle.”

“No lectures from me.  I just needed to get away from Belle and Rumplestiltskin, to be honest.”  Lancelot sat down on the courtyard bench at Mordred’s side.  “They’re sickeningly sweet, and I keep thinking of the fact that I raised Belle’s _mother_.”

Mordred snorted out a laugh, and from how rusty he sounded at it, Lancelot guessed that it was his first in some time.  “He’s my brother, you know.”

“That _doesn’t_ make it any better.”

“Tell me about it!”

They laughed together, and Lancelot glanced around the courtyard in the comfortable silence that followed, noticing the way one of the castle’s towers had been torn off and the west wall was burnt to a cinder.  The wall was still standing, albeit barely, but the grass leading up to it was burned in patches, too.  The gate in the north wall looked like it had melted, too, and Lancelot knew the one thing that was hot enough to have caused _that_ kind of mess.  He twisted to look at Mordred, who had his head resting in his hands again, bent over with his elbows on his knees and looking miserable.

“Did you throw a temper tantrum and burn your castle?”

“No.”  Mordred’s head came up again to give him a cross look. “I had a _fae_ pick a fight and then burned my castle when I was trying to burn him.  I was trying not to use too much magic, so I went the dragon road instead.”

Lancelot couldn’t help laughing.  “Well, that seems to have worked out well for you.”  The he sobered up.  “Which fae? I thought they were supposed to all be trapped.”

“Nuckelavee.  Or, Duke Cador, as we once knew him.”  They rolled their eyes together, and then Mordred continued.  “You know, the ‘uncle’ who brought ‘Guinevere’ to court.  That smug and laughing bastard.”

“He’s _here_?  Please tell me you burned him to a cinder.”

 “Nearly, but I think he lived. Either that or disintegrated, but I’ve a feeling that he teleported.  It was hard to tell with the blinding spell he threw on me.”

There were not words to describe how devoutly Lancelot hoped that Mordred was wrong.  It had taken them years and years to discover that the queen’s so-called uncle was actually a fae; when Lancelot had found the two of them sleeping together, he’d merely been sickened instead of frightened.  Later, of course, he’d learned differently, but by then it was much too late.  By then, Nuckelavee had driven Igraine to near insanity, had enchanted Tristan to obsess over his own aunt, and had seduced and disgraced Elaine of Corbenic.  Nuckelavee was as sick and as dangerous as he was playful, and Lancelot knew that any realm he chose to reside in would suffer.

* * *

 

He really did feel much saner these days.  Having Grace around was almost solely responsible for that, of course, because watching his daughter turn to _other_ parents for twenty-eight years had driven Jefferson right out of his mind.  The dual sets of memories weren’t so bad, either, now that everyone had them, too.  And having Victor to lean on helped, too.  They’d been friends for years; Victor was one of the few people who knew the true story of how Jefferson had lost his wife, and how very much he’d loved her.  Lately, they’d come closer and closer, and Jefferson found that it was really nice to have someone else around most of the time.  Grace thought Victor was pretty neat, too, which mattered a lot.

Lost in his thought as he whistled his way towards his car, Jefferson never noticed that he was being followed.  He’d just bought Grace a giant bouquet of daffodils at Game of Thorns, because his little girl loved flowers and she deserved something to make her smile after that mess with the school bus.  Jefferson would be the first to stand up and say he was proud of how his not-so-little girl had handled that situation, but he was still furious that it had happened at all.  None of the other villains who’d come to Storybrooke had ever dared go after kids, and Jefferson was still on edge three days later.

He wasn’t so on edge that he missed the jaw-droppingly beautiful woman leaning against the hood of his old sports car, though.

“Uhhh…I think you’ve got the wrong car, Miss.”

She smiled, but the expression didn’t make her more beautiful.  No, it made her _dangerous_ , because Jefferson could see a terrifying hunger lurking in her eyes.  “Flowers.  How sweet.  We’ve only just met.”

“These are for my daughter.”  Pointlessly, Jefferson clutched the flowers to his chest.  Every instinct he had told him to run, but where could he go?  He’d parked at the far end of No. 1 Road, and there was no one around.  He could feel the magic rolling off this woman, too, which meant she’d stop him.  _I should have just worn my new hat.  Then I could have tossed it down and gone to whatever realm I needed to long enough to get away from her._

“Pity.”

“So, I need to be getting home now,” he tried.  “I’m expected, and—”

“Your name is Jefferson, yes?”  Suddenly, was standing in front of him, so close that Jefferson could almost feel her breath.  “The portal jumper.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.  That’s me.  Though I don’t have my hat right now, so if you’d like to make an appointment…?”

_She just wants to go somewhere,_ Jefferson tried to tell himself.  _That’s all._   There was no reason to be nervous.  None at all.

“Excellent.”  A hand touched his face, and her cold appraisal of him made him shiver.  “You’ll be useful as well as entertaining.  I _have_ been bored.”

“You’ve been—”

Blackness hit him, and Jefferson never felt himself hit the ground.  David later found the abandoned flowers next to his car, lying lonely on the ground with no evidence of where he’d gone.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin’s third visitor of the day was his mother.   The second had been Grumpy, who had come in to awkwardly ask about changing his rental agreement to add another tenant to his apartment, and since Rumplestiltskin knew exactly which ‘friend’ the dwarf was talking about—and how very much it would irk Reul Ghorm—he made it easy for the dwarf.  Belle would want to give Astrid and Grumpy a housewarming gift, of course, so he’d called his wife to let her know.  Belle immediately asked him if he wanted to help her shop for said gift, but Rumplestiltskin had demurred.  Gifts were not exactly his forte, and it turned out to be good that he’d chickened out, anyway.  Otherwise, he might have missed Morgan.

“Your brother told me something a few days ago,” she said after they’d exchanged pleasantries.  “I should have told you sooner, but I have little doubt that you already know.”

“Dare I ask?”  Rumplestiltskin felt more at ease with his mother every day, even though things were sometimes very awkward.  Nothing could replace the years they’d missed, but the heady feeling of having _more_ family to care about—and that cared about him!—was still wonderful.

“The Truest Believer.  Reul Ghorm offered him an alliance if he fetched the Heart for her, as I once did.”

“Don’t even think about that,” Rumplestiltskin snapped the words without thinking; for so much of his life, his first instinct had been to resort to threats when his family was endangered, and this was no different. Better man he might be, and no longer under the darkness’ sway, but he would _always_ fight to protect those he loved.  It had certainly taken him long enough to learn how.  _And I promised Bae that I would protect Henry.  I won’t break that promise, not for anything._

“I’m not.  I have already told you why, and there is nothing that will change that.”  Mordred held her hands up placating.  “Mordred told me that it is young Henry.  Is he right?”

_Damn that fairy._ “Yes.”  The word ground out between gritted teeth.  “One of the damned Charmings must have told her after we got back from Neverland.”

“It is also not impossible to determine with magic, if you know how to look.  I lack the power, but you have it, as do both original faeries.”

That was interesting, but hardly the point.  “And what is _Mordred_ going to do with this knowledge?”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t like the idea of harming his own brother, but if Mordred threatened Henry again, he was not going to stop himself.  _Or maybe I’ll just leave him to Regina and Emma.  They’ll be more vicious than I by far._ Henry had a lot of family, and even if they often fought with one another, Henry was the glue that held them together.  It was the one battle that they always knew they’d be on the same side for.

“He’s not going to harm Henry, if that’s what you’re asking,” his mother replied quietly, much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise.  “I know you have a dim view of him, Rumple—one he’s deserved.  But Mordred wasn’t always so…driven.  And he knows how important family is.  He won’t try to take Henry’s heart.”

“Can you believe him, with the pendant corrupting him?”  Rumplestiltskin refused to be sentimental about this, even if his hard-bitten mother seemed to be falling prey to that.

“I hope so.  I believe he meant it then, but the Greater Sapphire is burning through him.  He’s still healthy, but he used too much of its power and held it too close.”  Morgan grimaced.  “Mordred probably thought he was _gaining_ power, but his body can’t adjust to it the way yours did.   Your power joined you in an organic fashion, intertwining with your soul all at once.  The pendant is like a fire, warming him and burning him all at once.”

He couldn’t help grimacing.  “That sounds pleasant.”

“It will kill him.”

The broken certainty in her voice made Rumplestiltskin blink.  He’d gotten to know his mother well enough to know that Morgan wasn’t the type to give up, which meant that the situation was direr than he’d suspected.  “Are you sure?”

But even as he asked the question, Rumplestiltskin turned the information over in his head, thinking of how power interacted with the human body and soul, thinking about what he knew about the creation of the Dark One and how his own power—now fully his, with no vestiges of Merlin remaining save a few memories—had merged with his soul.  A few theories came to mind immediately, but Morgan answered before he could fully formulate them.

“I do not have the power to help him, but you do.”  His mother met his eyes.  “Will you help him?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  Morgan was asking him to help the man who had tried to kill his son and his grandson, and who also had done his best to drive a wedge between him and his newly-found mother.  The old Rumplestiltskin would have laughed over his grave…but he was not the old Rumplestiltskin, was he?  For better or for worse, Mordred was his brother, and _someone_ had to take the first step.

“I will see what I can do,” he said slowly.  He wouldn’t make promises that he couldn’t be sure of keeping, but Rumplestiltskin would at least look into the problem.

The relieved smile on Morgan’s face warmed his heart in ways Rumplestiltskin had not thought possible.

* * *

 

Belle had been contemplating a gourmet basket of meats, cheeses, and fruits for Grumpy and Astrid when the uncontrollable craving for baked beans had hit her, so she’d headed over to Granny’s.   The diner was hardly far away, after all, and it _was_ lunch time, so Belle didn’t really think anything of it.  Granny’s had _great_ baked beans, anyway, so she breezed past where Killian and Geppetto were rebuilding the outer seating area with a wave and then headed inside.  She popped up onto one of the barstools, figuring that she didn’t need a table for a quick lunch.

“Hey, stranger,” Ruby greeted her with a smile.  “Long time no see.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ve just been so busy with everything—you know how this town is.  Sometimes I feel like I’m a stranger in the library.”  Belle felt bad, though; Ruby had to still be going through a tough time, and she made a mental note to be there more often for her friend.

Ruby laughed.  “It hasn’t been that long.  I was just teasing you.  Besides, the new crew around here keeps me busy enough, and I’m not short on people to hang out with.  Though if you want to join us one of these nights, I won’t argue.  Henry planning another movie night soon?”

“He says so, but Rumple’s complaining.  I think eight _Harry Potter_ movies were a bit much for him.”  Belle grinned.  The last time she had seen Ruby had been the week before, hadn’t it?  They’d gone out, just the two of them, and laughed at the amateur wrestling league that Grumpy and the other dwarves were trying to set up.  They’d had a great time, too.

“Well, tell him to try a marathon with fewer movies next time.”

Belle couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “I think he’s set on _Star Wars_ , so not much hope there.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me if Mr. G’s favorite character is Darth Vader.”

“Ruby!”

But they laughed together, until Belle’s stomach gave a pointed rumble that was so loud even Ruby could hear it.

“Damn, girl, when was the last time you ate?  Is that terribly mean husband of yours starving you?”

She giggled again.  “No, I just think I forgot breakfast today.  Can I get…well, this is going to sound weird, but just a plate of baked beans?”

Ruby cocked her head curiously.  “I thought you didn’t like baked beans.”

“I do now?”  Belle knew how ridiculous that sounded, but she couldn’t help shrugging.  She really just wanted some baked beans, as weird as it was.

“Sure.  I’m not going to argue with a paying customer, but if you don’t like them, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  Ruby turned and shouted into the back.  “Hey, give me a plate of baked beans real quick, yeah?”

The cook’s voice floated back to them.  “Coming up!”

“Thanks, Ruby.”  Belle smiled. 

Her friend grinned back.  “Anything for you.”

* * *

 

Isaac sniffed a little upon walking through the door, looking around the furnished townhouse with narrowed eyes.  “This is hardly what I asked for.”

“Yeah, we’ve gone through that.”  Bae managed not to say anything more obnoxious than that, but it was a close call. 

Killian had walked in on Isaac’s heels, though, and he looked ready to push the former Author onto his face.  “For someone who intends to keep himself in comfort via freeloading off the town’s good will, you’re doing fairly well.  Don’t push it.”

“You’re still ticked off that I made you allergic to rum in my world.”  Isaac twisted to look over his shoulder with a sneer.  “You weren’t supposed to like it, not after working to stop me, but my _readers_ ate it up.  It was bold storytelling choice.”

“I’ve got plenty of boldness for you, mate,” Killian growled, looming forward threateningly.  “And here I’m not the lily-white _idiot_ you made me into there, so if you’d like to experience some _actual_ boldness—”

“Let’s not stain the carpet right away, okay?” Bae cut in before his friend-turned-cousin could decide to rearrange Isaac’s face. Not that Bae didn’t want to let him; learning how Isaac had managed to screw just about everyone over in his made-up little world had left his blood boiling.  But they needed the information that Isaac still had, which meant that Isaac needed to be able to talk.

_Now, if Killian would just volunteered to break a leg of his, I might be more charitable…_

“Look!  One of you speaks sense.”  Isaac’s gloating made Henry turn to glare at him.

“Your definition of ‘sense’ is kind of lacking.  I might be thirteen and still taking English classes, but even I know that you’re a bit off.”  Henry snorted.  “But Killian is right.  This is a pretty nice place, and it’s paid for.  How much else you get depends on how good the information is that you give us, ‘cause if Dad or I tell Grandpa Gold to cut you off, he’ll do it.”

That made Isaac scowl.  “What, you don’t trust me?”

All three turned to glare at him.  Bae got in first.  “Are you really asking that question?  Seriously?”   

Isaac shrugged.  “Not really.  But if you were dumb enough to say you did, well, that would have been something else entirely.”

“Good luck with that.”  Killian gestured Isaac further into the house with his own scowl.  “Now, why don’t you make yourself at home?  You _do_ realize that we’ll watch where you go, though, right?”

“The tracking anklet that damned outlaw put on me gave it away, yeah.”  Isaac’s expression turned thunderous.

Henry just gave him a cheerful grin.  “That’s what you get for screwing a whole town over.  Any _smart_ Author would know not to alienate potential audiences, but you didn’t really read the manual, did you?”

“Everyone’s a critic.”  But Isaac headed into the kitchen, anyway.  Bae, Henry, and Killian stuck around for a bit, just in case Isaac had any legitimate complaints, but try though the former Author did, he couldn’t come up with any.

They left before Isaac could goad any of them into another spat, though.  Bae and Robin had installed a pretty good security system on the place the day before, with Robin handling the tricky bits and Bae handling the computerized end.  The cameras would give Isaac privacy, but they’d also track who came and went, allowing them to keep the old Author honest.  In time, they’d reduce the security restrictions, but Isaac _had_ asked for a free house, which meant he didn’t really get to complain when they added extra features to it.

After all, if Rumplestiltskin was the King of Loopholes, Bae figured that made him and Henry some sort of royalty in that regard, and neither of them minded making Isaac just a little bit miserable.  Not at all.

* * *

 

Maleficent spotted the car just as she and Lily walked out of Granny’s, and it made a chill run down her spine.  _I do_ not _want to be here for this._ Swallowing hard, she turned to her daughter and tried to sound as normal as possible.

“Come.  Let’s work on your teleporting skills.”

“Now?”  Lily really could look quite young when she scowled like that.  “I thought we were going for ice cream.”

Mal watched the bright blue corvette slide to a halt.  “I don’t think the ice cream shop is far enough away.”

“From _what_?”

“I’ll explain later.  Please, Lily.  For once in your life, will you listen to me?”  Getting to know—and earn the respect of—a human child was terribly hard, and sometimes Mal wished that Snow White was still around to talk to about it.  _Then again, I would have had a fifty-fifty chance of her deeming me too villainous to work with._ She sighed heavily.  “I know you don’t trust me, but—”

“I trust you, Mom.”  Lily actually looked shocked.  “Really.  I just…I’m just stupid sometimes, okay?  It’s first nature to argue with everyone about everything.  I can’t always help it.”

A rush of fury and regret filled Mal’s heart, almost taking her breath away.  On impulse, she reached out and wrapped an arm around her daughter.  “We’ll work through it,” she promised.  “Together.”

“All right.”  Lily’s smile was a little shy, but at least it was a smile, and Mal focused on the joy her daughter gave her as she teleported them both away.  She wanted no part in what came next.

* * *

 

This interestingly seductive world had a strange concept of a “lunch hour.”  Nuckelavee had spent every spare moment since his arrival in Storybrooke learning about this so-called modern land, and he found himself oddly enamored of it.  He rather hoped that when his lady broke the walls down between the realms, she would keep many of Storybrooke’s attributes.  He enjoyed the apparel, the food, and most of all, the cars.  He’d heard Arthur complaining more than once about how _different_ everything was, but Nuckelavee reveled in such things.  He loved change: causing it, stopping it, or allowing it to carry him towards his next spectacular trick.

The fact that hundreds of people were in the street at midday made things just that much better.  And so much easier!  In this case, one of his old standbys would do quite nicely; he was only sad that Jhudora was not here to share the fun with.  But his lady had smiled when he’d made the suggestion, agreeing that it was time for them to begin.  The Dark One had grudgingly told their lady that the town’s leadership had uncovered “Guinevere’s” true identity, which meant there was no longer any reason to operate from the shadows.  They could revel in their power, and begin twisting these pitiful little humans in every which direction.

This area along Main Street would do nicely, Nuckelavee decided, stopping his brand-new corvette and looking around.  He gathered magic to himself as he stepped out of the car, pausing to admire the bright blue finish.  People were pouring in and out of the diner, and his magic would draw more and more out as time passed.  He hadn’t performed this spell in years, not since the Third Foundation War, but the moment he flicked his hands outwards, Nuckelavee saw the magic start doing its work.

And it was _beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a one update week due to Real Life being what it is. I hope you can forgive me!
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Five—“Dance a Fiery Dance”, in which Storybrooke’s residents are dragged into the dance, Emma and Regina try to help—only to be interrupted by Zelena—Rumplestiltskin gets his hands dirty, Mordred and Belle have words about family, and then Zelena tries to take her revenge on Morgan.


	65. Dance a Fiery Dance

Henry thought it was kind of cool hanging out with his dad and Killian.  He _liked_ Killian a lot, even if he was kind of unashamedly rooting for his parents to get back together (after Emma stopped being the Dark One, because even a thirteen-year-old could tell that her getting in any relationship now was probably a bad idea.)  But Killian and Bae seemed to really enjoy being cousins, and Henry really did like the idea of adding the pirate to the family.  So, when Killian suggested that they all head to Granny’s together, he was all in.

Unfortunately, they stepped around the corner just in time to see people start _dancing._

“What the hell?” Killian got in first, but just barely.

“Whatever that is, it can’t be good,” his dad added immediately.  Henry definitely agreed.

“We should go figure out—”

“Oh, hell, no,” Bae cut him off.  “We’re getting you out of here, and calling in the big guns.  Magic isn’t my forte, and it isn’t yours, either.  We’re gonna play this smart, kiddo.”

Henry _hated_ it when adults spoke sense, because there really wasn’t any way to argue with that.  Particularly since Killian seemed to agree.

“I think we should—” The pirate cut himself off, a strange and surprised look crossing his face.  “We should join the dance.”

“ _What_?” Henry and his dad demanded together, but Killian started drifting in that direction, anyway.  Without thinking, Henry reached out to grab his arm—

And suddenly, joining the dance was the best idea he’d ever had.

* * *

 

Maleficent and Lily managed to get away in time, but Belle didn’t.  She’d been inside Granny’s, cheerfully eating her plate of baked beans—which tasted _fantastic_ —when Nuckelavee’s spell crept inside.  At first, it was simply a feeling of joyful abandonment, an uncontrollable urge to dance in delight.  Her feet carried her outside at Ruby’s side, both grinning like madwomen, and they joined hands and leapt into the growing crowd.  There was no music, but that didn’t seem to matter.  Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves, dancing with wild abandon.  No one cared who their partners were, or why all the cars around them had stopped.  Everyone simply _danced._

Had she been less diligent in her reading and her training, Belle might have missed the signs entirely.  She _had_ missed the magic sweeping over her, too distracted by her stomach’s insane demand for a food she didn’t even like.  But as she whirled Ruby around, her feet flying over the asphalt, Belle started to _think._   And once her mind started working, she began to recognize the telltale signs of magical threads weaving around them.  She could barely see them—thinking was hard when all you wanted to do was dance and laugh—but they were there.  She reached for one, but found herself curiously unable to grasp the thread.  Trying to scowl, Belle tried again, but both the attempt and the scowl failed.  Without even wanting to, she was smiling again, laughing and dancing faster and faster.

* * *

 

Robin had been finishing his rounds when the magic ensnared him, too, though he had no idea what hit him.  One moment, he’d been walking down the street, talking to Geppetto about the kids who kept throwing rocks through the window of his shop, and the next he knew, he was dancing with Mrs. Potts.  He knew enough to know that some sort of magic had grabbed them, but Robin found that his hand wouldn’t reach for his phone no matter _how_ firmly he told it to, and soon enough, even that thought faded away.

* * *

 

It was David who spotted the problem from far enough away to do something, and he was smart enough to pull out his phone and call his daughter at the same time.  Hitting the Regina button, he called quietly: “Emma Swan.”

“Dad?”  His daughter certainly didn’t make him say it three times, but David’s feet were already starting to pull him in that direction.

“Emma—Emma I don’t know what’s happening.”  He was drowning in the urge to _dance-dance now—dance!_ and David could barely breathe as he tried to fight it.  “Someone or something—gah!  I have to go dance.  I’m sorry—”

“The hell you do.”  Emma’s growl was fierce as she grabbed his arm, and David could feel her magic fighting the other stuff pulling him in.  But his mind was starting to turn to the dance, and it felt like ants were crawling under his skin.  He _needed_ to be there, couldn’t stay away, couldn’t—

_Snap!_

David felt the magic break, but it snapped back so suddenly that he stumbled, tumbling right into his daughter’s arms.  Fortunately, Emma caught him, because his head spun wildly for a moment as his equilibrium tried to adjust to the sudden change.  He was free—but a glance over his shoulder showed him that no one else was.  Everyone else was streaming into the street, dancing and laughing with a manic type of cheer that set David’s teeth on edge.  It also brought up memories of stories that his mother had told him of a child, of entire towns engulfed by magic that made them dance the nights and days away, dancing past exhaustion and through pain, dancing themselves right to death.  David had thought those were only stories, but…

“You okay, Dad?”  Emma’s hands were still on his arms, and David blinked as she forced him back a few steps.

“Yeah.  Thanks, Emma.”  Quickly, he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.  “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

Her smile was blinding, although it quickly morphed into a frown.  “Say that after we save everyone else.”

“Right.”  Pride in his daughter could wait, even if David felt himself smiling despite Emma’s obvious worry.  But he _was_ so very proud of Emma.  She was the Dark One, and yet here she was, still trying to help people.

_“Hello?”_   A voice crackled out from his phone, which had landed on the ground near his feet, making David jump.  _“David, if this is some kind of stupid joke, I’m going to take all of my pregnant and hormonal frustrations out on you, and I_ swear _that you’re not going to like one moment of it!”_

“Oh, crap.”  David bent to pick up the phone as Emma stepped closer to the dancers, her hands coming up and glowing with power.  “Regina!”

“Did you expect someone else when you called my phone?”

“Wait a minute.  Pregnant?  Did you say something about being _pregnant_?”  That news came as such a surprise that David allowed himself to be sidetracked, and besides, Emma looked like she had a pretty good handle on things.  He hadn’t seen Regina in a few days—was this why?

“Long story.  Is everything all right?  I’ve been calling Robin but he’s not answering his phone.”

“Well, um…not really.”  Come to think of it, he could see Robin in the crowd.

“What do you mean, _not really_?” Regina’s voice suddenly came from his side, making David jump.

Glad that she hadn’t teleported herself close enough to the crowd to get sucked in, David gestured helplessly at the growing mess of dancers.  “That.”

Regina twisted to look to her right, which made David notice that she really did look pregnant.  Rather suddenly, actually.  “Oh.  That doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not.”  Emma ground the words out from behind tightly gritted teeth.  “There’s some sort of magic twisted around _everyone_ , and it’s multiplying.  If we don’t stop it, it’s going to pull the entire town in.”

“I can see that.”  Regina stepped up next to Emma, raising her hands.  Her face was grim, too, and he could see that there was a lot they weren’t saying.

David cleared his throat, but neither sorceress turned to face him.  “I hate to interrupt, but what happens if we _don’t_ stop it?”

“Everyone dies.”  Regina cracked her neck.  “You know, a normal Storybrooke day.  Nothing we can’t fix.”

* * *

 

All Henry knew was that everything had gone _wrong_.  He was dancing and laughing, twisting and jumping like his life depended on it, but he didn’t really _want_ to.  Except he did.  He could see his dad dancing with both Belle and Ruby now, with Killian twirling Mulan around.  Mulan looked like she’d be happier with someone else, but she still looked grumpy when Henry inherited her.  Speaking of Grumpy, he was dancing with Astrid, which was probably the only thing about this whole situation that Henry thought was cool at all.

Motion caught his attention, and Henry managed to turn his head with an effort.  His moms stood side by side about a hundred yards up the street, looking pissed off but focused.  Henry tried to open his mouth to shout to them, but only another laugh came out, a weirdly fake joy making it bubble uncomfortably in his stomach.  Was he the only one that felt like this?  The dance had _seemed_ fun at first, but now everything was all wrong.  His feet were getting sore, and his legs were starting to hurt.  Henry could see several older people in the crowd struggling to keep up with the breakneck pace, but they just kept dancing faster and faster to music no one could hear.

But the fact that he couldn’t make his voice work meant that he couldn’t shout a warning when Zelena appeared in a swirl of green smoke behind his mothers, blasting Gramps aside when he tried to shout a warning.

* * *

 

Their efforts were doing _nothing_.  Regina wasn’t the best at unraveling magic, and she’d taught Emma to approach things pretty much the same way she did.  Smashing spells until they went to pieces usually worked just fine for both of them, but that mess of magic only multiplied when they both tried the usual methods.  She was starting to get frustrated, which she knew wasn’t a good thing—her biggest hammer was dark magic, and Regina couldn’t afford to give into that.  Even if breaking someone into tiny pieces would have made her feel a lot better.

David’s sudden cry made Regina start to turn, and then magic caught her in the chest and sent her spinning into Emma.  They snarled together, and thick black magic blasted out of Emma’s hands, catching Zelena right in the face.  Unfortunately, Zelena bounced up more quickly than Regina could catch her balance, red-faced and furious.

“You stole my baby!”

Zelena fired off another spell before Regina could reply, one that was _far_ too strong for just her infernally envious sister’s magic to power.  _I knew she’d gotten a power source from_ somewhere, _but I forgot to figure out how.  How stupid can you get, Regina?_ she berated herself even as she summoned all the light magic she could to force Zelena’s attack aside, glad that Emma’s darkness joined with her light to batter Zelena’s spell into tiny pieces of ash.  Only then did Regina notice that the spell had been designed to rip her right open. 

“You think you’re going to get her back by tearing me into pieces?  Because _that’s_ great for the baby.”  She rolled her eyes, focusing on how much she wanted to protect her child.  _You might have conceived her, sis, but this baby belongs to Robin, and_ he _chose me._  

Zelena’s eyes went wide with rage.  “I want her back!  She’s _mine_!”

“Your kid isn’t a possession,” Emma cut in, looking thoroughly sick of Zelena.  Regina knew exactly how she felt, but still felt a little weird when Emma gestured at Regina’s noticeable baby bump, saying dryly:  “Besides, it looks to me like you’ve already lost that battle.”

Her sister opened her mouth to screech something else, but Regina got in first:  “Do we _really_ have to do this now? We’re a little busy trying to save people.” 

That made Zelena roll her eyes.  “What do I care about those spineless idiots?  They’ve never done anything for _me_.”

“It’s not all about you, you know,” Regina shot back. “If weren’t so intent on screwing the entire _town_ over, you might get a little more pity!”

“Uh, guys, that crowd is only getting bigger,” David interrupted Zelena’s next attempt at a rant, and Regina saw Emma smirk a little—until Zelena threw a green tornado of power their way, and both women had to dodge.

“I hate you!” Zelena snarled…just as Regina felt a _tug_ and an urge to dance.

“You’re really mistaken if you believe I give a damn you think of me.”  With an effort, Regina shook herself free of the magic pulling on her.  It didn’t completely go away, but she figured that she could ignore it long enough to defeat Zelena and then deal with the damn dance again.  “Now, we really don’t have time for your crap, so stop whining and either kill me or go home!”

“I’ll destroy everything you have!  Just you wait—”

“You’ve been saying that for months, Greenie, and it hasn’t happened yet.” 

Summoning up her own reserves, Regina whipped her hands forward, slamming light magic into her sister’s side.  Zelena tried to dodge, but it hit her, anyway, tossing her to the left.  Emma’s attack joined hers, sending Zelena rolling into the middle of the street as she howled in pain.

“Put up or shut up,” Emma growled.  “We’re too busy to deal with you right now.”

Zelena scrambled to her feet.  “You think you’re so— _Ahh_!”

Moving almost in slow motion, and fighting it every step of the way, Zelena started to backpedal helplessly.  Magic surrounded her, sparkling and toxic, dragging her towards the dancers even as Zelena fought.  She stopped any attempt to attack Regina or Emma, instead turning all of her power towards trying to free herself.  Unfortunately, she was better at untangling puzzles than either Regina or Emma was, and when Zelena turned her additional power source on the dancer spell, she started to break free.

“Oh, no you don’t.”  Grinning, Regina stepped forward, flicking a hand towards Zelena to goose her into the dance.  Zelena jumped, whirling on her and losing her concentration—and then the magic pulled her in.

Soon enough, she was dancing with Prince Thomas, laughing her annoying laugh and looking happier than Regina had ever seen her.  Seeing joy on her sister’s face was actually really strange, and for a moment, it made a pang of regret roll through her.  _We could have been real sisters,_ she thought sadly, but then pushed the thought aside.  At least sucking Zelena into the dance meant that she and Emma had time to pull it apart or get help.  Then maybe Zelena would be tired enough to just go home.

“Dad!”

Emma’s shout made Regina’s head snap around.  They had been paying too much attention to Zelena to notice the magic pulling David in, and he was with the dancers, now, too—as was Henry.  _Henry!_   Fury filled Regina’s body, and she only belatedly remembered to push it down and try not to use too much dark magic for the baby’s sake.  Still, a little darkness couldn’t hurt too much, provided it was used for the right reasons.  _I have to protect Henry_. 

“Let’s try this again,” she said to Emma, taking two steps forward to get a better look at the crowd.

But that was too close.  Just like her sister, Regina got dragged in, and even Emma couldn’t pull her out in time.

* * *

 

Something prickled under Rumplestiltskin’s skin as he worked on the Peace Amulet, surrounded by higher magics and insulated from almost everything.  Yet his focus was blended so deeply with his magic that he felt the _twitch_ , felt magic of a sort he’d never encountered stretching out over the town.  He was in the back room of the shop—unknowingly, quite close enough for the spell to reach him, had it been able to work its way past all the other magic he was working—and part of him just wanted to bury himself in his work and ignore whatever new problem the town had stumbled upon.  After all, they’d call him if they needed him, wouldn’t they?

Except that wasn’t what he was.  Not now.  Now, even though most of him hated it, he was the Sorcerer.  And that meant Rumplestiltskin couldn’t play the wily magician hiding in the tower; it meant he had to help.  He even wanted to, really.  Like Regina, Rumplestiltskin had learned that having people look at you with respect and even a little admiration—as opposed to fear and loathing—was a terribly addicting drug.  So, he rose from behind his workbench, grabbing his suit jacket and pulling it on. 

Then the door slammed open.

“Rumplestiltskin!”  Hearing his actual name come from Emma Swan’s mouth was still unbelievably strange, but he supposed that with a version of _him_ running around in her head, she couldn’t really think of him as _Gold_ any longer.  The very idea of his imp self-harassing his successor was unsettling, but Emma had never complained.

Idly, Rumplestiltskin wondered if his other self was a little more circumspect than his fellow Dark Ones.  He certainly didn’t possess even the majority of Rumplestiltskin’s soul, so perhaps he was less toxic.  Or more so.  Emma bursting into the back room when he was just about to step through the curtain made him focus on the present, however.

“I need your help.  There’s some crazy magic going on outside.”

His instincts had been right, then.  “Such as?”

“Something making people dance. I can’t pull them out of it.  Regina tried to help, but it sucked her in, too.”  Emma grimaced, her voice growing smaller.  “Henry and Bae are in there, too.”

He would not let his rage get the better of him; Rumplestiltskin forced himself to remain calm.  “Lead on, then.”

Following her out the shop door, Rumplestiltskin dropped back into his power, letting himself see the threads of magic filling the street.  They swirled and tightened, wrapping around everyone out there and pulling each person in tightly.  It was a flawless kaleidoscope of color, sparkling almost brightly and cheerily enough to hide the deadly darkness underneath.  _Fae magic,_ Rumplestiltskin realized abruptly.  He didn’t recognize it from personal experience, but he’d seen enough flashes of Merlin’s memories that he knew what it had to be.  There was a sharp bite to it, though, not the layered smoothness of an original power, and he realized that this was not the doing of Danns’ a’Bhàis.  At least not directly.

“Don’t just stand there,” Emma growled as he stopped to study the spell.  _Spells._ There was carefully layered work there, five or six— _Seven, actually_ —spells stacked over and through one another.  Removing one would only let the others grow stronger, which had to be what tripped Emma and Regina up.  “Do something!”

“A moment, if you please.”  Rumplestiltskin barely heard himself murmur the words; he was too busy watching the threads, looking for a loophole, an opening, or even just a small, sloppy corner.  No magic was flawless; everything had a weakness.  He only had to find it.

Then his eyes fell on Belle, dancing wildly with Baelfire, and his heart skipped a beat, thudding hard against his ribcage.  Her eyes were wide and a little frightened; the smile on her face pulled too tight and in no way happy.  Belle’s movements, just like Bae’s and Henry’s, were jerky and feverish, frantic and rushed.  Even as he watched, the pace of the dance picked up, and Belle’s hair flew around her wildly.  Henry stumbled but didn’t fall, though someone on the edges of the crowd collapsed.  Fury quickly followed on the heels of his fear, and Rumplestiltskin felt both emotions digging into his magic and strengthening it.  His family was in danger.  His wife, his son, and his grandson were stuck in this macabre dance, and Rumplestiltskin _would not_ let them suffer. 

_Focus_ , he told himself firmly, banishing the negative emotions.  They’d lend him power but would also impede his concentration.  He needed to think, not to smash things.  If these spells had been smash-able, the irate Dark One to his left would have done it already.  So, he narrowed his eyes and watched the magic, forcing himself to look away from his loved ones and watch the threads ebb and flow.  _There.  There it is._

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin raised his hands, reaching for two threads in his right hand and four in his left.  He’d found the opening, a tiny weak point that could be exploited, so he _pulled_ with his right hand, tugging the threads towards him while holding the others at bay.  The flaw widened, ever so slightly, and Rumplestiltskin aimed a small jet of magic through the hole.  His own spell was invisible to the naked eye, but the way it exploded within the fae magic wasn’t.  A shower of sparks fell over the crowd, making a few people yelp as the manic joyfulness holding them prisoner came apart around them.  Then the crowd started to fall, like a wave originating at the center and rolling outwards, a mess of people staggering for balance and others outright collapsing.

* * *

 

Emma watched the spell fall apart, trying not to grit her teeth in fury.  _So easy,_ Nimue’s voice mocked her.  _Are you incompetent, or was there something else at play?_   Instinct made her bat the voice aside, but then Emma stopped to think.

Maybe there _was_ a reason she couldn’t pull the magic apart, and maybe it had nothing to do with practice.  This was the first piece of magic she’d failed at since becoming the Dark One; the voices inside her were surprisingly helpful when it came to figuring out how to do things that she never would have known how to do as the Savior.  _She said I couldn’t work against her interests,_ Emma thought suddenly.  _Is this_ her _doing?_   Just thinking of the Black Fairy made her shiver, and that movement seemed to catch Rumplestiltskin’s eye.

“Are you all right, Miss Swan?”

“Emma,” she corrected him automatically.  The man probably knew her better than anyone alive, excepting maybe his son, who had lived inside his head while his father dealt with the same damned darkness Emma hated so much.  The very least he could do was use her first name.

The slight twitch of his lips said that Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what she was thinking.  “Emma, then.  What’s wrong?”

_I’m being controlled by_ the _evil fairy, and I think her commands kept me from helping anyone,_ she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out.  Unfortunately, Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem able to read her mind—even if this was the one time she wished he could!—and he just waited for her to blurt out: “My son and my dad were in there, and so were all my friends.  I was worried.”

“Ah.  Of course.”

Did he believe her?  Emma prayed that he didn’t.  But she _had_ to pretend that everything was all right.  Even thinking about doing anything else made her head start to pound madly.  _Silly girl.  Did you think it would be easy?_ one of the Dark Ones mocked her, but Emma was too angry to figure out which.  _You’re her slave.  Get used to it._ Use _it._

“Excuse me.”  Quickly, Emma strode into the crowd, unable to take the combined force of the voices in her head and her failure to pull the spell apart.  She _should_ have been able to, she knew.  But she didn’t have the dagger; someone else owned her soul.  Desperately, she made a beeline for her son.  “Henry!”

“Mom!”

_You almost lost him, didn’t you?  You need to make a deal with her,_ the darkness whispered.  _Give in.  Give her what she wants.  Be obedient and she will protect you._ A shiver raced through her.  _Try to fight and she will destroy—_

Grabbing Henry, Emma wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.  Holding him made the voice stop, gave her peace for just a moment.

“Are you all right?” She pulled back, brushing hair out of his sweaty face.  “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, Mom.  I promise.”  Henry’s smile was tired, but bright, and Emma’s heart nearly folded in two.  She felt weak with relief.

_He needed saving and I couldn’t save him._ Looking up, she caught Neal’s eye— _Baelfire’s_ eye, she supposed, since everyone else seemed to be calling him that.  He looked worried, too, but she gave him a quick nod to reassure him.  Bae looked beat, also, supporting a limping Belle who seemed to have broken the heel off of one of her shoes, but he nodded back.

What happened if Henry or those she loved were in danger and she was forbidden from helping them?  Or, worse yet, what if she “misbehaved”?  She remembered what the Black Fairy had said; the words burned into her.  Emma was _not_ going to let her family be hurt.  _I have to find a way to let someone know,_ Emma told herself for the thousandth time.  There had to be a loophole somewhere.  There just had to be.

* * *

 

Morgan had arrived just in time to see her younger son unravel the typically wild fae dance.  She had done the same herself a least a dozen times during the Third Foundation War, but never so easily.  _He truly is the Sorcerer,_ she thought with a smile.  Someone so different from Merlin—at least on the surface—was hard to imagine, but there were similarities if one knew what to look for.  Both had been kind men who wanted to help others, though Rumplestiltskin was far shyer than outgoing Merlin had ever been.  Yet they had the same steel at their core, even if Rumplestiltskin’s had been forged in the same fire that had melted Merlin’s.

She hung back as Belle and Baelfire approached Rumplestiltskin, watching her son fold them both into a tight hug.  Belle seemed to be limping, but laughed when Bae teased her about the “ridiculously impractical shoes” she was wearing.  She did seem too tired to fix the heel herself, but Rumplestiltskin did that while Belle leaned into his side.  Morgan wasn’t sure if she was going to approach or not, until Bae caught her eye and beckoned her over.

“You didn’t get caught in that mess, did you?” her grandson asked with a light smile.

She shook her head.  “I arrived at the end.  I’m afraid your father stole my thunder.”

Rumplestiltskin looked startled, and then a little pleased with himself.  His smile was hesitant.  “I don’t think I’m going to apologize for that.”

“As well you shouldn’t.”  Morgan laughed lightly, having learned a great deal about her son’s still-fragile self-esteem.  “You did better than I could have.”

Watching his surprise at being praised was amazing, and not for the first time, Morgan wished she hadn’t left him behind.  _I could have changed his life,_ she knew.  The sons she had raised might have been prone to arrogance and had certainly inherited her hot temper, but Mordred, Gwaine, and Agravaine had always known they were loved.  They had never been abandoned, never doubted their place inside a family.  Rumplestiltskin, however, had grown up without that, and his life had been a wild ride of lows and lower lows.  How many people had praised him for doing well?  _Not nearly enough._

His smile was bashful.  “Thank you.”

“I am not given to speaking anything other than the truth.”  Morgan reached out to squeeze his arm; Rumplestiltskin still had his other arm around Belle, and she still felt unsure of how much closeness from her was welcome.  But that made his smile grow a little, which warmed Morgan’s heart.  “Untangling magical threads like that should not be easy, even with the Sorcerer’s power.  Yet you made it so.”

“I’ve always been good with puzzles.”  Rumplestiltskin’s shrug looked a little uncomfortable, so Morgan turned to Belle, who still looked to be favoring one leg.

“Are you all right?”

“I will be.  I’m still a little sore, but it’s nothing worth the price of fixing.”

“That was a wild ride,” Baelfire spoke up.  “Should we expect crap like that to happen a lot now that there are obviously fae in town?”

Morgan opened her mouth to answer, but another voice got in first.

“Just one, so far as I can tell.”

Surprised, she turned to see her elder son walking up.  Mordred looked disquieted—and was bound to, she thought, since he’d undoubtedly seen Rumplestiltskin’s actions as well—but determined.  She arched her eyebrow in question.  “Mordred?”

“Nuckelavee dropped by to pick a fight not long ago.  I think he’s alone, though, or he would have brought a friend.  Or twelve.”  Mordred shrugged.  “He wanted the Greater Sapphire.”

That made Rumplestiltskin’s head snap around, and Morgan couldn’t blame him.  Her own heart was high in her throat.  “I take it that you were not terribly cooperative,” her younger son said dryly.

“Not terribly, no.”  Mordred’s smirk made him look years younger, for a moment, and reminded Morgan painfully of his relationship with Gwaine.  But the scowl that replaced it was far more in keeping with Mordred’s current state of mind.  “As would I be if _anyone_ tried to take it.”

Rumplestiltskin just gave Mordred a thin smile, and Morgan _almost_ spoke up to keep them from going for one another’s throats again.  Instead, her younger son clearly swallowed whatever asinine remark he was planning and said, rather mildly: “I understand it’s giving you some problems.”

Mordred twisted to glare at Morgan, but she answered when he would not.  “Yes.  Mordred will be happy to give you the details.”

“ _Mother_!”

“Are you going back on your promise, Mordred?” She arched her eyebrow.

“No.”  Mordred looked absolutely mutinous.  “But not here.  Too many can hear.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded easily.  “Agreed.  Come to the house in a few days, and I may have something for you.”

Did she dare leave them alone?  Morgan thought not.  Mordred was already bristling.

“Without any study?  My, you are a _proper_ sorcerer.”  Sarcasm dripped from Mordred’s every word, and Morgan wanted to shake him.  Belle, however, got in first.

“Are you always this grateful when someone tries to help you?”

Mordred jerked back in surprise, turning slightly to stare at his sister-in-law.  _She’s also his niece,_ Morgan thought with a silent sigh.  _Why did I_ ever _think that sleeping with my stepbrother was a good idea?_

“You must be Belle.”  Mordred recovered quickly, his smile turning razor sharp.  “Do I call you ‘niece’ or ‘sister’, I wonder?”

Belle, unfortunately, gave as good as she got.  “Either works, but since you tried to kill my mother, you might be more comfortable with ‘sister’.”

“I don’t expect you to understand that I was acting for the—”

“If you say ‘greater good’, I’ll accuse you of sounding like Reul Ghorm, and we will not be nearly civil enough,” Rumplestiltskin interjected, his voice suddenly hard.  For a moment, Morgan could see the Dark One he’d been, dangerous and clever, but fiercely protective of those he loved.  “And if you _ever_ threaten my wife, you will not live to make a second attempt on her life.”

“Rumple.”  Belle’s quite voice calmed him immediately, and Morgan saw her younger son soften.  Belle gave her husband a quick smile.  “I’m sure Mordred meant nothing of the sort.”

“Lancelot says that you know who your grandmother is,” Mordred replied instead of answering directly.

“I do.” 

“Then you know _what_ she is and why she needs to be stopped.”  Mordred’s eyes narrowed, and Morgan could see him preparing for a fight. 

She, on the other hand, had a hard time not smiling.  _Belle is not the girl you take her for, son of mine._

Belle met his eyes squarely.  “Yes.  And since I won’t hold Arthur being your father against _you,_ I trust you won’t hold my grandparents’ actions against me.”  Mordred opened his mouth to object, but Belle overrode him, smiling congenially.  “Then we can all easily be friends.”

“I—I…” 

Morgan had never seen her eldest son struck so speechless, and she had never imagined that it would be her daughter-in-law who brought them all together like _this_.  But Belle did so—not with hard words or threats, or even common sense.  She did so with a gentle smile and a welcoming manner, pulling Mordred closer to those he had once tried to hurt.  It wasn’t perfect, of course; Morgan knew that a long time would pass before her sons trusted one another.  Judging from the look on Baelfire’s face, he was a little more open to Mordred than his father was, which was at least a start.

One they desperately needed.

* * *

 

They had made _peace_. 

Danns’ did not know which fact she liked less: that Morgan’s sons were no longer at loggerheads, or that Mordred was talking to _her_ granddaughter.  Either way, she was highly displeased.  The day had started very well, with Nuckelavee’s magic twisting much of the town into delicious little knots; she counted six people who collapsed after the half hour long wild dance, and several others looked to be in need of medical attention.  In the grand scheme of things, that was little enough damage, even if all six died, but that was not the point.  The point was to frighten people, to give them warning that a greater power than they had ever dreamt of was among them.  _Now they know._

She would focus on the more satisfying aspects of the day, and would not dwell on the way Belle had charmed Mordred into dropping his vendetta against his half-brother.  _It’s a pity, but I suppose that if someone was going to do it, I should be proud that it is her._   Danns’ found her granddaughter a bit of a mystery.  Colette had been a loving girl, but she had also been a dreamer with a sharp edge of ambition lurking under the ten-year-old surface.  Belle, on the other hand, seemed _softer._ Or at least more gentle.  _She reminds me of Fionna._

That thought was both pleasant and heartbreaking.  Danns’ would never forget the day when she had come upon her favorite sister, bleeding out and barely breathing, betrayed by the very humans whom she had trusted.  She had taken Fionna’s power with her sister’s blessing, but had some of it passed to Belle?  The possibility was both warming and troubling.

Danns’ had need of that power.  She knew she could not accomplish her goals without it, and if some of it had left her—without her even knowing!—centuries earlier, that was not a promising sign.  _And I do not think the Dark One will be enough, either,_ she thought with a frown.  Merlin never had been able to help her with the final steps, after all; too much of his power had been shackled by the darkness.  _Or by his doing._ There was no reason to think that Emma Swan, Savior though she was, would be any different.  Even if the Savior was something utterly unique, something unseen in all of magical history.  Come to think of it, Danns’ did not know enough about her new slave’s natural powers.  She would have to rectify that.

_And I shall have to find a way to bring my granddaughter back to my side._ Glancing one last time in Belle’s direction, Danns’ checked a sigh.  Belle was clearly opposed to her actions; she held silly human morality as more important than greater issues.  But that was merely a question of education, and Belle seemed smart enough.

In time, Danns’ was certain that Belle would understand.

* * *

 

Much to Regina’s embarrassment, she’d been one of the six people who collapsed.

Robin was by her side in an instant.  He’d been dancing not far away, but it was actually David who caught her.  The dance had brought them close right before it ended, and Regina was terribly grateful for her stepson-in-law at that moment.

“You okay?” David asked worriedly.  “In your condition—”

“I’ll be fine.”  But she was breathless as she cut him off, and was glad when David eased her down to sit on the curb.  “I just need to breathe for a moment.”

“Regina!” Robin landed on his knees next to her, taking her hands.  “Are you both…?”

Instinctively, she directed her magic inside, touching the child like she’d never dared do so before.  The result took her breath away, because their daughter touched her _back._ Exhausted or not, that made a smile stretch Regina’s face to the breaking point.  “We’re okay.”

“Thank God.”  He kissed her hands, and Regina tried to fight back the urge to giggle like a little girl.

In the end, she didn’t manage.  _Her_ daughter hadn’t rejected her touch, not like Regina had been afraid she would.  Instead, she’d felt warmth, love, and maybe even a little _gratitude_ in return, like she had found a lonely child who needed Regina as much as Regina wanted her.  Zelena might have talked a lot about having her child love her, but Zelena hadn’t dared offer her her soul, had she?  _I don’t think she knew how._

Regina was bad at many things, but she’d learned how to love a child, and this daughter of hers already owned a piece of her heart.  So, she smiled at her lover when he squeezed her hands, and treasured the growing bundle of love inside herself.

* * *

 

No one could accuse Zelena of being overly subtle, Mordred supposed.  He had failed to notice her in the crowd, probably because she’d been _quiet_ —for once!—but when she chose to emerge, she did so with an offended snarl.

“This is all _your_ doing!” Zelena stalked by a quartet of dwarves, shoving them aside on her way towards their awkward little family group. 

Mordred turned by reflex, assuming that she was angry at him.  He’d kicked her out, after all, and refused to continue their alliance.  He was rather pleased with that decision, now, because judging from the look on his nephew’s face—and, come to think of it, his half-brother’s—it was easy to guess that they were no friends of hers.  _First she tries to murder Killian, and now what?_   Interestingly enough, however, his mother and Rumplestiltskin also turned to look at her with the same expression of barely veiled contempt Mordred knew he was wearing.

_There’s a saying about apples that comes to mind_.

“What now?” he asked, not bothering to try anything nice.  He’d tried being nice to Zelena.  All it had given him was epic headaches.  Speaking of which, he could feel the pendant beating in time with his heart, pulling and pushing power, and Mordred made a conscious effort to separate himself from the Sapphire.  

Zelena threw him puzzled look.  “Not you.  _You’re_ not worth my time.”

“Weren’t you promising to take everything away from me the last time we talked?”  Mordred blinked at her in confusion.  Who _else_ would she be angry with?

“It’s funny how often she reuses that line, actually,” Baelfire piped up.  “She says it to Regina most often, but anyone she hates gets it.  Sorry to disappoint you if you felt special, Uncle.”

Zelena wheeled on Baelfire, her hand snapping up.  “You worthless little—”

“Try anything like that and die.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was hard, and Mordred noticed that he’d stepped away from his surprising little wife, now standing between Zelena and his wife and child.

“Oh, because you came out of our _last_ encounter so well.”  Her smile was sickeningly sweet, but Mordred was more interested in what her words meant than her sarcasm.  There was something there, something she’d hinted at more than once.

“Try me, dearie.  You don’t have a pregnancy to hide behind, now.”  His brother sounded almost like he had back as the Dark One, all sharp edges and danger.  And yet—

Rumplestiltskin was right.  Zelena wasn’t pregnant.  Mordred turned to his mother in surprise.  “Is that the little gift you had for her, Mother?”

“I told you it would be fitting.”  Morgan shrugged, but he could see the fury in his mother’s eyes.  Zelena had done something stupid, and judging from Morgan’s reaction, it had been to Rumplestiltskin.  Morgan had hinted that Zelena had hurt him, but she hadn’t said how. _Probably when she had the dagger, the idiot.  She did so want a way to control him again,_ Mordred thought.  _Probably still does, too._

“I can see that.”

Their conversation made Zelena whirl to face Morgan, her face going red with fury.  “You’re going to undo what you did.  You don’t have the power to beat me.”

Morgan snorted.  “Strangely, I seem to have already done so.”

“I _will_ kill you.”

“And with whose help will you manage that?” Mordred enquired delicately.  “My mother and I may have our differences, but she _is_ my mother.”

“And mine.”  Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin stepped up next to him, and Mordred honestly didn’t know what to do with that.  The idea of being united with his brother on _anything_ was strange—they should not have been equals!  Had the world worked out like it was supposed to, they never would have been anything approaching _this_.

Yet Mordred was not quite prideful enough to ignore the truth.  Rumplestiltskin was his brother, and Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer.  _And if he’s willing to protect Mother, despite the unease I can see buried in his eyes, perhaps we have more in common than I thought._

“This is not over!”  Zelena didn’t seem to have anything better to offer than an empty threat, and she teleported away before either of them could think to hit her with a stunning spell or something nastier.

_Apples and trees, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Six—“Hear a Song that Echoes Cheerily”, in which David has to play an unfortunate amount of politics, Whale comes to Rumplestiltskin for help, Killian runs into Lily, Ruby notices something interesting about Belle, Morgan remembers unsettling truths about the Dark One, and Robin asks Regina an important question.


	66. Hear a Song that Echoes Cheerily

“Are you sure you’re all right to go to the library, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin asked the next morning, watching Belle worriedly.  He still hated himself for not realizing what that damned dance was before Emma came to get him.  His wife, his son, _and_ his grandson had been caught up in that murderous little game, and Rumplestiltskin burned to butcher those responsible.

Had he still been the Dark One, odds were that he would have already had a nasty plan or two in mind, but being the Sorcerer meant he could throttle back his own temper and _think._   He was still angry, of course, but they needed to defeat their enemy more than Rumplestiltskin needed revenge.  Mordred had said that the dance had been caused by a nasty fae piece of work named Nuckelavee, and Rumplestiltskin had recognized that name from his previous research.   Nuckelavee was as dangerous as he was sick, and that meant Rumplestiltskin needed to be careful.  _He_ might have been near on impossible to kill without a secondary power, but he had family to protect—and to worry over.

“I’m fine, Rumple.  My feet were sore, but you took care of that.” She smiled at him, her tongue caught between her teeth in a way that always made him want to go mad.  “It was a very nice massage, too.”

“That’s not my point.  You could have—”

“But I didn’t.”  Belle squeezed his hands.  “You stopped the spell, and I’m fine.  So are Bae and Henry—and I bet they didn’t even get sore feet, since neither of them were silly enough to wear high heels.”

She was wearing flats today, Rumplestiltskin noticed through his irritation.  He wanted to rant and rave, and lock Belle away in the house for safety—but she wouldn’t have been Belle if she let him do that, would she have?  She’d also come out of the dance far better than most people had, in truth.  Even Bae had been more worn out than Belle.  He sighed.  “I know you’re all right.  I just worry.”

“And I think it’s very sweet of you, but I promised Tiny the morning off, so I do need to go to work.”  She kissed him lightly, and Rumplestiltskin let himself melt into her.

“Well, you’re hardly my prisoner,” her relented with a snort.

Belle laughed.  “You didn’t stop me from doing what I wanted, even when I _was_ your prisoner.”

“I didn’t let you leave!”

“Until you did.”  She grinned.  “And then I came back.”

Just thinking of that day, of that failed kiss, made his insides twist up guiltily.  Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to apologize, not sure if he’d ever actually done so, but Belle put a finger on his lips to stop him.

“I know,” she said gently.  “I’m sorry, too.  We both handled that day badly.  You were frightened and I was naive; it’s no wonder we managed to mess things up so many times.  But we’ve learned from that, and we’re stronger, now.”

In the face of such words, arguing with her was impossible, so Rumplestiltskin didn’t even try.  “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Once or twice.”  Her smile turned cheeky.  “But if you tell me in as great of detail as usual, I’ll be late for work.”

“It’s only the library,” he complained, seeing the stubborn look on Belle’s face.  “You _can_ be late.”

“Only!” She smacked him lightly.  “I’m going to make you pay for that comment, Rumplestiltskin.  You know how much the library means to me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way!  I only meant that the world won’t end if you’re a little late.”

Belle smirked.  “I’ll still make you pay for it.”

She leaned into give him a lingering kiss and then walked out before he could try to change her mind again, leaving Rumplestiltskin frustrated and alone.  Waving an irritated hand at the breakfast dishes, he watched with no satisfaction as they cleaned themselves.  Knowing Belle, she _would_ find a thousand little ways to make him pay for that comment, half of which would probably revolve around buying her more books or inventorying the ones that they already had.  Of course, he could try to get ahead of the problem and find a way to distract her…but Belle always remembered it when he stuck his foot down his throat.

* * *

 

David hadn’t missed the way the former King Francis (known as Judge Herman here in Storybrooke) had tried to catch his eye after that disastrous dance the day before, but he’d managed to avoid him.  There had certainly been more than enough trouble to deal with without dipping their toes into some other problem.  Five people had ended up in the hospital (one of whom would have died if Whale hadn’t called Rumplestiltskin in), Regina had wound up throwing up all over Emma, and there had been dozens of non-life-threatening injuries.  Cleaning up after that mess and making sure everyone was taken care of had lasted well into the evening, and David hadn’t been in the mood to deal with Thomas’ obnoxious father.

This morning, however, he didn’t have much of a choice.  Francis had turned up before Robin even arrived at the sheriff’s station, just after David had unlocked the doors for the morning.

“Might I have a moment of your time?” Francis looked stiff and formal; David knew that Thomas’ father didn’t always approve of him, and had much preferred to talk to Snow, or even Regina, than him.  But David was sheriff now, and that didn’t leave Francis with much of a choice.

“Of course.  What can I do for you?”

“I can’t help but notice that you’ve made no arrests for Sidney Glass’s death.”  Francis crossed his arms.  “And I have to tell you, man to man, David, that it’s starting to look highly suspicious.”

David blinked.  Once, he would have assumed that Francis meant well, and that the other king had come to him in good faith.  Now, however, he had learned the hard way that people were not so honest—and that Francis was a political creature at heart.  Francis hadn’t liked Sidney, and they hadn’t been allies before.  So if he was here now, it was because Francis saw some benefit for himself in it.  “Is that so?”

“Of course it is.  If it even appears like you’re protecting someone—which I would _never_ think of you—your credibility will suffer.  People will begin to have doubts, and you can’t have that with elections coming up.”

“You know, we both know that you’re not really here to help me, so why don’t you get to the point?” David knew he sounded blunt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  “If you’re curious about election dates, you’ll have to ask Regina.  If you’re actually here because you’re concerned about Sidney’s murder, all I can tell you is that it’s still under investigation.  Because I’m _sure_ you wouldn’t want me to jeopardize the integrity of a police investigation merely to make myself look better, would you?”

“I would never suggest such a thing.”  Francis did a decent job of looking offended, but David was pretty sure that Francis was angrier that David had figured his game out than about the implication that Francis was a self-serving bastard.

David gave him his best smile.  “It’s good that we’re on the same page.  Now, if I can escort you out, I have a _lot_ of work to do…”

Francis glared, but he left as David heaved a sigh of relief.  He really did have a lot to do—and he needed to call Regina and give her a heads up that Francis was sniffing around.  Old kings were like old warhorses, but where warhorses always aimed for the sound of the guns, kings aimed for potential sources of power.  _I am_ so _glad I wasn’t born to this,_ David thought, pulling his phone out.  _Then I might have some stupid idea about_ deserving _power just because of my blood._ David knew, however, that he’d learned a lesson about leadership that Francis just didn’t understand: leadership wasn’t about power.  It was about trust, and doing what was right.

Sadly, some people never figured that out.

* * *

 

Whale walked into the back room of the shop without any warning.  “You have any good locator spells?”

That made Rumplestiltskin’s head snap up.  Henry had been manning the front, seemingly enjoying his foray into the retail world, so he’d been absorbed in the book he was reading.  “Several, but it helps to know what I’m looking for.”

“Jefferson’s gone missing.  It was before that crazy dance thing yesterday, so at first Grace thought he might have been caught up in that, but he never came home.  She called me last night, because both of her, uh, other parents are still in the hospital.”  Whale shrugged a little.  “Bad hearts on both of them.  Dancing that much at their age is horrible for the health.”

“Is his hat at home?” Rumplestiltskin asked, his mind whirling.  He and Jefferson had an odd relationship, half friendship and half former employee/employer, but he’d never wished ill on the Hatter.  He was rather fond of the man, truth be told, a feeling that was less disquieting now that he wasn’t the Dark One.  And Rumplestiltskin wasn’t the sort to forget how helpful Jefferson had been when he and Belle had lost their home, either.

“Yeah.  That’s the first thing I checked.”  Whale threw him a look that practically screamed ‘ _I’m not an idiot’_ , but Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“Find me something of his and”—he cut off as Whale extended one of Jefferson’s scarves—“That’ll do.”

Reaching into a drawer, Rumplestiltskin pulled out a vial full of a light blue locator potion.  Belle had mixed this one, under his tutelage, but there was no reason to expect that finding Jefferson would require anything special.  He poured it over the scarf carefully, and watched with approval as the scarf slowly floated into the air.

“Just follow it, right?” Whale asked.

“Indeed.”

“I heard what you were saying about Jefferson.  Is Grace okay?” Henry had stuck his head into the back and was watching Whale worriedly, but the doctor nodded.

“She’s fine.  She’s going to stay with me until Mr. and Mrs. Grace get out of the hospital.”  Whale shrugged again, looking both protective and uncomfortable.  “She’d probably like it if you came by, though.”

Henry grinned.  “Mind if I do after I get off?”

“Yeah, and it’s probably a good idea.  You’ll probably be more help with her history homework than I am.”  Whale’s head snapped around as the scarf started floating towards the side door, ducking downwards like it meant to try to slip under the edge.  “Got to go.”

“Good luck!” Henry called after him, and Rumplestiltskin just watched Whale chase after the scarf with a somewhat bemused smile.

Jefferson had always been good at finding trouble, but he was sure the Hatter was fine. 

* * *

 

He hadn’t really meant to run into Lily again, but he’d managed to do it quite spectacularly.  Killian wanted to say that it hadn’t been his fault, but truth be told, he’d gone around the corner without so much as looking, and smashed right into her.  Lily hit the ground with a sharp little yelp, though he could tell from her glare that her pride was bruised more than her body.

“My apologies.”  Killian offered her a hand, which she batted away, climbing to her feet on her own.

“Are you always such a clumsy oaf?”

“Actually, I’m usually quite the gentleman.”  He gave her a smile, but her scowl only deepened.

She snorted.  “You could have fooled me.  The majority of the times I’ve been around you, you were either trying to run people over with a truck or knocking me on my ass.”

“I assure you, love, both are quite out of character for me.”  Killian couldn’t help laughing.  “And I do believe I’ve sworn off of automobiles forever.  Ships are more my speed, it turns out.”

“Slow, you mean.”  Lily rolled her eyes.

“I’ll have you know that a ship can sail quite close to the wind.”  He wasn’t going to let her insult his chosen profession, particularly not when Lily wore such a challenging look, like she was baiting him on purpose.  “And fast.”

“Not as fast as a dragon.”

“Well, I’ve never had _that_ particular experience, so I’m afraid I have no standard of comparison.”  He shrugged, wondering if that had been the hint he thought it was.  Usually, he was the one throwing innuendos around; it had been a long time since he’d had a woman who didn’t want money toss one his way. “But I do know that there’s no feeling of freedom like being out on the sea with the wind in your face.  No machinery noises, no roads to follow, just open sea and air.”

Now her smile turned surprisingly genuine.  “Flying is like that for me.  I’ve felt trapped for most of my life, but not when I’m in the air.  Then I can go anywhere and no one can stop me.”

“I know the feeling.”  And Killian did.  The freedom had been the first thing Killian had loved about the sea, at least once he’d grown old enough and senior enough in the Navy to have some control over his own fate.  Then he’d felt like he could do anything, go anywhere, like he was no longer trapped in a horrid world where nothing ever seemed to change unless one counted half-human creatures growing more terrifying. 

“You want to go out sometime?” Lily looked like she was surprised when the words blurted out of her.  She scowled fiercely.  “I mean, you can make up for knocking me on my ass by taking me out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to guilt me.  You could just ask,” he pointed out automatically, but his mind was spinning.  Was it too soon?  Killian still felt like his heart had been ground into tiny pieces every time he thought of Emma, but he’d promised himself—and her—that he wouldn’t chase her again.  Not in the aggressive manner he had before.  He loved her, loved the Emma he’d known before…but was that Emma gone forever?

Lily glared.  “I just did.”

But there was another question that begged asking.  “Are you interested in me because you’re still angry with Emma?  Because if so, I’ll pass.  I’d rather catch your attention with my own dashing personality than be caught in the middle of your feud.”

“It was.”  Lily shrugged, looking away and shoving her hands in her pockets.  “But it isn’t.”

“Then what is it?  I think you’re the type to have seen plenty of handsome men who wear leather well—though perhaps not _quite_ so smashingly as I do.”  He grinned before turning more serious.  “But you’re not the type to be swayed by a pretty face and a jaunty swagger, so why me?”  He needed to know.  Killian would never admit it out loud, but Emma leaving him had left him fragile in ways he couldn’t quite explain.  It wasn’t that he’d never had a woman walk away from him—plenty had done that!—but it was more than he’d never gotten in so deep before having his legs cut out from under him.  He’d given her everything he had, yet somehow, it still hadn’t worked.

_Loving someone doesn’t mean you’re good for one another,_ Morgan had told him when he’d hesitantly asked her for advice, but Killian still couldn’t quite believe that about himself and Emma.  Yet Emma clearly felt it was true, and that mattered, didn’t it?

“You get me.  I dunno.  I just…you get it.  You’ve been bad, and now you’re something else.  I didn’t _ask_ for this, but you seem to understand, anyway.”  Lily shrugged.  “It’s like with my Mom.  She gets what it’s like to be screwed up and _wrong._ ”

Killian couldn’t help snorting in amusement.  “Most men don’t find being compared to a woman’s mother particularly compelling.”

“Why not?” Lily looked up at him.  “She’s the only person in this town I actually _like_.”

“Ah.”  The uncertainty in her eyes was a little off-putting, but the fire underneath lurking that reminded Killian of himself.  Of the desperate need for freedom, to belong, to do _something_ other than hate yourself.  “Then I suppose I am complimented.”

The way a smile could transform Lily’s face was rather amazing, Killian thought.  She beamed at him like she was so used to be shot down, like she was always the one to screw things up and she just wanted to be around someone who understood.  He could do that, he decided.  Perhaps it was too soon for romance—though his own record on that front indicated that he would have found a rebound relationship already, had he been the man he used to be—but they could still be friends. 

Something told Killian that Lily needed a friend far more than she needed romance, anyway.

* * *

 

“I told you that he’d help.” Lancelot’s smug smile made Mordred glare at him, but it had little effect.  _Not that it ever does._

“Save your gleeful crowing for when my half-brother finds a way to keep this pendant from killing me,” he grumbled, still hating the idea of needing Rumplestiltskin’s help.  Yet Mordred had already exhausted his own resources, and he knew that his mother had, too.   But his damnable brother had Merlin’s books, and no one had known magic like Merlin.

Except the fairies, and Mordred already knew exactly how much _those_ two wanted to help him.  Blue probably would have if he’d given her Henry’s heart…but the idea of betraying another family member like that sickened him.

_I watched the light go out of Gwaine’s eyes when I took his heart.  He volunteered because it_ had _to be done, but we never understood what it would do to him.  I watched him walk away from his wife and children without a second glance because it would keep them safe, but Gwaine no longer had the ability to understand how much it hurt them,_ Mordred thought sadly.  Had doing that to Gwaine been what changed _him,_ too?  He’d been willing to go to great lengths before that, but having sealed his own brother’s fate had broken something in him that would never be repaired.

“You don’t deserve to die, you know,” Lancelot said softly.

“Maybe I do.  Maybe we all do.”  Mordred shrugged.  “We all did terrible things to try to defeat the darkness, but at what point does it make us no better than those we fight?”

“Until you’re determined to collapse the walls between the realms and rule everyone and everything, I think you’re still coming out ahead.”  Lancelot grinned briefly.  “Don’t get me wrong.  Your little rampage there was a more than a little screwed up.  You lost perspective, but at least that’s something you can get back.”

Mordred hated being wrong, but even he had to admit that Lancelot had a point.  Even though his intention to destroy the darkness was unchanged, Mordred knew that his methods had been foolish.  Having targeted the Dark One left him with no guilt whatsoever, but he never should have gone after an innocent child to do so.  _And I never should have tried to use Killian like that, either._ He had crossed so many lines, and Mordred was under no illusions.  The people he had hurt would never forgive him, but since he didn’t deserve forgiveness, he was fine with that.

“I’ve lost more than perspective, Lance.”  The whisper startled out of him as Mordred shuddered.  “I’ve lost… _everything._   My purpose, my destiny, and maybe even my soul.  This damn thing is draining me, and I don’t know if I can get myself back.”

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, and Mordred turned to look at his old friend in confusion.  Lancelot smiled.  “Well, there’s no time like the present to try, you know.”

Mordred didn’t really have an answer for that.  _I have always known that this quest would kill me,_ he thought sadly.  He had been in Storybrooke for almost two months, and he was no closer to destroying the darkness than he had been upon arrival.   _I just thought that I’d successfully destroy the Dark One, first._

* * *

 

Ruby ran into Belle when her friend was on her way out of the library.  “Hey, you!”

“Hey!”  Belle’s face split into a grin as she closed the door behind herself.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see if you wanted to do lunch.  Not at my place.”  Ruby walked up to hook her arm through Belle’s.  “You want to go to that seafood place down by the docks?”

Belle’s grimace was as sudden as her smile.  “Ugh, no.  The idea of seafood…uh, not good.”  She shrugged.  “But I could really go for some baked beans.”

“Again?  That’s two days in a row.”  Ruby stopped to look at her friend.  “You okay?”

“I feel fine.  I’m just on a weird streak where food is concerned.”  Belle shrugged, but Ruby was already taking a deep breath.

She could smell something, something she wasn’t used to.  It was a nice scent, rather like Belle but also something else— _someone_ else?  Ruby tended to classify people like spices; she didn’t know if that was caused by her years working in the diner, or if she’d always done it.  She really couldn’t remember if she’d done that back when she’d only been Red, but it didn’t matter.  The slight aroma of cinnamon always surrounded Belle, but now Ruby _also_ detected the distinctive combination of cinnamon and cloves.  _Belle and Mr. G together?  Either they just had sex, or…_ Ruby felt her eyes go wide.

“Belle, you, uh, go to the doctor recently?”

Her friend frowned.  “No.  Why?”

“Just a hunch.”  Squeezing Belle’s arm, Ruby let her smile widen.  “I don’t think it’s anything bad, but you just might want to get a checkup.  The wolf smells things, okay?”

Blue eyes turned on her, wide and hopeful.  “Do you think…?  I mean, I’ve been a little sick in the mornings, but I thought I just got some sort of bug.”

“Yeah, I think you got a good one.”  She laughed as Belle gaped, wrapping an arm around her friend.  “Let’s call Whale, okay?  I bet he can get you in soon.”

Ruby wasn’t an expert or a doctor, but she was pretty sure that her instincts were right.  She’d been around a couple of pregnant women, and there was always a distinctive scent.  Her wolf’s nose wasn’t quite as good as a pregnancy test, but Ruby was willing to bet that she was right.

* * *

 

Nuckelavee watched the pair appreciatively.  The wolf girl was interesting on her own; he could see the latent shapeshifting magic swirling around her, and she _was_ quite easy on the eyes.  However, the smaller brunette caught his attention far more than her companion did.  Nuckelavee was a discerning sort, and it wasn’t always beauty that drew his eye, but she was breathtaking.  There was power there, too, something familiar and yet undefined.  He wanted her.

His lady had taken herself a pet, and quite a pretty one at that.  Nuckelavee might have even chosen Jefferson for himself, had Danns’ not done so first; the portal jumper had a daughter and extended family, which would have been quite fun to play with.  Danns’ wasn’t the type to pull a family into her entertainment, but he was.  So, he’d need to investigate who the petite brunette cared about, decide who to hurt first.  He would tear her world apart piece by piece, starting with those dear to her.  Then he would swoop in and break her to his will, shaping her to be a perfect toy.  Eventually, he would grow bored with her, of course.  He always did.  But there would be plenty of enjoyment, first.

“How about some baked beans then?” the wolf girl asked as he watched, walking with an arm slung casually around the shorter woman.

“Baked beans I can do.”  His target laughed.  “I don’t even _like_ them.  Usually, anyway.”

“Well, until you get sick of them, we’ll just call you ‘Baked Beans Belle’, then, okay?”

_Belle._ Nuckelavee ignored the rest of their conversation.  He had a name, now, and a connection.  Belle, who frequented the library. 

* * *

 

She had to make new plans.

Zelena knew she was angry, and that her anger was making her reckless.  She had tried to pick a fight that she knew she couldn’t win, lashing out because she’d had _her_ child taken from her and her life ruined.  _Again!  And they gave the child to my_ bitch _of a spoiled sister, too._   Zelena was ready to destroy someone, anyone, for that crime, but she knew that she had to stop herself and think.  So, she’d spent the last day doing a little bit of research, thinking about what Mordred had told her.  Mordred, the _villain_ who liked to get up on his moral high horse and talk about doing the right thing and banishing darkness from the world.

His claim on moral superiority was ridiculously thin, and it made Zelena want to vomit.  Still, she had learned some useful things from her erstwhile host.  Like who she was going to turn to next. 

The rules had changed, after all.  The idiotic heroes had united, and somehow they had convinced Rumple—this new, annoyingly _good_ Rumplestiltskin—to side with them.  And his obnoxious mother was difficult to ignore, too.  Morgan was an interfering bitch, and for some reason she was determined to stack the deck against Zelena.  It wasn’t like Zelena hadn’t done anything Rumple didn’t have coming.  So what if Morgan was offended by that?  It wasn’t like she’d done anything, and it wasn’t _Zelena’s_ fault.  She’d just used the tools she had. 

Still, she couldn’t go against all of them alone, and even Zelena knew that.  So, she had to find allies of her own.  Mordred hadn’t worked out, and that left one option.

“I completely understand your disgust with Mordred.”  Arthur’s smile was sympathetic.  He’d come out to her farmhouse at Zelena’s request, and she was pleasantly surprised to find him far more amicable than Mordred had indicated.  “He’s always tried to paint himself as a hero, even when his actions are as reprehensible as those he is fighting.”

“Exactly.”  Zelena tried not to sigh, but didn’t really mind when the effort failed.  “ _I,_ on the other hand, have always been very honest about what I want.  And who I hate.”

Arthur’s blue eyes gleamed darkly.   “I do think we may have something in common on that front.”

“I think we may.”

It turned out to be a _very_ fruitful conversation.  Mordred had already told her who “Guinevere” actually was, of course, and Zelena thought the man was a fool if he believed he could go against the Black Fairy all by himself.  Of course, Arthur and his wife wanted power in Storybrooke, but she could deal with that.  There was always Oz if she felt like ruling again, and to be honest, that had gotten rather boring.  Making Regina suffer was _far_ more important, even if Arthur had flat out told her that she wasn’t allowed to hurt Rumple’s precious little librarian.  That stipulation was a disappointment, but Zelena could live with that.  If she had to choose who to torment, her dear sister would win every time.

And now she had allies who would help make that happen.

* * *

 

“You endangered my granddaughter.”

Her voice was like molten steel, and it made Nuckelavee’s head snap around.  “My Lady?”

“With your _dance_.”  Green eyes met his, coldly furious, and he flinched back from her.  He could hear the Hatter moaning in the next room, and that more than anything told Nuckelavee how very angry Danns’ a’Bhàis was.  She generally wasn’t prone to leaving her pets where they could make noises someone else might overhear, particularly with the number of visitors she and Arthur tended to have.

“You…you had a granddaughter?  Colette had a daughter?”  He hated being the fool, but this was news that Nuckelavee had not heard.

“She did.”

Danns’ said nothing else, leaving him to flounder for a moment.  He had not known, which meant she was not likely to punish him, but Nuckelavee was not worried about _that_.  He was horrified, yes, but only because he had displeased her.  _Centuries away, and in completing my second task, I drag her granddaughter into a dance that might have killed her._

“Is she human or fae?” he asked, figuring he should get to the heart of the matter.  A pure human could have been harmed grievously by his actions; several of them had, and one or two had even died, much to his delight.  Clearly, Danns’ granddaughter was not one of those; she _would_ have lashed out in that case.  But he might have hurt his Lady’s heir, and that was utterly unacceptable.

“Human.”  Her response made his heart sink until Danns’ pursed her lips lightly.  “Mostly.  I think more fae is coming out.  Colette’s last actions were using magic to save her daughter, and I believe that has passed to her.”

Nuckelavee took a deep breath before asking the next question, because he knew it would displease her—but he was too loyal to avoid unpleasant topics.  “Might the dance have accelerated that process?  It has been known to happen.”

Danns’ frown was dangerous, and he almost pitied her new toy.  _Almost._ “Perhaps.  I have not seen her since.”

“I offer my abject apologies, My Lady,” he said a little belatedly, bowing his head.  Nuckelavee was too proud to repeat that he had not known, but the words hung in the air, anyway.

“They are accepted.  But you will _not_ harm her again.  And when our people arrive, they will not, either.  They will protect her, as will you.”  Her eyes narrowed, almost daring him to object.

“Of course.”  Nuckelavee was loyal above all else; even if her granddaughter was partially human—an unfortunate side effect of Danns’ having married Arthur—he would do his Lady’s bidding.

Still, he did not expect the girl to turn out to be the one he had been ogling just that afternoon.

“Her name is Belle Gold.  You will remember that, Nuckelavee.”

Swallowing hard and thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t tried to take the girl, all Nuckelavee could do was nod.  _I will find another toy elsewhere,_ he told himself with a shudder.  _She may be pretty enough to risk much for, but not_ this _much._

* * *

 

The wild dance from two days earlier before left Morgan in a bad mood.  Oh, she’d been very pleased to see her younger son stop it, not to mention being rather impressed by the ease in which he’d done so.  She’d also been very happy to see Mordred and Rumplestiltskin put some of their differences aside, even if needing protection from an immature and self-centered little witchling rankled.  Morgan knew that she was not the power she had been, and even the knowledge of the good cause she had lost much of her power to did not always ease the pain of having given it up.   _Although, in the end, the price was worth it.  My portal brought Lancelot and Colette to the right time and place in the Enchanted Forest.  Had it not done so, my youngest son would never have found True Love._ That thought finally eased her mind a little.

Still, she had seen dances like that a hundred times, and not only in the Third Foundation War.  No, she’d seen them in Camelot, too, and well remembered the day she’d gone to Merlin for help stopping such heinous acts.

It had been the first time he refused to do the right thing, but not the last.

_“There’s something wrong with her, Merlin.  She was the only one unaffected by that spell, while the others all danced themselves to death,” she said quietly, staring at the wall in his workroom and trying to ignore how_ distant _her old friend and sometime lover was.  She knew that he blamed her for releasing the darkness and setting in on King Lot, but Lot had_ killed _their daughter.  Surely Merlin had also grieved?_

_But Viviane’s death had led directly to the creation of the Dark One, and Morgan knew that Merlin still hadn’t forgiven her for that.  Thirteen years later, even with Nimue dead these last three years, their relationship was still a mess.  Nothing seemed able to restore their old friendship, but Morgan had returned to court determined to change that.  She had also come to meet her three-year-old step niece, Colette, and had found herself even more wary of Arthur’s wife than she had been before._

_“I think you’re letting Mordred’s dislike of Guinevere color your thinking, Morgan.  We both know that she was too far away from the focal point of the spell for it to pull her in.”  Merlin barely even looked out of his spellbook; what was_ _he looking for?  Morgan twisted to face him, frowning._

_“Mordred’s temper tantrum over no longer being his father’s heir is irrelevant,” she snapped, annoyed that he seemed to be ignoring her.  “That doesn’t change the fact that there is_ some _magic around Guinevere that is—”_

_“We both know that Nimue did that.”_

_“Do we?”  Morgan took a few steps forward, trying to rein in her temper.  “We never did find out why Nimue kidnapped Guinevere before the marriage, but ever since then, something has been_ off _about her.”_

_“Hm.”  Merlin’s eyes were on the book again._

_Morgan could no longer hold herself back.  “What_ are _you searching for so adamantly?”_

_“These are troubled times, and I have many projects.”_

_Morgan crossed her arms.  “Could you find a vaguer answer than that, or was that the best you could think of?”_

_“I am—” Merlin cut off, giving her a pained look.  “Never mind.”_

_“Never mind_ what? _”  Stepping forward, Morgan got her hand in the book before Merlin could slam it shut, peering down at the spells he’d been looking at.  “Why are you looking at tethering spells?  Isn’t that the one you used on Nimue?”_

_“Yes.”  Merlin grimaced and slammed the book shut; Morgan had to yank her hand out of the way to avoid having her fingers smashed._

_“Are you contemplating tethering someone_ else _to some secondary power?”  Morgan’s initial feelings on tethering Nimue to the dagger had been mixed, but it seemed to serve its purpose in the long run.  That very tether had enabled Merlin to stop Nimue when she’d begun her killing spree, and it had let him kill her in the end, too._

_Not that he’d asked her opinion of doing so; had he, Morgan would have warned him against trying to kill someone who was the host to such an elemental darkness.  But Nimue had been dead for two years, and everything seemed fine.  Apparently, the destruction of the host_ had _been enough to destroy the darkness, even if every bit of magical study Morgan had ever done told her otherwise._

_Merlin scowled at her, bringing her mind back to the present.  “Of course not.”_

_“Then what are you doing?”_

_“I’m…exploring options.  That’s all.”  But his answer came too quickly, and now Morgan could spot the piece of parchment that had previously been hidden by the open book.  She only had to read a few lines to recognize the type of spell Merlin had been crafting, and it was no tethering spell._

_“That’s a reversal for a tethering spell.  For_ the _spell you put on the dagger before Nimue absorbed the darkness.”_

_Merlin just grimaced again.  Morgan felt her guts twist up in worry._

_“What have you done?”  He didn’t answer, so she reached out and touched his arm—realizing, as she did so, that this was the first time she had touched Merlin since he’d shoved away her efforts to console him after Nimue’s death._

_Morgan gasped._

_Power raced through her, jolting into her system like a bolt of lightning.  Power and darkness, darkness that she_ knew _.  Morgan had released this very darkness once, grief and fury leading her to open the Vault and set it upon a man whom she knew deserved death.  She had thought destroying Lot would weaken the darkness enough that she could lock it away once more, but Morgan had been young and foolish.  It had escaped her control, and in the end Nimue had volunteered to provide a host for it, only to turn herself into—into—_

_This._

_“Merlin?” Morgan’s whisper sounded broken even to her own ears.  “What have you done?”_

_His dark eyes finally came up to meet hers.  In their pained depths, Morgan could see the old darkness lurking, raging, broken.  His voice was barely audible.  “I didn’t—I didn’t know.  I thought I could give her peace, not_ become _her.”_

_All thoughts of Guinevere fled Morgan’s mind, and she shifted her hand to take Merlin’s in her own.  “The power transferred.  The_ darkness _transferred.”_

_Merlin nodded miserably.  “You were right.  The darkness could not be destroyed by killing the host.”_

_“Damn her!” Morgan snarled; Danns’ had convinced Merlin that_ her _assessment was correct and Morgan’s was wrong, but now the truth was staring them all in the face.  Could Danns’ have failed to see the risks, or had the Black Fairy played them all?  Morgan knew enough about her old foe—and Lot’s onetime ally—to guess the later.  “Does she know?”_

_“Oh, yes.”  Merlin’s laugh was bitter.  “Danns’ knows.”_

But Morgan _hadn’t_ known to ask Merlin who had the dagger, not then.  And because she had not asked, Merlin could not so much as hint at it; Danns’ had forbidden him to tell anyone that he was the Dark One, or that she controlled him.  So, the Black Fairy had controlled Merlin for years, quietly hidden in her guise of Guinevere.  Morgan had never actually met the Queen of the Fae face to face, or at least not knowingly…and Danns’ had used that to her advantage.

Years more would pass before Mordred and Lancelot discovered who held the dagger, who “Guinevere” truly was, and by then it was far too late to save Merlin.

* * *

 

Regina had read every book on pregnancy that the library offered, and she’d even found six or seven websites on the subject—or, rather, Henry had and had then helped Regina learn how to use them.  She was reasonably competent at using a computer, even if she _hated_ using the internet for anything other than shopping.  For this, however, she had made an exception, trying to learn everything she could about her current condition.  Of course, Regina had only discovered that she was suffering from _all_ of the expected symptoms in random order, or sometimes all at once.

_Damn this magically-transferred pregnancy!_   She wanted to scream in frustration.  Regina had known that magic would mess with the normal process, but this really was insane.  She wanted to hit someone, or failing that, curl up in a ball and cry.  Or eat something green. 

“I hate this,” she grumbled, trying to shrug Robin’s hand off of her shoulder.   It wasn’t that she didn’t want him touching her—Regina _loved_ his touch—it was just that everything got on her nerves these days.

“It’ll get better,” he promised.

Regina twisted to glare at him. “How do _you_ know that?”

“Well, it can hardly get worse.”  Robin laughed.  “After all—”

“I look like a whale, I feel like a _blimp_ , and I only want to eat green foods.”  Regina gestured helplessly.  “Are you saying that this is already destroying me?  Because I’m sure it can get worse.  I could go crazy, or I could try eating leaves—they’re green, after all!  Or maybe I could—I could…damn these hormones!” 

Tears had started running down her face for no reason at all, and Regina tried to choke back a sob as Robin sank onto the couch next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  It seemed like her hormones were trying to make up for all the months she _hadn’t_ been pregnant, and now they were going absolutely haywire.  Regina knew that she wasn’t the least moody person in the world on a normal basis, but this was crazy.  She went from ecstatic to moaning helplessly within the span of a single thought, and Regina hated losing control of herself like this. 

“Why do I have to want _green_ foods?” she wailed, hating that more than anything.

“Because the universe has a wretched sense of humor?”  Robin kissed the top of her head.  “Look at it this way, ‘Gina.  At least green foods are good for you and the baby.”

She scowled.  “Green jello isn’t, and that’s all I want right now.”

“Yes, but the cucumbers and limes from yesterday were, even if I never would have even contemplated squeezing lime juice on cucumbers.”  She could hear Robin smile, despite his slightly mystified tone of voice, and that made Regina shrug.

“It tasted good.”

“Far be it from me to criticize a pregnant woman’s taste buds.”  Robin rubbed her back as Regina angrily wiped tears off her face.  She knew she was being irrational, but somehow that didn’t let the emotions stop.  “I was going to suggest green eggs and ham, but that might be just from the book Henry showed Roland earlier.”

Regina sighed, sitting up so that she no longer felt like a child hiding in Robin’s shoulder.  “My budding conspirator is at it again.”   Then she grimaced.  “Why does that have to sound tasty?”

“Probably because it’s green.”  Robin shrugged.  “You know, if wanting _green_ foods is the one leftover from Zelena, it’s not bad as things go.  Our daughter could inherit a lot worse things from her.”

She turned her head to glare at him.  “That’s not helping.”

“No?” Robin’s smile was cheeky, and Regina smacked him lightly on the thigh.

“No.  Your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired.”

It didn’t, really; in fact, Regina couldn’t believe that Robin was putting up with her so well.  He handled her mood swings with far more grace than she did, and managed to smile and make her laugh no matter how horrible she felt.  She didn’t deserve someone as wonderful as him, but Regina had learned the hard way that happiness needed to be fought for.  _I’m not letting go this time,_ she promised herself.  _Even when I’m horrible to live with, if he’ll put up with me,_ I’ll _fight for him._

“Then how about I try something other than humor?” 

The sudden seriousness in Robin’s tone made Regina look at him, and her wild emotions immediately assumed it had to be something bad.  _He thinks I’m bad for the baby.  He’s seen me for who I am when I can’t control myself, and—_ Robin pulled away, and Regina’s thoughts froze up as much as she did.  She followed him with wide eyes as he turned to face her, his expression grave.

“Like what?” she whispered, hating herself for how weak and afraid she sounded.  

Much to her surprise, Robin dropped to one knee.  “Regina, our relationship has never been conventional.  There’s nothing about you and I that is _normal_ ; everyone knows that the Evil Queen and an outlaw should never have been able to find happiness together.  But I love you with all of my heart, and you have given me the greatest gift—and the most _amazing_ expression of love I could ever imagine—by being willing to carry my child.  This might be too fast, or it might be unconventional, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Regina’s jaw dropped open, and it took her a long moment to find her voice.  She was fairly sure that her heart had stopped completely.

“Are you…are you asking me to _marry_ you?” She could barely get the words out.  It had to be a trick.  It had to be something other than this.  She had to be—

“I am.”  Robin met her eyes, and Regina could suddenly see her fears and her worries echoed in his every movement.  He was as uncertain and as afraid as she was, and somehow, that made everything all right.  “I mean, if you want to.  If you don’t, I—”

“Of course I’ll marry you!” Regina cut him off.  “Why do you even think you have to ask?”

“I don’t like to make assumptions.”  He might have said more, but she stopped him with a hard kiss.

This wasn’t the fairytale she’d dreamt of as a girl.  It wasn’t even the simple life she’d wanted with Daniel.  But Regina didn’t care.  This was what she wanted, this man, his son, her son, and the child growing within her.  Nothing was simple about it, and they certainly weren’t conventional, but this was the life Regina had chosen.  Warts and all, imperfections galore, this was what she _wanted._ She didn’t need a man to make her happy, or to give her a place in the world, but this was a family worth fighting for.

So, when Robin slipped a ring on her finger—one he admitted to having David help him pick out—Regina didn’t cry.  She was too happy to cry, even with the wild emotions racing through her.  The baby inside her kicked gently, and Regina just reached out for Robin’s free hand to lay it on her stomach, too.  They didn’t need words; they just smiled at one another and made a silent promise.  No matter how the baby had been conceived, no matter how many green foods Regina found herself craving, this would be _their_ daughter.  No one would come between them again: not her sister, not circumstances, and certainly not mistrust.  Unconventional or not, this was the life they’d chosen, and they would both stand by that choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Seven—“Guard Thee in the Wild Hour”, in which the family gets together for a long-overdue dinner (and strategizing), Emma loses her temper, and a certain mother-daughter team does some breaking and entering.


	67. Guard Thee in the Wild Hour

Belle had given him one of her _looks,_ turning hopeful blue eyes on him with that tiny smile that drove Rumplestiltskin mad.  Bae had nudged him in the shoulder, with a “C’mon, Pop, you know it’ll make her happy,” and Henry had been entirely too excited about the entire idea.  Having those three gang up on him was bad enough, but Morgan had just turned to him when he tried complaining to _her_ , and told him to give in with as much grace as he could muster, because she was on Belle’s side.

Having a mother, it turned out, was not all teacups and roses.  Particularly when she ganged up on him with the rest of the family.

“ _You_ do the cooking?” David asked, wandering into the kitchen with a six pack of beer in his hands, looking as overwhelmed and as lost as Rumplestiltskin felt. 

He shrugged.  “Belle is better at burning down kitchens than using them properly.”

“Well, it’s not Thanksgiving dinner, but this _every_ bit as crazy as that could be.”  David opened the fridge, finding a crevice to shove his six pack into. 

“Just be glad that _everyone_ we’re related to isn’t here,” Rumplestiltskin replied wryly.  In the week since that wild dance had shaken Storybrooke, things had quieted down to a dull roar.  No other insanely dangerous things had happened, Rumplestiltskin had sat down with his _brother_ to discuss how to keep the Greater Sapphire from killing Mordred, and Regina had announced her engagement.  She’d also set an official date for elections three months from now, which Rumplestiltskin thought a tad ambitious.  After all, there was no telling if Storybrooke would still be _standing_ in three months, but then, perhaps that was why Regina had chosen to put them so far out.

“Yeah, I could do without a few of our less savory family members.”  David snorted.  “Not having Zelena or Mordred here is a plus—even if Mordred claims to be on our side these days.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”  His meeting with his brother had been awkward, to say the least, and Rumplestiltskin was quite certain that they’d _never_ like one another.  He also wasn’t quite sure that Mordred was being completely honest, but Morgan believed he was against Danns’ a’Bhàis, so that was enough for now. 

“Well, I’m not in too big of a hurry to forgive him, either,” David admitted.  “Besides, it’s enough of a madhouse in there with everyone who _is_ here.  Last I saw, Roland was playing hide-and-seek with Henry, Killian, and Baelfire, all of whom were trying to get your _mother_ to play, too.  Regina’s inhaling the celery sticks, Robin is doing card tricks with Emma, and Belle volunteered to watch Neal so that she _didn’t_ get pulled into the hide-and-seek game.  I don’t blame you for hiding in here.”

“Who says I’m hiding?”

“Hey, I’m not casting stones.”  David laughed.  “I came in here, too, remember?”

Rumplestiltskin suppressed a smile as he shrugged.  “I suppose you did.”

He still felt strange being on such… _pleasant_ terms with David, but somehow, they’d managed to build what was turning into an actual friendship.  He could still see the shadow of grief in David’s eyes, particularly when they talked about their strange extended family, but Rumplestiltskin was not foolish enough to bring up Snow if the other man didn’t.  He _could_ almost feel her in the air, though, the part of her heart and soul that never left David hovering around the other man and giving him strength.  _I knew their love was strong when I used it to make my first True Love potion, but even I could not have foreseen this._   David, too, was a far stronger man than Rumplestiltskin would ever have guessed; he’d come so far from the uncertain shepherd who had fumbled his way through his first days as a prince.

“So, what can I help with?”

“Come again?” The unexpected question had made Rumplestiltskin blink; Belle had offered to help with the cooking earlier, but she really _was_ much better at burning down kitchens than cooking, which meant he had sent her out to play hostess, a role he knew she’d enjoy.  Belle loved bringing people together, building bridges and making peace, and he wasn’t going to tie her to the kitchen when she preferred to socialize.  _After all,_ I’m _the antisocial one of the two of us.  Let her have fun; I’d rather be in here._   Rumplestiltskin was still getting used to the idea of being _treated_ like family by some of these people, and he still sometimes found interacting with them exhausting.

“If I’m going to hide from the chaos with you, I figure I can at least help.”  David grinned.  “Can I get you a beer, at least?”

“I’m more of a scotch drinker, actually, but if you’d like to join me, I did put the bottle on the table.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured to where he’d brought a bottle of his favorite scotch to hide it from the hooligans outside. 

“Huh.”  David looked contemplative.  “I don’t know if I’ve ever had scotch.”

That made Rumplestiltskin turn away from the now-boiling potatoes to give him a strange look.  “How can you _not_ have had scotch?”

“Well, David Nolan was more of a beer guy, and back home it was all mead, ale, or wine.”  David shrugged.  “Pretty sure I’ve never tasted the stuff, unless Jameson counts.”

“Jameson is _Irish_ whiskey, and cheap whiskey at that.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to let himself sneer, and then found the effort failing miserably.  Instead of providing a dissertation on the inadequacies of the brand David had named, however, he walked over and grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet. 

“There’s a difference?”

“You do have a passing knowledge of this world’s geography, don’t you?” He knew his expression was pained; Rumplestiltskin just didn’t care.

David shrugged.  “I know Scotland and Ireland aren’t the same, yeah, but what’s different about the whiskey?”

“Aside from geography, Irish whiskey is made from any grain; scotch is only made from barley.”  Rumplestiltskin opened the bottle and poured two fingers of 30 Year Old Macallan Fine Oak into each glass.  Offering one to David, he allowed himself a slight smirk.  “Don’t drink it like you’d drink beer, or you’ll be pulling yourself over for driving under the influence.”

David just laughed, and somehow whatever ice had been left between them melted when Prince Charming almost coughed his first sip of scotch up on Rumplestiltskin.

* * *

 

She was related to the pirate.

Oh, it was in some strange distant fashion through Henry.  Technically, he was Henry’s first cousin once removed (which, in Regina’s opinion, beat the hell out of him becoming Henry’s stepfather), but the entire mess of this family made her head hurt.  Cora had beaten formal genealogy into her years ago, so of course Regina could _follow_ the tangled web, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.  Henry’s paternal great-grandmother, however, had grown on her a little bit, despite the woman’s prickly attitude.  _Then again, she gave me_ my _child, so I guess I’m a little biased._

Right now, Morgan was looking at her with what _might_ have been sympathy, but it was hard to tell.  “If it were a normal pregnancy, your cravings would probably already be gone.” Morgan shrugged.  “But with the magic involved in the transfer, you never know.”

“That’s just great news.”  Regina couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she speared another green bean.  “I thought you’d done this before.”

“Of course I haven’t.  I knew those who had, but I never did.”

“Are you saying I was your _test_ subject?” Regina couldn’t stop herself from snapping.

“No.”  Morgan looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, and even if she didn’t, Regina got the message.  “ _You_ were the person that the child’s father chose.”

“Right.”  Maybe she should just rein in her sarcastic tongue today; Regina knew she was testy.  She grimaced.  “I have to get used to this crazy hormonal roller coaster soon, right?”

“Your body will adjust.  Though it helps if you have someone to take your frustrations out on.”  An amused twinkle lurked in Morgan’s eyes.  “I always took it out on Lot—he wasn’t worth much as a husband, but he loved a good fight.”

Regina snorted.  “I like Robin too much to do that.”  She glanced over to where Rumplestiltskin and David had finally walked out of the kitchen.  “Rumple, on the other hand…he’ll snarl back at me.”

Morgan just laughed.  “I can’t imagine where he gets that from.”

* * *

 

A small hand tugged on his own shortly after Killian settled into a comfortable armchair. 

“Where’s your hook?”

Blinking, he looked down at Roland.  The little boy—was he four or five?—looked up at him with big eyes, curious and innocent.  Normally, Killian would have bristled if someone asked him about that question, because he was still reveling in the freedom of having _two_ hands again.  He felt human, real, like the _old_ Killian again for the first time in centuries.  His old hand might have carried some of the old pirate with it, but had also belonged to the man Killian had been before he became that pirate. 

“I, uh, lost it, little man.”  He smiled.

Roland cocked his head.  “Can you get it back?”

“Probably not, no.  And I wouldn’t really want it back.”

“Why not?”  The little boy tugged on his hand again.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to have a hook in the first place.  People aren’t supposed to have hooks for hands,” Killian stuttered.  How was he supposed to deal with a little kid?  He knew enough to know that it wouldn’t do to tell one this young that a man sitting on the other side of the table had lopped his hand off with a sword.  He was okay with kids when they got older, but Roland was little enough that Killian wasn’t sure what to say to him.  Glancing Robin’s way for help, he was disappointed to find that Robin was facing the wrong direction, distracted by a conversation with Baelfire.

“But it’s cool.”

He couldn’t help echoing the word.  “Cool?”

“Uh huh.”  Roland nodded sagely.

_Cool?_ Killian wanted to shake the child, but he stopped himself.  He had had lived with the hook for centuries, and had hated every moment.  It had been a reminder—first, of the loss of his love and his freedom, and then later, of the man he had been and had come to hate.  He’d used his own pain as an excuse to wrong so many others, and losing that hook had been the best way to finally put that past behind him.  He knew he still had many misdeeds to make up for, but now he could actually make inroads on paying back those debts.  Now he could truly be _Killian_ , not Hook.   That difference meant the world to him, so how could this kid say that the hook that had replaced his cut off hand was ‘cool’?

_Because he’s a kid and he probably watches too much television._ It wasn’t right to be angry with Roland.  He was just a kid.

“It was also a bit, um, inconvenient.  Having only one hand made life a little hard.”

“But you had a hook!”

“Aye, I had a hook.  But have you ever tried to eat with a hook?”

“No, I eat with a _fork_.”  Roland shook his head.  “You’re silly man.”

“Aye, I am.”  A slow smile crossed his face.  “But I’m a silly man with a ship.  A big and beautiful ship that I can bring friends on board.  Tell me, lad, would you ever like to go sailing?”

“Really?”

Killian felt a warm rush as Roland looked at him with a sunny smile.  Yes, it was nice to do _nice_ things sometimes, wasn’t it?  He’d managed to forget that in his years as a pirate.  “Really.  But only if your father says it’s all right.”

“I’m gonna go ask him!”

Roland rushed off immediately, and Killian watched him go with a smile.  The lad was family, or at least nearly enough what with Regina agreeing to marry Roland’s father.  His own exact relation to Regina was a little murky, but Killian wasn’t interested in putting a label on things.  He’d come back to Storybrooke instead of using the magic bean because he’d wanted to win Emma Swan, and he’d somehow found the man he used to be along the way.  At first, it had only been because he wanted to be worthy of her, but now he found that he wanted to go back to who he’d been for _himself._

* * *

 

Dinner had gone well, Belle decided, looking around the room as Henry snagged a second slice of pie.  No one had said or done anything to set someone else off, and aside from Regina eating almost all of the greens and nothing else, the evening had gone pretty smoothly.  They’d even managed to be amicable, much to Belle’s delight, and she glanced across the table to meet Morgan’s eyes.  Rumple’s mother wore an unreadable expression, but Belle could see the twinkle in her eyes.  This dinner had been Morgan’s idea, but Belle had also thought it was well past time their family got together like this.  Granted, they had plenty of work left to do, and this dinner had a purpose far beyond socializing, but Belle was still glad that they’d been able to bring everyone together.

A few months ago, she and Rumplestiltskin had been the outsiders.  Even when Belle had aligned herself with the heroes, she hadn’t really been one of them, and Rumple had _never_ been one of them…until now.  For the first time, Belle felt genuinely accepted by the others, and she knew that Rumplestiltskin felt the same way, too.  As uneasy as it made him—she could feel the slight discomfort radiating from him at her right—he did feel like he belonged.  Reaching her hand under the table, Belle quietly took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers and turning to give him a slight smile.  He nodded a tiny bit jerkily, and then cleared his throat.

“Now that we’ve all eaten our fill, perhaps it’s time stop ignoring the elephant in the room.”  His eyes flicked around the assembled family, and Belle could tell how much he hated having to step up into the spotlight like this—but like it or not, they all needed a _planner_ to figure out how to make things work.  “I think we all understand the…challenges we’re facing, along with the need to face these new enemies with a united front.”

“Assuming we don’t kill one another, first,” Killian drawled, but he was smiling slightly when he said it, which meant most people laughed instead of bristling.

Regina snorted.  “Speak for yourself, Captain Oblivious.  My raging hormones are enough to send all of you to Hell without me having to break a sweat.”

“Ah, relax Your-Pregnant-Majesty.  I understand that you’re still irate over being related to yours truly, but there’s really no reason to curse the lot of us again.”

“Do you two need a room?” Baelfire broke in, and Belle saw Rumplestiltskin choke back a surprised laugh.

“Really?” Regina speared Bae with a glare.  “Is that _really_ what you want to say, Mister-I’m-desperately-not-romancing-our-Dark-Swan?”

Much to Belle’s surprise, Emma actually went a little red.  Bae, however, just grinned:  “Hey, my intentions are honorable.  We’re friends and co-parents.  And don’t call her ‘Dark Swan’.  She’s still Emma.”

Regina just waved a hand to brush the point off as unimportant.  “I know who she is.  I didn’t mean anything by it.”

It wasn’t an apology, and Belle could tell that Bae was going to demand one.  He didn’t know Regina as well as most of them did, though, which meant he had no idea that Regina didn’t do well with apologizing.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat again, turning eyes back to him before Bae and Regina could get in a spat.

“Are you three done with your remarkable display of unity?” Rumplestiltskin drawled, and Belle turned to give him a hard look.  He shrugged, the motion reminiscent of the old imp, but the sarcasm seemed to cut through the tension nicely.

“This is why we don’t put you in charge of things,” David laughed unexpectedly, and that made a few other people crack smiles.

“No, you complain about the way I plot and I plan.”  Oddly enough, Rumplestiltskin smiled thinly, and Belle was starting to wonder if her husband and Charming had worked this out ahead of time.  _They have been becoming friendlier as of late,_ she thought happily.  No one knew better than Belle how lonely Rumplestiltskin had always been; he hid how badly he _wanted_ friends so well that no one ever suspected how he truly felt. 

“I think we need that, now,” David replied, and then Belle knew they were in this together.

“Well, I’m glad to know that you’re finally coming around.”  His father’s response made Bae snort, and even Belle had to smile.  There was no bite in Rumplestiltskin’s voice at all, though, and he quirked a smile before he continued.   “We need to deal with Zelena first.  Leaving aside the fact that she’s clearly deranged, we all know where she’ll go now that Mordred’s kicked her out.”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “Straight into the Black Fairy’s waiting arms.”

“I’d say she’s welcome to her, but that’ll only mean more trouble for us in the long run,” Robin put in.

“Is it too much to ask that she’ll drive Arthur and Guinevere as mad as she drives the rest of us?”  Killian spread his hands innocently when everyone turned to look at him.  “What? It would be far simpler if our enemies were willing to destroy one another.”

Morgan shook her head.  “It might happen eventually, but Danns’ is too smart to dispose of someone useful in time enough for it to serve our purposes.”

“Pity.”  Killian slumped in his chair.

“When you talk about stopping Zelena, are you suggesting we kill her or we imprison her again?”  Regina seemed unaware of the fact that her hand was on her stomach, but everyone else definitely noticed.  “I know she’s a menace, part of me would gladly dispose of her, but…”

Belle glanced at her mother-in-law, curious to see how she’d take that.  For her part, Belle was nearly always against killing, even if part of her wanted to make an exception in Zelena’s case.  Morgan’s expression had turned stormy, but she remained silent, her lips pursed tightly and her eyes angry.  She was furious with Zelena for the same reasons Belle was; Belle wanted to rip the redheaded witch apart with her bare hands for what she had done to Rumplestiltskin, and she knew Morgan agreed with her.  But Zelena was Regina’s sister, and if they were going to actually all work together, they had to respect that.

“But she is your sister.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was flat, and Belle reached for his hand under the table, squeezing it hard.  “The cuff works well enough on her, and we can build a prison to hold her.  Will that suffice?”

“Yes.”  Regina nodded, looking a little awkward.  “Thanks.”

Rumplestiltskin glanced Emma’s way, making Belle realize that the Dark One hadn’t said a word during their meeting.  “You don’t have any lingering desires to let everyone’s favorite Wicked Witch out of prison again, do you?”

“No.”  Emma’s scowl matched Regina’s ability to look thunderously fierce.  “Even if I thought she wouldn’t double cross me, I’m not playing that game any longer.  I might be the Dark One, but I’m still _me._   Even if you think you can’t trust me.”

Something interesting flickered across Rumplestiltskin’s face, but Belle knew that last part wasn’t for his benefit.  It was for everyone else.

David, however, had blanched.  “Emma, we—”

“It’s okay, Dad.”  Her smile was strained.  “I’m the Dark One.  And I will be until we manage to figure out a way to kill this darkness once and for all.  I’m okay with that, and I’ve got lots of people to keep me honest.”

“We love you no matter what, you know.”

“I know, Dad.” 

Was it just Belle, or did Emma look sad?  She didn’t have much time to contemplate that before Rumplestiltskin continued.

“Well, then, since you let her out, Miss Swan, why don’t you take care of bringing her back?”  His smile was crooked and all too clever.  “Usually, I’d ask Regina to volunteer, but I think it’s safest that we keep that child away from Zelena.”

Regina’s frown was almost as deep as Emma’s.  “I can handle myself, thank you.”

“Yeah, but I’m meaner than you these days.”  Emma straightened a little.  “And you have to watch your magic.  I don’t.  I can deal with Zelena.”

“Excellent.  Now, moving onto the next threat—this fae who caused the dance.  What did you say his name was, Mother?”

“Nuckelavee.”  Morgan’s expression was hard, now.  “If there were any one fae to escape their exile, he is the very last I would choose.  He has always been her right hand, and a sicker and more demonic creature I have a hard time imagining.”

“Well, that sounds lovely,” Killian quipped.  “None of us are related to him, are we, Grandmother?”

Several people laughed, although Morgan didn’t seem to find the humor in it.  “No.  My fae blood comes from someone far less despicable.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bae said, making his grandmother’s glare transfer to him. 

Belle figured she should speak up before those two caused any more trouble.  “Emma, you fought him after Nuckelavee attacked the school bus.  Can you tell us about him?”

“Powerful.  Nasty and powerful, the kind of bastard who likes hurting people.  I wish I’d just killed him and gotten it over with.”

“Mom, you can’t do that.  If you do, the darkness wins.”  Henry looked horrified at the idea, and Belle remembered that her adopted grandson had been there for that awful day. 

Emma snorted.  “A little darkening of my heart would be worth getting rid of him.  It would have saved lives, too.”

 “You didn’t know that at the time.  Don’t kick yourself for what you couldn’t predict.”  Bae actually reached out to put a hand on her arm, and Belle was secretly pleased to see that Emma didn’t pull away.

“Maybe.”  Her answer was grudging, but at least she didn’t argue.

“I agree with Henry,” Rumplestiltskin said unexpectedly.  “You need to manage that darkness, not indulge it.  Believe me when I say it’ll sucker you into enough deals as it is.”  He grimaced.  “No, if you can help me with finding our dear fae, I will deal with him.”

“He won’t be an easy match.”  Morgan didn’t look at all happy with the idea, and Belle agreed with her—even if she was so proud of Rumple for stepping up.

Her stomach heaved with worry, but Belle forced down the nausea with an effort.  Doing so was easier now that Belle knew what caused her persistent sickness; she had visited Whale just that morning and had gotten the news of her life.  At the moment, however, worry for her husband threatened to overcome her joy.  Rumple would be all right.  She knew he would.  He was braver than he thought himself, and he was _smart_.  And Belle would help him in any way she could.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged lightly.  “From what you’re telling me about Danns’ a’Bhàis, I’ll need the practice.

“Wait a minute, do I hear you volunteering to go toe to toe with the Black Fairy?” Regina blinked incredulously.  “Who are you and what did you do with Rumplestiltskin?”

“Do you have any better ideas, dearie?”

“No, but you usually leave the heavy lifting for the rest of us to do while you ‘plot and plan’,” she shot back.

Rumplestiltskin shifted imperceptibly, but Belle could feel his unease.  She squeezed his hand again as his smile turned grim.  “I may not like it, but I am the only one who _can_ go ‘toe to toe’ with her, as you so charmingly put it.  Say what you will, but I am what she is: an original power.  If we can win this without some climatic battle, I’m all for not playing the hero.  But if it comes to that, I will.”

Belle beamed, unable to contain her smile.  _This_ was the man she’d always known was underneath Rumplestiltskin, one who had power but could wield it wisely, for good instead of evil.  She had loved him even when he’d been wrapped in darkness, but this man, the man who had always been trying to shine out from underneath his former curse, made her heart clench in all the right ways.  It wasn’t the power that made him dark, after all.  It had only been how he’d used it.

No one else seemed to know what to say to that until Killian, of all people, spoke up.  “Speaking of, um, powerful magical types, what about the Blue Fairy?  Is she going to hide in the convent again while the rest of us take all the risks?”

“I can talk to her.” Belle pushed aside her memories of her last disastrous conversation with Blue.  Blue might have been trying to control her, but she was convinced that Blue _meant_ well, which meant Blue should be on their side.  “She’s, well, my great aunt.  She seems convinced that she can deal with the problem without help, but none of us are prepared to just sit around and wait for her to save us.”

“I will go with you.”  Morgan looked unhappy to be volunteering, but Belle was glad for the help.  “I know her better than most.”

Belle smiled.  “Thanks.”  Having Morgan along would help make sure she didn’t tell Blue anything else they didn’t want her to know, too, and Belle thought that was a really good idea.  It would also make her feel safer, given what she now knew and who _else_ she needed to protect.

“Okay, so if Emma’s chasing Zelena, you’re dealing with the dance master, and these two are off to talk to Blue, what the hell do you want me to do?” Regina looked around the table like she was _daring_ anyone to tell her to stay home and stay safe.  “I’m pregnant, not incompetent.  And even if I need to try to stick to light magic, I am _not_ going to sit on the sidelines.”

“You get to deal with Maleficent.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was thin, but Regina scowled.

“She doesn’t want to deal with me.  She’s angry—and yeah, maybe with reason—and she’s not interested in playing nice.”

“Then _make_ her interested, dearie.  We need to split the enemy’s support away—just like we dare not let Arthur win the elections you’re planning to have.  You need to start playing politician and winning friends, too.”

Regina’s scowl only deepened.  “I’d rather run based on what I’ve done for this town rather than try false smiles and kissing strangers’ babies.”

“Too bad.”  Rumplestiltskin glanced at Belle thoughtfully, and then looked David’s way.  “You’re our counterpoint to Arthur.  He’s going to try to play the ‘good and noble king’ card, and Regina can’t claim to be that with a straight face.  But you can.”

“You’re not asking him to…?” Regina trailed off, cocking her head curiously.

“Normal towns in this world have a mayor and a deputy mayor,” Belle piped up, having had this discussion with Rumplestiltskin already.  “Now, we all know that Storybrooke is anything but normal, but having the Mayor and the Sheriff run as a team can’t hurt.  It’ll provide continuity and promise stability.”

David nodded immediately.  “I can do that.”

“Are you…sure?” Regina looked touched, and David gave her a smile.

“Yeah.  I know you better than almost anyone by now, and I trust you’ll do right by this town.”  He shrugged.  “And if you don’t, I’ll call you on it.”

Much to Belle’s surprise, Regina smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They’d make a good team, Belle knew, for all that they’d hated one another when Regina was busy trying to kill Snow.  David would never get over Snow’s death—just like Belle knew she never would have gotten over Rumple’s if it had stuck—but he was moving onwards.  He seemed stronger now, too, and his completely platonic relationship with Regina was flourishing in ways that were definitely good for Storybrooke.

“Now, we need one other party to make Regina’s candidacy airtight,” her husband continued, and much to Belle’s surprise, he glanced her way once more.  “You need to be seen with Regina, supporting her, and—if Regina can manage not to be overtly hostile—being seen as friendly with her.”

Regina snorted.  “I’m perfectly capable of being friendly.  Ask your little wife if she can put up with me.”

“Friendly?” Belle couldn’t stop herself from gaping.  “I’ve never done _anything_ but try to help you, and you _always_ thank me by finding another way to use me.”

“I apologized!”

“And you’re doing better.”  Belle met her eyes, seeing hurt behind the anger Regina was displaying, and suddenly she realized that the hostility and the attitude were nothing but smoke and mirrors.  Defense mechanisms.  She softened her voice.  “Don’t ruin it by trying to blame someone else.  I think you’re a good mayor, and I’ll help you.  If you can respect me.”

“I—” Regina cut off, taking a deep breath.  “I know I’m kind of terrible at that.  But I can try.  Assuming Mister Mastermind here tells us why.”

“It’s simple.”  Surprisingly, it was Morgan who spoke up as Rumplestiltskin squeezed Belle’s hand.  “Belle is Arthur’s heir.  If she is _seen_ to be on Regina’s side, some of Arthur’s supporters may begin to think Regina is the right choice.”

“What about Mordred?” Robin asked, making Killian grimace.

“Most of Camelot hates him,” Morgan replied sadly.  “His magic inadvertently turned many of them into monsters when he tried to stop time.  He won’t be any help on that front.  Besides, he’s a bastard—no one knows that better than I.”  Her mother-in-law snorted with wry humor.  “Legally, Belle is the heir, just as Colette was.”

Bae scowled.  “Yeah, but what side is he on?  He seems to be waffling a lot lately.  Some days he wants to play the nice uncle, and others I get the impression that he’s still thinking that locking Emma away is a grand idea.” 

No one missed the way Emma flinched, or the thunderous scowl that replaced the flash of fear in her eyes.

“Mordred understands that the priority is defeating the Black Fairy.”  A slight grimace marred Morgan’s otherwise unreadable expression.  “He may not be a willing or dependable ally, but his goals are the same as ours.  And he will _not_ come after you again—at least not until Danns’ a’Bhàis is defeated.”

“Can we trust that?” This time it was Regina. 

“Are you asking if you can trust my word or if you can trust my other son?” Morgan asked without rancor.

Regina met her eyes steadily.  “Both.”

“The first part is a rather foolish question for so far into this conversation.”  Morgan’s smile turned crooked.   “As for Mordred, however, yes, you can trust that.  For now.  And if he tries any more foolishness, I will stop him.”

“If you don’t, I will.”  Emma’s voice was flat and allowed for no argument; there was a wounded kind of fierceness in her eyes, however, that worried Belle. 

Had something else happened?  She glanced at Rumplestiltskin, but he looked as mystified as she did.

“There’s no need for that.”  Morgan spoke surprisingly gently.  “But you will do what you must if he threatens you or Henry.  No one will blame you for that.”

Emma’s eyes flashed dangerously.  “Good.”

“What about Henry’s heart?” Bae asked unexpectedly.  “Isaac said that was how the Blue Fairy exiled the Black Fairy last time.”

Immediately, the temperature in the room seemed to rise.  Rumplestiltskin had filled Belle in after Bae had come storming in to talk to him about that topic almost two weeks earlier, so she immediately noticed that Baelfire _hadn’t_ mentioned the fact that his own grandmother had been party to that choice two separate times.  She also watched reactions of those around the table, ranging from pure shock (Robin and Killian) to devastated fury (Regina and David).  Emma, on the other hand, looked rather distant about the entire thing, and that got Belle’s attention.

“Explain.”  Regina’s voice was hard and protective; Belle could see her reaching for Henry’s shoulder as she spoke.

Henry spoke up rather calmly.  “It’s a way to block someone’s powers.  They’d have to take my heart and put it in them.  As long as I was alive, the person with my heart in them wouldn’t be able to use magic.  Even if it’s an original power.”

“ _Blue_ has done that?  Taken someone’s _heart_ to control another?”  Robin looked horrified.  “That’s horrible.  Were they all children?”

“No.”  Interestingly, it was Killian who spoke up, his expression grim.  “The first was my father.  He volunteered.  The fae hunted him and killed him for it.”

“ _What_?” Regina, David, and Robin all yelped the word together, and Belle felt herself grow a little cold.  She hadn’t known that.  Rumplestiltskin’s older brother had been the Truest Believer in his time—did such things run in the family?

“Aye.  I never knew as a child, of course.  I’m not sure he even told my mother.”  Killian grimaced.  “Mordred did it.  They hoped it would stop her forever, but they were wrong.”

Suddenly, Emma swung on Morgan, her eyes dead with anger.  “You did this.”

Morgan sighed sadly.  “It was our last option, and a terrible one.  In the end, it was not worth the cost of exiling her.  All it did was cost Gwaine—”

“I’m not talking about your son!”

Morgan blinked, and then nodded slowly, seeming to realize something.  “The voices inside you told you that.”

“Of course they did,” Emma snarled.  “Is it a lie?”

“No.”

“The second one was a child, wasn’t she?” Emma was on her feet, and Belle could _feel_ her fury in the magic suddenly whipping around the room.  On Henry’s other side, Regina looked worried, probably unaware of the protective hand resting on her own stomach.  Even Henry leaned a little away from his birth mother, or at least did so after she evaded his attempt to take her left hand.  Rumplestiltskin, however, started throwing out silent threads of magic, and Belle could feel the power building as he worked on a way to disable Emma before the Dark One could let the tempest of her full power out.

Morgan closed her eyes briefly.  “Yes.  I sacrificed a young girl—younger than Henry, in truth—to try to stop the greatest evil I have ever seen from dooming all of the magical realms to be covered in endless darkness.  I thought it was worth—”

“You’ll do the same to _Henry_!”

“No.”  Morgan was on her feet, and Rumplestiltskin, too; within a moment, everyone was, and Belle could feel their alliance teetering on the edge of a deep and dark precipice.  “I was wrong.  I thought the sacrifice worth the price, that the girl would live in safety and protection.  She did, but a heartless life is not one to wish upon _anyone_ , let alone someone with the strongest and truest heart in all the realms.  I was _wrong_.”

“You’ll do it anyway.”  Emma’s hiss almost didn’t sound like her voice, and Belle wondered if they were hearing the true voices of the Dark One instead of Emma Swan.  “Because you’re so desperate to finally defeat your old _enemy_ that you don’t care who you sacrifice.”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin’s hard voice cut in before Morgan could answer, and he leaned across the table to look Emma straight in the eye.  “That _will not_ happen.  Not to Henry, and not to anyone else.”

Emma’s laugh was mocking.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, _Sorcerer._ ”

“I never do.”

“Mom.”  Henry’s voice was quiet, but he was the only one fearless enough to put a hand on Emma’s arm as his mother raged.  “Listen to me, not the voices.”

“Henry.”  Emma sounded lost, and looked down at her son like he was the only lifeline she had.  “I’m…I’m…”

“I know.”  Henry’s smile was as brave as it was loving.  “It’s okay.  I know you just want to protect me, but so does everyone else here.  We’re family, and we won’t betray one another.”

“I can’t let them—”

“They won’t.”  Henry reached out and hugged Emma, and after a moment, Belle saw Bae’s hand also reach out to touch Emma on the shoulder.  She wasn’t sure if Emma noticed or not; she was clearly busy hugging Henry and holding on for dear life.  But the tempest finally calmed, the Dark One’s fury winding down, and Belle felt like she could breathe again.

Emma didn’t apologize, but after long years of experience with Rumplestiltskin as the Dark One, none of them expected her to.  They simply sat back down and got back to work, continuing making plans. 

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t even looking at the notes Belle had taken when they’d talked about this the day before, but he didn’t miss a beat—and he added even more intricate layers as they moved on.  Bae and Henry would continue talking to Isaac, armed with a one-use truth-telling potion that would be their trump card.  Killian would help them when the old Author needed a bit harsher touch, but the rest of the time, the pirate would seek out Storybrooke’s low life and figure out which way the wind was blowing.  He volunteered to seek out the ne’er-do-wells who tended to support powerful troublemakers, because _someone_ was surely buying themselves muscle, even if Belle’s grandparents seemed content to avail themselves of magical muscle as opposed to the more mundane sort of bullyboys.

Meanwhile, David would also sound out his fellow royals; they all knew that Thomas’ father was already on Arthur’s side, but there were plenty of others.  Midas was still unhappy with the entire situation after Abigail and Frederick had been frozen by Emma, but he was hopefully not _so_ angry that he would join with the enemy.  But no one knew, which meant they needed to sound him—and several others—out.  Belle promised to help David talk to them, too; apparently, now she was royalty, and she’d always been a good peacemaker.

Regina was also detailed to help search for Jefferson; so far, all of Rumplestiltskin’s locator spells—even the obscure and powerful ones—had failed, and he was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with his (relatively new) magic or if someone was blocking _him_ in particular.  The obvious alternative was that Jefferson was dead, but even Belle knew enough about magic to know that at least one of the spells would have led to the Hatter’s body.  Yet nothing had worked so far, and it was time for a less soft touch.

* * *

 

“Daughter dearest, where did you learn such…extraordinary breaking and entering skills?” Maleficent wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, but she _did_ want to know her daughter, and that was what counted.

“Not sure you want to know, Mom.”  Lily’s smile was a little crooked since she held a flashlight in her mouth, but after a moment, the door in front of her popped open.  “There we go.  Figured someone with so much magic would be lax on the physical security front.”

“And you were right.”  Yes, it was better that she not ask about Lily’s disreputable youth.  After all, Mal had done some rather foolish and _wrong_ things of her own in the past, and it wasn’t like she was on the side of good right now, was it?  They made the best of the lives they were given, and so long as they had one another, Maleficent knew she and Lily would never truly be lost.

“Any idea where this thingum is?”

“Probably back here.  I doubt he’d leave it in the front.”  Carefully, Maleficent looked down at the simple rock in her hand.  It had been enchanted to find any secondary power, even an unfinished one like the supposed-Peace Amulet was.  Danns’ a’Bhàis had made it, of course, and had also made the pair of bracelets she and Lily wore.  Those bracelets nullified them in terms of magic; longstanding spells would not detect them, and neither would Rumplestiltskin’s many wards.

Those magical wards and detectors still could make Maleficent shiver, though.  She had known Rumplestiltskin for years, and his magic had never been like this.  Oh, it was still tricky and layered, but this type of power was something she had only felt from one other…and the idea of being stuck between the two terrified her.  _I must protect my daughter.  Regina and her ilk seem unwilling, so I will support whomever will do so._   Particularly since the Black Fairy had said she believed she could remove the extra dose of darkness from Lily.  Mal was incapable of doing so; she had tried half a hundred times.  But she would give anything to give her daughter a normal life, normal choices.

“Point me at it, and I’ll pick whatever locks are needed.”  Lily’s nonchalant statement shook Mal out of her dark thoughts, and she glanced down at the stone once more.

It was starting to glow gold on its left side, so she headed towards the workbench in the back of the pawn shop.  “This way.  But stay close.  There’s no knowing how far apart we can get without being detected.”

“I thought the bracelets blocked that.”

“They do, but the magic here is powerful, as is Rumplestiltskin.  Don’t underestimate him.  The first time you do that may be the last chance you get.”

Lily grimaced.  “Got it.”

Together, they walked towards the workbench, watching the glow grow stronger and stronger.  A few moments fumbling around pointed Maleficent at the correct drawer, and Lily defeated the lock within seconds.  Quickly opening the drawer, Maleficent spotted a swan-shaped amulet inside and knew it was exactly what they sought.  _Or what our lady wants, anyway,_ she thought, hesitating slightly.  Did she really want to do this?  Stealing this amulet might very well make an enemy out of Rumplestiltskin, and Maleficent was wise enough to appreciate the danger inherent in that position.

_You chose your path,_ she reminded herself firmly.  Picking the amulet up with one gloved hand, Maleficent did not pause to admire its beauty or the elegant power of the piece.  She simply gestured for Lily to close and lock the drawer once more.  _I chose my daughter.  That will have to be enough._   They left without a backward glance, not realizing that they had stolen Emma Swan’s salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Eight—“His Hope, He Called It”, in which Henry and Baelfire try to puzzle out Emma’s issues, Belle tells her husband the news, Danns’ asks Emma about the family dinner, Morgan and Belle try to talk the Blue Fairy into helping, Zelena calls to threaten Robin and Regina, and Danns’ tries to mend fences with Belle.


	68. His Hope, He Called It

Emma wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

She’d been summoned, and then told to wait while the Black Fairy walked imperiously from the room, left on her knees like she was some sort of slave— _You are,_ the darkness whispered—fuming and terrified.  She had spent the night trying to figure out how to keep their enemy— _Your Mistress_ , Zoso reminded her all too gleefully—from learning their plans, but nothing had come to mind.  If the Black Fairy asked, she would _have_ to answer.  She couldn’t lie to her, either; the dagger’s rules were inescapable.  She’d tried to lie already, and all it got her was mind-blowing agony followed by whatever punishments that bitch could think up.

_I can do this,_ she told herself desperately, her knees aching almost as much as her left palm.  It had been cut two weeks ago, and yet the wound _still_ wasn’t healed.  Oh, the cut burned a little less, and Emma couldn’t see it, but she knew that the damage was still there.  The darkness told her repeatedly that while she would heal unnaturally quickly from any other injury, one made with the dagger would fester for far longer.  The dagger’s edge was poison to her, plain and simple, just like it had been when she’d stabbed Rumplestiltskin inadvertently.  _He_ wanted _me to stab him_ , Emma reminded herself, refusing to feel guilty.  It had been part of his plan, of course.  Gold always had a plan.

What would _Rumplestiltskin_ do in this situation, unable to lie and yet trying to hide dangerous truths? 

She wished she’d asked him more about the time Zelena had controlled him, but Emma had been so determined that would never happen to her.  Yet here she was, stuck and helpless, just like he’d been.  _At least I’m not in some filthy cage in a storm cellar._ But that thin veneer of optimism got her nowhere.  _No, my bars might be invisible, but they’re no less secure._

What _would_ Gold do?  Emma actually knew the answer.  He wouldn’t lie, no, he rarely had—at least not before the darkness started ruling him.  No, he’d tell the truth, but only the truths he _wanted_ to tell.  He was a clever bastard, great at dancing around topics, and he would tell nothing more than he intended to share.  Could she do that?  Could Emma find the loopholes, find a way to say only what she had to, and no more?  Footsteps were coming, and she swallowed hard.  Emma was about to find out how much of Rumplestiltskin’s successor she truly was.

For the first time in her life, she _really_ hoped she could be like him.

* * *

 

“You think Mom’s acting weird?” Henry asked as Bae walked him towards the bus stop.  He’d gotten to spend the night at the Sorcerer’s House the night before, and Henry wanted to take every opportunity he had to hang out with his dad.  He was still getting used to the idea of having Baelfire back, but Henry wasn’t ever going to let himself take having a father for granted.  There was no way to know when or if the nastiness of fate would try to take his dad away again, so he was going to cling to every opportunity he got.  Besides, Baelfire was pretty cool, and it was neat to know that his dad was still sweet on Emma, even if he seemed determined not to act on it.

“You caught that vibe, too?”

“Yeah.”  Henry grimaced.  “She’s…she was really quick to get angry last night.  And then she went really quiet, like she’s kind of depressed.”

“She is the Dark One, you know.”  Baelfire shrugged a little, but he didn’t seem convinced, either.  “Believe me, I know how weird that can be from living in my dad’s head.  All those voices—sometimes more than one of them at a time—can drive you insane.”

Henry glanced at his dad, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “You don’t think it’s just that, though.  Do you?”

“I’m not sure.  We should keep an eye on her, though.  There’s been a time or two where I really felt like she _wanted_ to say something but wasn’t…and I wonder if the darkness is trying to pull a fast one on her.”

“You think it’s trying to get her to do something she wouldn’t normally let it do?”  That was a really worrying thought; Henry was pretty sure they’d seen the worst that the Dark One could do when it came to the Sorcerer’s Hat, but what if there was something _else_?  Maybe his grandfather would know. 

“Well, I think we both know that something’s up.  The only question is what.”

“Should we ask Grandpa?”

“Probably.  You want to talk to him about it together next time you’re over?  He doesn’t know Emma as well as we do, but he _does_ know being the Dark One.”

Henry nodded quickly.  “Yeah.  I mean, I don’t think she’s gonna go off the deep end, yet, but…”

“But you’re worried.”  His dad wrapped an arm around him.  “Me, too, kiddo.  But we’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

His mind still whirling with plots and plans, Rumplestiltskin had hardly been able to sleep.  On one hand, he’d been shocked how well the dinner that Belle and his mother had talked him into had gone.  On the other, all the social interaction left him winded, and he was _still_ waiting for someone to burst out laughing and ask him what business _he_ had acting like he had their trust.  Part of him—the old spinner, friendless and left out in the cold too many times—expected to be told he wasn’t worthy of such blue-blooded company, either; he would never _stop_ being aware of the fact that he was the least noble person in the room.  Even taking into account the fact that Morgan, a queen in her own right, was his mother, he was still a peasant-raised bastard.  Perhaps David was on par with him, but at least his parents had been married, and he’d battled his way to a crown.

Belle had been sleeping peacefully when he’d finally given up on doing the same, and he’d crept out of bed to go to his workroom, opening another of Merlin’s books and researching Mordred’s problems with the Sapphire.  He would have worked on the Peace Amulet, but Rumplestiltskin had left that in the shop, along with all the related materials.  He could have teleported himself over or summoned them, but the day was early, and he preferred to read.

“Everything all right?” Belle padded in as he glanced up, looking adorably groggy.  She wasn’t usually up at this hour; Rumplestiltskin was the early riser of the pair.

He shrugged.  “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Nothing else?”  Perceptive-but-sleepy blue eyes studied him before Belle slid onto the bench at his side, moving close enough to him that her hip pressed into his.

“Nothing in particular, no.”  And that was an honest answer; he was still thinking, plotting, and _planning_ , but Rumplestiltskin hadn’t put his finger on anything he’d missed.  Not yet, anyway.  He’d have to watch events carefully, of course, and adjust as required, but they had a good plan.  “Why are you up so early?”

Belle pouted.  “The bed is cold without you.”

“Ah.”  A smile tugged at his lips as he wrapped an arm around her.  “I’m sorry.”  His mind warred between the instinctive _I should have stayed_ and the _How did I never manage to scare off this wonderful woman?_

“S’okay.  I wanted to ask you something, anyway.”  Belle snuggled into his shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin felt all of his earlier anxieties melting away.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to…well, for me to be around Regina so much?”  He could hear her voice growing smaller; Belle never liked admitting to fears or anything that made her feel weak, and he was touched that she’d show that side of herself to him.  “I _want_ to believe she’s better, but every time I do, she does something to prove she isn’t.”

“Like taking your heart.”  He couldn’t quite stop the surge of fury that rolled through him, and for a moment, the books on his work table shook with its power.  Rumplestiltskin still couldn’t believe that Regina had gone that far.  Belle would have _helped_ her, he knew, yet Regina had chosen to use her instead.  He’d done some terrible things in his time, so he didn’t have many stones to throw on that front, but _Belle_ wasn’t a tool to be used against him.  She was a person, one who had helped Regina time and again and asked for nothing. 

“Yeah.”  He felt Belle swallow hard, and Rumplestiltskin squeezed her gently.

“Regina will always have her dark parts,” he said slowly.  “She spent her early life being treated like an extension of her mother’s will, and I didn’t help things when I manipulated her into choosing darkness.  For a long time, I think she felt the only choice she really _had_ was to become the Evil Queen; everything else was something that someone else had chosen for her.  And I took ruthless advantage of that.”

“It’s not all your fault.”  Belle twisted to give him a hard look.  “I’m not saying you’re blameless, but particularly since the curse broke, Regina’s made her own choices.  And most of them have been good.  I just…I just wish one of the worst ones hadn’t been aimed at me.”

“I don’t think she’ll do anything like that again.  Firstly, because Regina is many things, but she’s not an idiot.  And secondly, I think she’s learned a lot about how to work with others.  How to respect others.”  _I think we both have,_ he didn’t say.  _Because Regina’s not the only one who’s used people against those who love them._   Rumplestiltskin wasn’t proud of his own past actions, but he was at least honest enough to acknowledge them.

“I don’t really think she will, either.  I’m probably just being worried for no reason.”

“Oh, Belle.”  Twisting to wrap his arms around her, Rumplestiltskin pulled her close.  “Someone else— _anyone_ else—would never have forgiven Regina at all, let alone have told me, more than once, that you think she’s come a long way.  You’re not worried for no reason.”

“Okay.”  Belle snuggled into him for a moment before pulling back, and had she not been smiling, Rumplestiltskin would have grown nervous.  “Maybe I just feel the need to be extra careful.  For both of us.”

He chuckled softly.  “I can take care of myself, you know.  As can you.  If Regina tries pulling your heart out, knock her down with magic and see how she reacts.”

“I’m not talking about _you_ , silly.”  Belle rolled her eyes, but Rumplestiltskin could only blink in confusion. 

“You said ‘both of us’…”  He gestured for her to explain, and Belle just reached out and took his hand before the motion could get even a little flamboyant.

Much to his surprise, she placed his palm against her flat stomach.  “ _Both_ of us, Rumple.”

“You…you…”  Even a dullard could have gotten that reference, and a dullard Rumplestiltskin was not.  Even if he felt like one at the moment.

“I’m pregnant.”

His mouth dropped open, forming a perfect ‘o’ that he couldn’t seem to make go away.  Nor could he find words; he just _stared_. 

Belle was clearly trying not to giggle.  “With child.  _Enceinte_.  I’m—”

“I understood what you meant,” he finally managed to say, still blinking with shock as a sudden joyful warmth rolled through him.  “I just—sweetheart, that’s wonderful!  I don’t—I just don’t have words.  I’m…I…”

Now she did giggle.  “That’s a first.”  But Belle’s expression turned serious.  “Tell me you’re all right with this?  Tell me you’re happy?  I know this is sooner than we talked about, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything, and—”

“Her?” Rumplestiltskin cut her off again.

“Just a feeling.”  Belle shrugged, looking torn between delight and worry.

“I am beyond happy, Belle.”  Rumplestiltskin touched her face with his free hand, marveling at the fact that this amazing woman, his wife, his True Love, was carrying his child.  _His_ child.  They were going to be _parents._   “Shocked, but so happy.  I love you so.”

Her face split into a grin.  “I love you, too.”

Their kiss was quick and sweet, but Rumplestiltskin could feel the power behind it, could feel the faint echo of True Love moving through them—and through their child.  _Their_ child.  He had counted himself as blessed beyond meaning when they had been able to rescue Baelfire from the Vault of the Dark One, but to have a _second_ child…Rumplestiltskin had never imagined being so lucky.  He was going to be a father once more.  A father!

His excitement bubbled out of him in a babbling bunch of questions.  “How do you know?  How far along are you?  Is this—oh, sweetheart, this is why you’ve been sick in the mornings?”

“Yeah, it is.”  Belle smiled, looking a little embarrassed.  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it, but when I went to see Whale yesterday, he gave me a test.  I meant to tell you before the dinner party, but everyone arrived too early, and I was so tired afterwards.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”  He was smiling so hard that his face hurt—until a thought occurred to him that made Rumplestiltskin falter.  “How…how far along are you?”

He didn’t want to say the words, but was this child going to be the Sorcerer’s child, plain Rumplestiltskin’s…or the _Dark One’s_?  So far as he knew, no Dark One had ever successfully conceived a child whist cursed, and if he had done so, there was no telling what might have happened to the child.  He would love her—because he knew it was a girl, knew just like Belle did, with his hand on her stomach and the feeling so strong—no matter what, but he had no right to have burdened a child with the darkness that had once so corrupted him.

“About seven weeks, Whale said.  The morning sickness _should_ go away pretty soon.”  Belle grimaced.  “I hope.”

“Seven weeks.”  The words breathed out of him in a relieved whisper.  “That was after I became the Sorcerer.”  _And about two weeks after the darkness was pulled out of me._

“Oh!”  Belle’s face went from confused to understanding in an instant.  “You were—you were worried that it might have been from before.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “It was a rather irrational worry, but…”

Belle squeezed his hand, the one resting on her stomach.  “I know.  Me, too.”

“We’re going to be parents,” he whispered, still feeling awestruck as he wrapped his arms around Belle once more.  “You and I.”

“We are.”  She snuggled into him.  “I know this might not be the best time, but I can’t help being happy.  We’re going to have a daughter.”

“Yes.  Yes, we are.”  He was going to be a father again, this time of a little girl.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t doubt Belle’s determination of their baby’s sex; in his experience, a mother with magic _always_ knew.  And as inexperienced as Belle was in regards to her magic (and she was becoming more the sorceress every day as they continued their lessons), she was undoubtedly right.  Rumplestiltskin  knew that he’d check later, that he’d do everything he could to make sure his daughter was healthy and safe, but for now he just held his wife tightly, joy bubbling through both of them.

* * *

 

The Black Fairy barely bothered with any chit-chat; she launched into the questions right away.  The first few were unimportant, even trivial, but the one Emma had dreaded came quickly enough.

“Tell me about this ‘family dinner’ of yours,” she commanded, and Emma tried not to shudder.

_Do what Rumplestiltskin would do.  Tell the truth, just not all of it._   Emma knew she couldn’t lie, but she could pick _what_ she said.  “Awkward.”  She grimaced, feeling the command dig in and demand she answer.  “Weird.  A bunch of people who don’t like each other being forced to call everyone else family.”

Green eyes narrowed.  “Why force them together, then?”

“Because that’s what we do.”  Emma tried not to snarl and then thought the better of it and let her annoyance rise to the surface.  “It was Morgan’s idea.”

Being angry with Morgan was easy.  Emma still wasn’t sure she trusted the tricky old woman; she wasn’t sure if Morgan was any better than the damned fairy who held her prisoner.  Granted, Morgan seemed a little protective of Henry, which did make Emma hate her less than she hated _this_ bitch, but she wasn’t certain that wasn’t all an act.  If Morgan even tried to take Henry’s heart, Emma had already decided that she didn’t care whose grandmother she was.  Neal— _Baelfire, damnit!_ —might be sad to see his grandmother die, but he’d be a lot sadder if someone managed to use Henry’s heart for some ridiculous ‘greater good’.  Emma didn’t care how high and mighty these old Camelot heroes thought they were.  If they endangered her son, they were _done_.

_Except for the fact that you can’t do anything about_ this _one from Camelot, can you?_ Nimue’s voice purred in her mind.  _Best to tell her the truth and hope for her mercy.  Prove yourself loyal, and she just might protect your boy._

Listening to those words made Emma shiver, but she took a moment to turn them over and _think._   She didn’t know the Black Fairy well, not at all, and every instinct she had told Emma _not_ to give this insanely power hungry fairy a damned thing, but what if it would protect Henry?  Her family would never understand, but Henry’s safety was more important to her than anything.  Emma would do whatever it took to keep him safe, and his heart in his chest.  She didn’t care who she had to kill or what else she had to break, even if it was herself.

“Morgan does not do anything without a plan in mind,” the Black Fairy interrupted her thoughts calmly, looking Emma directly in the eye.  “What was it this time?”

_Mention the Heart and she will ask you who the Truest Believer is._ Surprisingly, that warning came from the ghostly voice that had been Rumplestiltskin as the Dark One; that entity rarely spoke, and Emma wondered sometimes if that was because he wasn’t actually dead.  But now his words made a terrifying amount of sense, but if she couldn’t speak to that, what could she speak of?  _Think, dearie.  Tell her what Morgan spoke of that_ wasn’t _that.  You can’t lie, so distract her with something interesting._

The pressure demanding she answer was so great that Emma could hardly breathe, but suddenly the right tactic occurred to her, and she made herself shrug as casually as she could.    “She seemed to want everyone to believe that Mordred wasn’t going to keep coming after me.”

That made the other woman snort.  “That one will never give up on his _destiny._ ”  She smiled slowly.  “And he went after your son, didn’t he?”

_“Yes._ ”  Emma didn’t have to feign anger, now; it boiled up within her as she remembered how Mordred had used Henry, how he had been willing to _kill_ her son to lock her away.  And then he’d gone after Bae, too.  _Bastard._

“Would you like revenge for that?”

Emma tried to cut off her own desire to snarl, but the darkness roared up immediately, fury warring with common sense.  She wanted to be better than that, didn’t _want_ to give into being some mindless and furious Dark One.  But fighting back the urges was so hard, because she could feel encouragement flowing into her via the dagger.  But she still knew she had to be cautious.  This could be a trap.

“Revenge?”  She _burned_ for it, but Emma would not let herself fall that far.  Morgan had said that Mordred was on their side, and she wanted to trust that.

Didn’t she?

_Stop him now or stop him later.  He’s going to come after you again,_ the darkness whispered.  _He always does_.  The last addition was Nimue’s, and as much as Emma wanted to argue, she realized that the first Dark One would know.  How many Dark Ones had Nimue watched Mordred go after?  _Seven._

Danns’ a’Bhàis smiled.  “Oh, yes.  I can give you that.  _If_ you cooperate with me.  Will you?”

_Yes, but not at your price!_ Even the darkness inside her agreed with that, but Emma found the next words tumbling out without warning.  “I don’t want this!  I don’t want to _be_ like this!”

“Of course you don’t.”  The Black Fairy’s laugh was light.  “Do you think _any_ of your predecessors did?  That darkest voice in your mind, the voice of anger and destruction, do you think she was always like that?”

“Nimue?”  Emma had never thought about who or what Nimue had been; she just knew she hated her.

“She volunteered, you know.  Young fool.  She wanted to save the world from the darkness.  Does that sound familiar?”

Emma couldn’t help nodding, even if her voice went small.  “Yes.”

_Some Savior you’ve turned out to be._ For once, Nimue’s voice wasn’t mocking, but Emma wasn’t sure which one of them the underlying anger was directed at.  _Now you’re just like me._

“Fighting it will only exhaust you.  We both know what you are.  Obey me, and I will be kind to those you love.  Do I need to remind you what will happen if you do not?”

“No.”  Emma swallowed hard.  She didn’t need to hear it again.  She knew that the Black Fairy would start killing her family if she even tried to disobey her…but how could she _not_ resist?  She’d tried so hard to fight the darkness back, and she’d been winning.   Until this.

“Then be loyal, and you will find me loyal in return.”

It was too damned tempting.

* * *

 

Part of Belle just wanted to stay home the all day with Rumplestiltskin, but they’d decided to keep their happy news quiet for a while.  Baelfire needed to be told first, of course, and then Henry and her father.  The rest of the family would follow in due course, though part of Belle really wanted to tell Morgan now.  She’d never expected to meet Rumplestiltskin’s mother, not after knowing that Rumple had never known her, but Belle _liked_ Morgan.  In some ways, Morgan reminded her of her own mother.  Oh, Colette had never been so abrasive or so abrupt, but she’d had the same steel core, the same iron-willed determination to look after those she loved.  Belle still missed her own mother terribly, and she knew that she’d tried so hard to get close to her grandparents because of that.  Now she’d learned enough about Arthur and “Guinevere” to know that wasn’t the best idea, but Morgan had somehow crept into her heart in the meantime.

“Do you think she’ll listen to us?”

Morgan sighed, leaning against the wall in Mother Superior’s plush office.  “Honestly?  No.  But it’s still worth trying.”

“I thought you’d, um, worked with her before?”  Belle tried to fight back a grimace; she knew the story of how Morgan had fetched the last Truest Believer’s heart for Blue; somehow, Blue had gotten it into Danns’ a’Bhàis, though Morgan hadn’t ever known how.  Belle was still vaguely sickened by the idea, but she’d read enough history to know that _everyone_ had been desperate, then.  The war with the fae had gone on for decades, and the Enchanted Forest was close to being overrun.  Humanity had been all but enslaved, and the Heart had been the only way to stop the Black Fairy.

_My grandmother._ Despite her resolve not to let her grandparents’ actions make her feel horrible, Belle shivered.  By all reports, Arthur hadn’t been a bad king, at least not until “Guinevere” had walked into his life.  Then he had grown power hungry and darker, all because of the woman who had given birth to Belle’s mother.

“I have.  But on _her_ terms.”  Morgan grimaced.  “Reul Ghorm is not—what is it that Henry would call it?—a team player.  She believes that we must do things her way, or she will not help us at all.”

“She told me that this was a fairy problem last time and to stay out of it.”  Belle hated remembering that conversation, hated thinking of how foolish she had been.  _I shouldn’t have said so much.  I shouldn’t have trusted her at all._   Yet here they were again—all because the Blue Fairy knew the crucial piece of information they could not do without.

Morgan snorted.  “That sounds typical.”

“But she’s been willing to—”

The door opening cut Belle off, and they both turned as the Blue Fairy walked in.  But the fairy’s maternal smile froze in place when she saw Morgan.  “Belle, the sisters told me you had come to visit, but they did not mention that _she_ was with you.”

“Is that a problem?”  Belle stood, feeling her hackles come up.  She hadn’t expected Blue to be unhappy to see Morgan, yet she clearly was.  And Morgan looked unsurprised.

“Reul Ghorm here doesn’t like people she can’t control.”  Her mother-in-law shrugged unrepentantly as Blue glared.

“I dislike people who try to threaten me.”  Even Blue’s sneer was rather prim and proper, Belle noticed, but there was something dangerous lurking in Blue’s eyes.

“Threaten?  We both know I would _never_ do that.”  Morgan spread her hands innocently.  “Why, I no longer even carry a secondary power and hunt for a certain original faery to kill.”

“You had best not!”

There was a story there, but Belle didn’t care.  Part of her regretted having brought Morgan along, but she still liked her mother-in-law a lot more than she did her great aunt, even if Morgan brought trouble with her.

“We’re not here to argue,” she interjected as strongly as she could, glaring at Morgan because Belle thought she might actually listen.  After a moment, Morgan nodded, and Belle continued, glancing back at Blue.  “We’re here because we need your help.”

Blue’s smile seemed real enough, but Belle’s instincts told her that the sincerity was only a veneer.  “I will always be happy to help _you_ , child. Have you rethought my offer?”

“If you want me to choose between being human and fairy, I’ve already made my choice,” Belle said as gently as she could.  “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t help both sides.  We all want the same thing: we want to stop my grandmother before she hurts anyone else.  And we all know what she wants next.”

Blue said nothing.  Morgan spoke up:

“She wants to free the fae.  Nuckelavee is already here—he apparently snuck out of whatever pocket realm you put them in.  That deadly little dance was his doing.”

“That has always been the fae way.”  Blue’s lips formed a thin line, white with either anger or disgust.  Maybe both?

“Is that all you have to say?” Belle couldn’t help asking.  “We need your help.  Both against my grandmother and in knowing where the fae are so we can stop her from freeing them.  This can’t be just a matter for the fairies to deal with.  Too many people have gotten hurt already.”

“My dear child, I fear you are oversimplifying.”

Belle looked her straight in the eye.  “Am I?”

“Of course you are.  The fae are secure and cannot escape.  Whatever Nuckelavee did cannot be replicated.  It was a one-time glitch, and the route he used _has_ been blocked.”  Blue reached out to pat her arm, and Belle tried not to recoil.  “Everything is well in hand.”

“Tell that to the people who died in his dance, or to the schoolchildren he terrorized!”

“I am not responsible for the actions of one deranged fae.”  Blue drew herself up angrily.  “Surely you are not implying that is the case.  I have never known you to be so blatantly unfair, Belle.”

“We’re asking you where the fae are.  Or, failing that, to form an actual an alliance with us against them.” Morgan got in while as Belle blinked, trying to swallow back how deeply Blue’s words had cut into her.

“Fairies do not take sides in human disputes.”

“This isn’t a human dispute!” Belle was beyond patience; she wanted to shake the fairy.  “This is _your_ sister threatening all of us!”

“I told you that I will deal with that, Belle, and I shall.”  Blue reached for her arm again, but this time Belle jerked away.  “You simply have to trust me.”

“My son will not fetch the heart for you.” Morgan’s voice was as frigid as her expression.  “Mordred told me that you tried to send him after his own great-nephew.  He will not do it.”

Blue shrugged.  “If he will not, there is always another.  And then we will keep Henry safe, as we have done for those who came before.”  Her maternal smile turned razor sharp.  “I believe that is more than you can say for your second-born son?”

Morgan looked ready to draw blood, and Belle consciously took a step forward, putting herself between Blue and her mother-in-law.  “That’s enough,” she said sternly.  “We are here to ask for your help to save everyone in Storybrooke.  Are you refusing?”

“I would never refuse you.”  The smile was back, and Belle feared Morgan might actually try to curse it away.  “But I will not help Morgan or her kind.”

“Her…kind?”

Morgan’s snarl was soft.  “She means humans.  I chose humanity.  She has never forgiven that.  Just like she will never forgive you if you do the same.”

“Of course I would forgive her.  She is my blood,” Blue snapped, and then turned back to Belle.  “But amongst them is not the place for you, Belle, truly.  You remind me _so_ much of my sister Fionna.  She trusted humans, wanted to help them and place herself as their equal.  In the end, they killed her for it.”

“Why?”  Belle couldn’t help the question; she didn’t know that story.

“Because they wanted her power, just as they will want yours.  Stay with me, Belle.  I will take care of you, and I will teach you all you need to know.”

“No.”  Belle shook her head.  “I’m not a fairy.  I might have faery blood, but I’m human.  And that’s what I’ll always be.”

“Of course it isn’t.”  Blue’s smile was mysterious.  “You will see.”

But she would say no more than that, nor would she promise them help or information of any sort.  Belle and Morgan wound up leaving empty handed, armed only with more anger than either had felt when they arrived.

* * *

 

“The idea of naming a child before I know her is just…odd.”  Robin felt strange admitting that, knowing as he did that culture here in Storybrooke didn’t really run in that direction, but it was how he’d been raised.

“Does that mean we can’t discuss names?” Fortunately, Regina was smiling as she leaned against him, her left hand held loosely in his.  Sometimes, Robin snuck a look at the ring on her finger, still unable to believe that this glorious and fierce woman was going to be _his_ wife.  He’d been so fortunate to find and love Marian, and while part of his heart would always belong to his first wife, he’d known her too well to think the _real_ Marian would ever begrudge him this second chance at happiness.

“Of course it doesn’t.”  Cautiously, he reached out his other hand to touch Regina’s slightly-bulging stomach, and the way she took his hand to lay it flat made him smile.  He felt a tiny bit of movement when his hand landed, but not much.

“She’s sleeping, I think.”  Regina practically glowed with the words, and Robin felt his heart do a backflip.

“Thank you again for doing this.”  He couldn’t truly find words to thank her enough, couldn’t begin to describe how terrified he had been for his child growing inside of Zelena.  As if the way Zelena had treated _him_ hadn’t been bad enough, she’d not seemed to care for the child’s safety at all.  Zelena seemed to think that everything would be just fine, even if she took insane risks and used all the dark magic she wanted.

“Don’t thank me.  I still feel horrible for how jealous I was when I learned Zelena was carrying your child.”  She winced, and Robin squeezed her hand.   Regina was an extraordinarily strong woman, but he knew that she was still plagued by guilt from time to time.

_“Our_ child,” he corrected her immediately, loving the fact that he could finally say that.  “She’s your daughter in every way that matters.”

Regina’s smile was a little crooked, but no less beautiful for that.  “I guess she is.”

_Ring!_   The sudden ringing of Robin’s phone cut them off; he’d never set some fancy ringtone like most of the others, because he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around saying that a phone “rang” when it wasn’t actually ringing.  But that argument fled his mind as he fished the phone out and saw who was calling.

“It’s Zelena.”  The words left his mouth in a growl; leave it to her to ruin their happy moment.  “I’m tempted to ignore her.”

“No, just put Greenie on speaker.”  Regina sighed.  “We can always hang up on her later, and she might let something important slip.”

“Right.”  Flipping the phone open, Robin hit the speaker button before speaking.  “What do you want, Zelena?”

“Is that any way to speak to your former lover, doll?” the nauseatingly familiar voice cooed, and it took everything Robin had to push away his mental images of _her_ touching him all over again.  _God, Marian, I am_ so _sorry I ever thought that monster was you.  I let you down.  I let_ both _the women I love down by believing that._ Unfortunately, Zelena seemed as jovially sick as usual.  “And here I thought you’d be missing me.”

“Cut the crap, Zelena,” Regina snarled.  “What the hell do you want?”

“Oooh, sis, it’s you!  Are you snuggled up with Lover Boy and _my_ baby?  You know that having my little green bean inside you won’t make her yours.  She’ll _always_ be mine, and she’ll grow up to be just like me!”

“If you just want to rant, you can make an appointment with my office.  But you’ll have to get in line.”

“Touched a nerve, didn’t I?”

Robin finally found his voice.  “That’s enough!  _My_ daughter is safe with her mother, and that isn’t you.  Not anymore.”

“We’ll see about that!” Zelena sounded furious, and while part of Robin couldn’t blame her, he also knew _exactly_ how she felt.  She’d tried to take this child away from him, after all, and Robin wasn’t going to stand for that.  Zelena had had her chance.

“If you’re trying to threaten me, Zelena, it’s going to take a lot more than that.”  Regina’s smile was all too sweet.  “Or is this where you start whining about me taking things from you again?  News flash, sis: I wouldn’t have to carry this child if you’d ever spared her a single thought.  But _you_ endangered her, so here we are.  You can thank me later.”

“Thank you!  I’m not going to thank you, Regina.  I’m going to _destroy_ you!”

Regina scoffed.  “You and what army?”

“Gina…” Robin tried to keep his voice down, tried to warn his love—his fiancée!—off without Zelena overhearing, but that was a fool’s hope.

“Yes, listen to Robbie, ‘Gina’.”  Zelena giggled.  “He knows what’s best.  _He_ knows not to anger me.”

“Oh, please.  You—”

Robin hung up the phone before Regina could continue, earning himself a glare. 

“What was that for? I’m not afraid of her.”

“Maybe you should be.”  She bristled, so he put the phone down and squeezed her hands.  “Not for your sake, Regina, but for our daughter’s.  She needs you protecting her, not picking fights.”

Regina sighed.  “Zelena’s going to try something if I mouth off to her or not.”

“True, but let’s not goad her, all right?”

That made his lover groan.  “Fine.”

Robin leaned in to kiss her, masking his worries with a smile.  He knew that Regina wasn’t afraid of whatever Zelena had planned, but _he_ was.  He wasn’t a coward, wasn’t someone to hide away in the face of a threat, no matter how powerful, but he was a parent.  Robin knew how to put his children first, and he would do anything to protect them.  At the moment, that meant keeping Regina—and therefore his daughter—away from Zelena.  No matter how little Regina liked being protected or cossetted. 

* * *

 

The last person Morgan wanted to run into was her stepbrother’s wife, but things rarely worked out like she wanted them to.  Particularly in Storybrooke.

Belle, walking to her right, stopped cold.  “What do you want?”

“To talk, only.”  Danns’ a’Bhàis could look terribly innocent and loving when she wanted to, though it set Morgan’s teeth on edge.  “I am worried about you, Belle.”

“Worried because I know who you are?” 

Morgan bit back the desire to curse.  Rumplestiltskin had warned her that his impulsive wife might not be able to keep that secret for long, and that she’d already told the _other_ original fairy by accident.  _And judging from the look on Danns’ face, she is not surprised.  Reul already told her._ Sighing, Morgan shifted her weight slightly, quietly gathering magic in case they needed to make a quick getaway.  She didn’t think Danns’ would hurt Belle, but there was no being sure.  And while she knew that she couldn’t go toe-to-toe with the Black Faery for long…Morgan knew she was skilled enough to buy Belle time to escape.

“No.  I am worried that others might lie to you.”  Danns’ response was all too calm, as was the way she nodded towards Morgan.  “Such as this one.”

“Do the history books lie when they talk about how many you killed and enslaved in the Enchanted Forest?”  Belle’s brash bravery made Morgan smile, and she didn’t try to hide it. 

Green eyes flashed momentarily.  “Those books are written from a human perspective.  They are…skewed against us.  Important details are left out.”

“Like what?”

“Things I would not discuss here.”  Danns’ eyes flicked to Morgan, and then her earnest gaze found Belle again as she took a small step forward.  “Let us talk somewhere else, and I will tell you everything.”

Belle let out a nervous sounding laugh.  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Of course not.  You don’t trust us.”  An artful sigh; Danns’ was really better at this than Blue, probably because she _did_ care about Belle.  Morgan hadn’t thought to warn Belle against Danns’ sincerity, because she’d forgotten how potent it could be.  _Damn her for actually caring._ “Come to the house another time—any time.  Bring your husband.  Arthur and I will talk to you both.”

“I’m going to guess that I’m not invited,” Morgan interjected dryly, hating the way she could see Belle wavering.  Belle clearly _wanted_ to think the best of her grandparents, or at least wanted to think of them as less evil.

_So did I, once, when I convinced myself that Arthur had to be her unwitting pawn.  I just wanted him to be my brother again, and not the man he grew to become._

“No.”  Now the green eyes were hard, but Morgan met them.  “We both know what you would say, and I will not have you poison my granddaughter against us the way you convinced Lancelot to steal my _daughter_.”

Morgan would never deny her role in that affair, but she had always believed that Colette did better away from Danns’ and _her_ poison.  “Your own actions do that for you, you know.  They don’t need my help.”  She smiled thinly.  “Your granddaughter, like your daughter, is capable of making up her own mind.  I have no intention of getting in the way of that.”

Master manipulator though she was, Morgan knew that she couldn’t try to manipulate Belle.  Not about this.  Firstly, because lies were _always_ discovered in the end, and secondly, because Belle needed to choose her own side.  Choices were powerful things, particularly choices made by someone as magical as Belle was—and as magical as she might yet become.

“Good.”  Danns’ turned to Belle again, who looked uncertain.  “Then come to us, please.  All we want is a chance to talk, not to fight.  You have my word on that—and even Morgan will tell you that I always keep my promises.”

“Maybe.”  The whisper made Morgan’s heart try to plummet, but she steeled herself quickly.  Belle was a good person with a huge heart; of course she wanted to love them.  Even if she was determined to resist their goals.  Belle seemed to straighten.  “But not now.”

“We will be available whenever you want,” Danns’ promised, giving Belle one more nod before turning away.

Of course, Morgan didn’t miss the glare Danns’ shot her way, either, but that was just par for the course.  They’d battled across centuries; nothing, not even the fact that Morgan’s son was married to Danns’ granddaughter, was going to change that.

She would, however, have to warn Rumplestiltskin about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Danns’ is planning something, and she’s trying to drag Belle into it using Belle’s giant capacity for love and forgiveness. Do you think she’ll manage? And will Emma manage to keep Henry’s status as the Truest Believer away from Danns’, or will she betray her son?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Nine—“I Cry My Cry in Silence”, where Rumplestiltskin and Mordred try not to antagonize one another, Bae learns something interesting while fixing a water heater, Regina and Whale search for Jefferson, Isaac talks a lot, Belle and Rumplestiltskin argue over accepting Danns’ invitation, and Killian runs into Smee at the seediest bar in town.


	69. I Cry My Cry in Silence

Rumplestiltskin met with Mordred in the shop that same afternoon.  The idea of inviting his half-brother to his home was still a little strange, particularly after they’d come to blows not once but twice (three if one counted their spat back in Camelot before the curse).  The shop seemed to be more neutral territory; it was the one place where they’d had a civil conversation, back before they’d discovered they were related to one another.  He also preferred to be in town since he knew that Belle and his mother had headed over to visit the still-annoying Blue bug.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t hate all fairies on principle these days, though Reul Ghorm would always own a special place in his heart, one of burning resentment and old pains.  She’d _never_ been honest with him, and the more he learned about her methods, the more he despised her.  Particularly now that he knew that he and Belle had a child on the way that Reul Ghorm would not approve of.

Fortunately, Mordred had decided not to ally with her, otherwise Rumplestiltskin would have had a much harder time trying to help his brother.  _Brother.  I am still getting used to that idea._ He was fairly sure that he’d never like Mordred, and he’d probably never even be the slightest bit friendly with him.  But he didn’t have to be friendly with Mordred to help him, even if part of Rumplestiltskin did feel strange doing so.  Yet he really was finding a better man within himself, and that part of him was growing smaller by the day.  Now if he could only finish the Peace Amulet to help Emma—

Rumplestiltskin’s hand froze as he opened the drawer, his eyes growing wide.  He remembered exactly where he had left the swan-shaped amulet, and it was _gone._ Just to be certain, he checked the drawer beneath the one he’d locked it in.  And then the ones on the right side of his work bench.  Then he cast a wide-reaching finding spell, searching out any of the spells that he’d woven into the amulet—but there was nothing.

Absolutely nothing. 

“Damn it!”  He wanted to break something, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin contemplated throwing the now-empty drawer against the wall, just to see how many pieces it would smash into.  Dove hadn’t had to fix anything due to one of his temper tantrums in two months, which meant he was long overdue—

“Damn what?”

Mordred’s voice made him jump, and Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to automatically blame his brother for the theft.  _He wants to stop the Dark One, but is he so determined for it to be_ him _that he would steal a means of helping her contain herself?_ Turning to face Mordred, he studied the other man, trying to ignore the similar ways in which they stood.  _No.  I don’t think he’s quite that egotistical._

Close, though.

“Something has been stolen from me,” Rumplestiltskin said after a moment, managing not to snarl.  Barely. 

Mordred arched one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow.  “Don’t you have wards around this…shop?”

“Of course I do.”  He glared.  “Do you think me stupid?”

“Did I say so?” Mordred drawled, making the implication incredibly clear.

“Antagonizing me is _not_ a good way to get me to help save your life.  In case you were wondering.”

Mordred snorted.  “I’m not sure we two can have a conversation without baiting the other.”

“Let me guess.  You’re not in a mood to find out.”  _Contain yourself,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself, throttling his temper back.  He wasn’t angry enough to lose control of his magic, but Mordred really could get under his skin like no one else—even Regina couldn’t hold a candle to this bastard of a brother of his.  And he liked Regina a lot more than he liked Mordred.

“Hardly, but that doesn’t matter.”  Mordred shrugged.  “Mother would have my head if I picked another fight.  She’s strangely fond of you.”

It took every century of Rumplestiltskin’s hard-learned self-control to keep himself from bristling.  He tried to keep his voice mild, but he knew that it came out more than a little sharp.  “Do you have a problem with that?”

“In theory?  No.  I dislike your birth, but I can hardly cast aspersions upon you for being a bastard, and my own father has turned out nearly as despicable as yours, so I can’t hold that against you, either.  I will never accept the fact that being the Dark One did not taint you, but you appear to have that under control.  For now.”  Another shrug.  “You are my brother, though, and that means something to Mother.  Perhaps it will to me, in time.  I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough.”  In truth, it was fairer than Rumplestiltskin had expected, particularly from Mordred.

Still expressionless, Mordred settled onto a stool near the wall.  “What did you lose, anyway?”

“An amulet.”  Studying his older brother, Rumplestiltskin made a split-second decision.  Mordred wanted to defeat the Dark One, wanted to avenge Nimue, not keep the darkness in the world.  “One that would block someone from using any dark magic but enable them to use light magic.”

“For the—Miss Swan, I assume.”

_Well, at least he’s trying not to call her a monster._ If that wasn’t Mordred making an effort, Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what was.  So, he supposed that he should do the same.

“Yes.  It was nearly finished.”

“Who might have taken it?”  Mordred studied him in return.  “I trust you’re not blaming me.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Not your style.”

“No, it isn’t.  But it is Danns’ a’Bhàis’.  She would prefer the Dark One out of control.”  Mordred’s grimace spoke volumes.  “Or to control one.  You are certain that she doesn’t have the dagger?”

“I doubt she’d be so subtle about it.”  Yet the thought nagged on him a little; Merlin’s memories indicated that Danns’ was indeed clever and subtle, but would Emma be able to hide the fact that she was no longer in control?  Rumplestiltskin doubted it.  Part of him wanted to blame her outburst at the previous night’s dinner on that possibility, but he knew that anger was typical of the Dark One, particularly a new Dark One with a child to protect.

“She’s done it before.  With Merlin.”

Rumplestiltskin shuddered before he could stop himself.  “I know.”  He’d never dug into those memories of Merlin’s, finding them far too close to his own of being controlled by Zelena.  Merlin was far from the only Dark One who had been controlled, of course; Rumplestiltskin had seen the _others’_ nightmare experiences before, though at least those no longer haunted him.  Still, he probably should have looked into Merlin’s memories of being controlled by the Black Fairy before they faded—which they had.  Now it was too late.

“No, I mean she controlled him and kept it secret.   None of us knew, not for years.”  Mordred’s insistent words made Rumplestiltskin look at him questioningly, and Mordred shrugged a little dismissively.  “I never liked him, as I’m sure you know.  But Mother knew him well, and even _she_ didn’t realize it.  Talk to her.  She might know something useful.”

“I will.”  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t expected this conversation to be _useful_ , but it suddenly made him feel a lot better about helping his half-brother.  He swallowed, and then forced himself to be polite.  “Thank you.”

The words sounded grudging, even to his own ears, and made Mordred laugh.  “There’s no need.  We’ll never like one another, so I see no reason to pretend to be polite.  Though, if you _do_ manage to save my life, I promise to be genuinely grateful.”

“I’ll believe _that_ when I see it,” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop himself from drawling.

“Well, it all depends on if you have any ideas, or if you’re merely wasting my time,” Mordred shot back.

“As it so happens, I do have a few ideas.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t even try to hold back his smug smile; it was nice to know that the older brother who had previously disparaged Rumplestiltskin’s own skills as a sorcerer now needed his help.  “We need to begin by building a barrier between you and the Greater Sapphire…”

* * *

 

“That should do it.”  Bae knew his voice was muffled from where he was wedged in behind and under the water heater, but at least the renter of the house in question could hear him.

“You want me to turn the water on again?” King Midas was a surprisingly laid back guy, and Bae had started to like him during the marathon four hour repair session that he hadn’t planned to fill his day with.

“Yeah, try it.  See if it heats up or if the tank pisses all over me again.”  Replacing three valves _should_ have solved the leaking problem, though Bae was tempted to call one of the dwarves over to help if this didn’t work.  He was starting to run out of ideas.

A few moments ticked by as Midas headed to the bathroom across the hall and turned the water on.  Bae shifted a little, trying—again—to find a more comfortable position.  The effort failed, of course.  There was nothing comfortable about squeezing his adult form into a space Henry would find cramped, but at least he could reach most of the pipes and valves from here.  He could also reach the emergency cut off, which was slightly important in case the hot water heater decided to dump its steaming contents all over him again.

He didn’t _think_ any of his burns were worse than a bad sunburn, but if they kept hurting, he’d have to swallow his pride and ask his dad to fix them.  _Normally, I’d think that asking Emma would be less embarrassing, but I don’t want her to have to do any magic that the damned darkness will demand a price for,_ he thought, drumming his fingers against the wall.  His conversation with Henry about Emma was never far from his mind.  They both had decided she was acting strangely without talking to one another, and that probably meant they were onto something.  But what?  Was it just that being the Dark One changed you whether you wanted it to or not, or was there something more going on?  He needed to ask her, but their normal morning park meeting had been derailed by Midas’ frantic call about a hot water heater busy flooding the bottom floor of his house.

Who would have thought that King Midas rented from Rumplestiltskin?  Certainly not Baelfire.  But since Midas was apparently one of his dad’s better tenants, he’d been dispatched in a hurry. Normally Dove would have done the repairs, but he was already out trying to repair the roof of the cabin after a tree fell on it.  So, Bae had cheerfully volunteered, since coming at least saved him from the sight of his dad and Belle being all cuddly and giddy.  He hadn’t wanted to ask what that one was about.  Having walked in on them once was bad enough, thank you very much. 

“It’s hot!” Midas called, and Bae breathed a sigh of relief.  Then he had to un-wedge himself, unfortunately, but at least that was less painful than getting into this small space had been.

“Great!”  By the time he’d managed to wiggle out of the hot water heater’s small closet, Midas was back, offering him a nice cold beer.  A quick glance at the clock told Bae that it was a little after noon, which was close enough to lunch time for him.  He accepted the beer with a smile.  “Thanks.”

“The pleasure is mine.”   Midas smiled, sipping his own beer—which was pretty good, even though the bottles didn’t seem to have labels.  If Midas actually brewed his own beer, his coolness factor went up about six notches in Bae’s book.  “And thank you. Normally, I’d ask Frederick to help, but he’s all thumbs when it comes to fixing anything.”

“It’s no problem.  I’ve got to earn my keep somehow, and Pop takes this landlord thing surprisingly seriously.”

Midas chuckled.  “Well, I will say that I was shocked to wake up and find that Rumplestiltskin was my landlord, but I could have done much worse.  I’ve never had problems with him, even in the old world.”

“Yeah, I’d bet that’s ‘cause you’re not the type to make a deal you don’t understand.”

“No, I am not.”  Midas raised his right hand meaningfully.  “I paid a steep enough price for the gauntlet that stopped me from turning those dear to me into gold, and I was not prepared to tempt fate—or the Dark One—twice.”

“Can’t blame you there.”  Bae sipped his beer again appreciatively.  “Do you brew this?  It’s really good.”

Was the former king blushing?  “I do.  One must have hobbies, particularly when no longer engaged in statecraft.  Though I find myself enjoying this life far more than the last.”

“I can imagine.  Not that I’ve ever been anything approaching royal, mind.  But it must be a pain in the ass.”

That made Midas laugh.  “It is if you care for your people, yes.  Otherwise…it is too easy to focus on the power.”  The older man’s smile vanished.  “As others in this town are wont to do.”

Something in that tone made Bae wary.  “You know, if you’re talking about Regina, I’m kind of biased because of Henry—”

“Not her, no.  I meant this ‘King’ Arthur and his merry band of malcontents.  They’re trouble, and looking for more of it.”

“The election thing, yeah.”  He shrugged.  “But people know Regina, and given a chance, I think they’ll vote the right way.  She might be prickly and not some king out of legend, but I don’t think they’re dumb enough to vote for Arthur.”

“Does he really strike you as a man who takes no for an answer, or who will abide by the results of an election?” Midas’ gaze was all too direct, and Bae felt his breath catch.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“They’re buying weapons and recruiting men.  Simply swords for now, as there don’t seem to be many guns here in Storybrooke, but the quantity is enough to give any sane man pause.”

Hearing that made Bae swallow hard.  Storybrooke was a remarkably stable town for all the threats and insanity it faced; aside from a few riots, the people were pretty quiet and pretty much accepted what their leaders wanted.  But if Arthur was buying up weapons and preparing for a full-scale revolt… “Why are you telling me this?”

“They asked me to join them.  I demurred, saying that I enjoy my quiet life and want nothing to do with politics.”  Midas shrugged, but there was steel behind the kind eyes.  “That does not mean I cannot help protect my home, though.”

“Thank you,” he said feelingly.  “I’ll pass the word along.”

“You do that.”

Bae left shortly thereafter, his mind reeling as he wondered who _else_ Arthur and company might just be recruiting.  David had been tasked with feeling out his fellow royals, but what if most of them had already joined the enemy?

* * *

 

“I thought this magic stuff was supposed to be reliable.”

Regina turned to glare at Whale.  She’d _known_ that she shouldn’t have invited the damned doctor into her vault, but she’d been dumb enough to do it, and now he was complaining.  _Scratch that, he’s_ still _complaining.  He’s been whining non-stop since he got here twenty minutes ago!_   “It is.  Now if you’d be quiet, I might be able to do this spell right.”

“What, you can’t concentrate and talk at the same time?” Whale shot back.  “You’d make a crap doctor.”

Regina snorted.  “Like I’d want to be part of your inelegant, bone-sawing profession.”

“Careful, Ms.-Magic-Is-Better.  I’m the one who’s going to do your ultrasounds and deliver that baby of yours.  Unless you want to try our local midwife Zelena, of course.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”  She turned a glare on him, but Whale only laughed.  Damn, sometimes Regina missed the days when she’d been the Evil Queen and people had scurried away to avoid her wrath.  Then again, Whale had always been uppity.

Right down to leading lynch mobs.

“You won’t.”  He grinned at her.  “Firstly, because I have the answers when it comes to baby bearing and birthing.  Secondly, because you like me.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.  A little, anyway.  Otherwise, you never would have brought me here.”

“I brought you here because I wanted to make you suffer!”  It a supreme effort of willpower not to throw the vial against the wall, but she was _almost_ done with the obscure detector potion recipe that Rumplestiltskin had given her, and Regina was not about to waste the ingredients.  Crushed griffin claws were hard to find.

“Well, for you that passes as liking.”  Whale just laughed.  “So, am I going to get a wedding invitation, or not?”

“Of course you are.”  She rolled her eyes.  “You’re taking care of Grace, and she’s Henry’s friend.”

Whale crossed his arms.  “And you owe Jefferson for leaving him in Wonderland.”

“That’s why I’m trying to find him, yes,” she snapped.  Regina hated being reminded of the callous things she’d done; there had been so many ways to bring an extra person back from Wonderland through the hat, yet she’d chosen not to.  Back then, killing a random villager or guard would have meant nothing to her, or even digging up a dead body to fool the hat would have been easy for the Evil Queen.  Instead, she’d gotten spiteful and decided to leave Jefferson to her mother’s tender mercies.

“I’m sorry.”  Whale’s voice changed a little as he apologized, and Regina looked over at him in worry as the potion started bubbling.  “It’s…I’m just worried, okay?”

“Don’t apologize,” she said as gently as she could, which was still rather harsh.  “He’s your friend.”

“More than my friend.”

“What— _oh_.”  Regina felt stupid for not realizing it.  “I…I’m not sure I want details on how that works for the two of you.  Just tell me you weren’t an item when you were messing with me.”

“Hell, no.  First of all, his wardrobe choices were really questionable back then.  Secondly, Jefferson was still mourning for his wife and I was still obsessed with reanimating my dead brother.  Not good relationship material, that.”

Regina wasn’t going to ask.  “Right. Give me the scarf.”

Jefferson seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of scarves; Regina had already made sure that this wasn’t one of the three that Rumplestiltskin had enchanted in his previous efforts to find the Hatter.  But in the end, this one wound up being no more useful than its predecessors.  The spell worked just fine, and led them in a merry circle around town three times (via three separate and infuriatingly difficult to follow routes), but it never led them to Jefferson.

By the time they were done searching, Regina was beginning to share Whale’s worries.

* * *

 

Gramps didn’t usually come along for these meetings, but since his dad was busy fixing King Midas’ water heater (Bae had called him and apologized for that), Henry had asked him to come along.  He knew that none of the adults trusted Isaac enough to let Henry seem him alone, and, well, after the way Isaac had tried to set him up to be eaten by an ogre in the other world, Henry figured that was probably good sense.  Even if it was annoying adult overprotection.  Still, Gramps was pretty cool, and he was sharper than most people—particularly Isaac—gave him credit for, so Henry thought he might be a good partner in not-crime today.

Interestingly enough, Isaac seemed pretty talkative this afternoon.  “There’s a sword that can kill the Black Fairy, you know.”

“I can read, yeah.”  Henry barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “And my other Grandpa is the Sorcerer.  I know all about secondary powers.”

“Ah, but can any old secondary power hurt someone as powerful as the Black Fairy?  I know of one that is: Galatine.”

“Galatine?” David echoed.  “Isn’t that supposed to be Excalibur’s second sister sword?”

“Sister sword and _darker_.”  Isaac smiled mysteriously.  “The Lady of the Lake forged Galatine and passed it to her granddaughter, Morgan of Cornwall.  _She_ hunted the Black Fairy for years because she knew the sword could kill her.  I heard that she later gave it to her son, Gwaine.”

Henry sighed.  So much for Isaac being useful; he should have remembered that _talkative_ and _helpful_ were not the same thing.  “Sir Gwaine’s been dead for centuries.  How does this information help us?”

“Legend says it can only be wielded by someone of Viviane’s bloodline.  I understand there’s quite a few of you in this town.”  Isaac shrugged.  “People have tried other secondary powers, and they failed.  But I could be wrong.”

“And where does legend say the sword last was?” David didn’t sound any more convinced than Henry felt.  The innocent smile on Isaac’s face didn’t help, either.

“Well, it was in Camelot, apparently.  Gwaine didn’t take it with him when he ran away, so it had to have been there somewhere.”

“News flash: Camelot was destroyed,” Henry snapped before he could stop himself.

“Yes, but everything that was there seems to have come here.  Or at least everything important.”  David looked thoughtful.  “Maybe the sword _is_ here somewhere...”

Isaac grinned.  “ _Now_ you’re thinking.”

Henry could see where this was going, and as logical as Isaac sounded, he wasn’t sure they could trust the old Author.  It was a great story, and if the sword _would_ kill the Black Fairy, it would be super useful…but what if they couldn’t find it?  Was Isaac telling the truth, and any old secondary power wouldn’t do it?  If so, how screwed was Grandpa Gold?  Henry’s instincts told him not to trust Isaac, but if they needed that sword, they were going to have to.

* * *

 

Belle knew him entirely too well, and waited until just before dinner to mention that she’d run into her grandmother that afternoon.

“—Morgan was with me, and nothing happened,” she tried to say when she saw the telltale way his shoulders tensed, along with the way his brown eyes went wide before narrowing ominously.  “I’m fine.  Morgan’s fine.  And my grandmother only…invited you and me over to talk.”

“ _That’s_ not a good idea.  Not under any circumstances.”

How had she known he would say that?  Belle didn’t miss the way Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flicked to her stomach, and even though she loved the man to pieces, his overprotective streak had always driven her mad.  “I know what she is, Rumple, but everyone deserves a chance to argue in their own defense.”

“You’re—I can’t believe you’re saying that.” She knew he was upset when he started stuttering, and part of Belle felt terrible for making him worry like this.  But she wasn’t some fragile flower that needed to be protected, even if he meant well.  Rumplestiltskin continued in a rush:  “Sweetheart, it’s far too dangerous.  Even with me there, we can’t guarantee it wouldn’t be some sort of trap.”

“Even Morgan agrees that she won’t hurt me.”  Belle crossed her arms.

“Not _hurting_ you doesn’t mean she won’t lock you away somewhere ‘safe’.”  His brown eyes were wide with worry, and Belle could see his point, even if she didn’t like it.  “Belle, please, particularly now, you _have_ to be careful—”

“There’s a difference between being careful and being paranoid.”

His expression was stony.  “If Danns’ a’Bhàis doesn’t make you rightfully paranoid, there’s a lot more history left to read.”

“She’s my grandmother.  She’s _family_ , Rumple.  I have to give her a chance to at least tell me what she actually wants to do.  Maybe it isn’t as bad as before.”

That argument sounded flimsy even to her own ears, and Belle sighed as Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow.  She had read account after account in the history books, looking into the Third Foundation War and reading about how the fae had all but enslaved humanity.  Dances like the one she had been caught in were only the tip of the iceberg; there was far worse, too.  They had stolen human children and enchanted them, cursing them to kill their parents and infect others when they grew old enough.  They changed humans into malformed creatures for entertainment, and took other people as their “pets”, to be used and abused at will.  There was an entire race of dwarves who had been cursed to never see daylight, the ogres had been created by the fae to terrorize humans, and entire kingdoms had been wiped out, never to rise again.

Her grandmother had chosen that path.  She had not merely been a consort, as she could have claimed to be in Camelot.  She could not hide behind Merlin having created the Dark One and then inherited the curse himself.  No, those atrocities were the work of Danns’ a’Bhàis, and when Belle had first read of them, she had been disgusted.

She still was, and yet they were her _family._   She felt she owed it to her grandparents to hear them out before she opposed them.

“I understand why you feel you have to do this, but right now, is that a risk we can afford to take?”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward to take her hands, the worry—and the fear—in his eyes plain.  “You and I can risk ourselves, but there’s someone else who depends upon us, too.”

Belle couldn’t help smiling when Rumplestiltskin laid a gentle hand on her stomach, and she could see the look of wonder in his eyes, too.  She still couldn’t quite get over the idea that they were going to be parents, that a child was going to be born of their love.  But she owed it to their daughter to make sure she grew up in the best world her parents could offer her—even if it meant taking chances.

Still, that didn’t mean Rumple’s worries were groundless, so Belle looked for a compromise.  “Do you think she’d keep a promise if she made it?”

“Make it a deal and magic will hold her to it.”  Judging from his frown, Rumplestiltskin didn’t like her train of thought.  “That doesn’t make it one hundred percent safe, or—”

“I could fall down the stairs tomorrow.  Or get hit by a car.  Or—”

“Belle!”

“Everything all right in here?” a third voice interjected before she could reply, and they both whirled to see Baelfire standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  “I could hear you two down the hall.”

“Sorry.”  Belle felt herself go a little red; having her stepson overhear their arguments was embarrassing, and there was no way she was going to drag him into this.  “Everything’s fine.”

Baelfire looked between the pair, clearly not believing Belle in the slightest.  “This isn’t going to become something big and ugly, is it?”

“Of course not,” Rumple answered quickly.  “We can disagree without it becoming a miserable marriage, Bae.”

Belle didn’t stop to think before she added: “Your father is simply overprotective, and drives me insane.  No matter how much I love him.”

“Only when you’re reckless,” Rumplestiltskin shot back, and Belle twisted to send an exasperated glare his way.

“Whoa, somebody call Paradise and tell them to send a new shipment of their happy juice, because you two clearly ran out.”  Bae stepped forward, looking like he wanted to move between them but was unsure how to do that when they were still holding hands. 

Belle might have been angry with him, but she still loved the idiot.  She sighed, realizing that of course Baelfire assumed the worst.  He’d probably seen Milah tear into Rumple a hundred times, and even if he’d been living with them for a while, he still probably expected that when he saw a fight happening.  “We’re actually quite happy.  When we’re not arguing, anyway.”

“Pop?”

“She’s right, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin gave Belle a small smile of apology, and she squeezed his hand in return.  “There’s, uh, actually something we should tell you.”

They’d both agreed that Bae needed to know first, so Belle nodded firmly.  Sharing the good news was far better than arguing.  She knew that Rumplestiltskin would come around so long as she was careful, anyway.

“That sound ominous.”  Her stepson watched them warily, and Belle stifled a giggle.

“Ah, maybe.”  Rumple glanced at her for help, but Belle just gave him an encouraging nudge.  “You, uh, might find it so, anyway.”

“Please don’t tell me you have some insane magical plan that’s going to wind you up in the Vault again.”

Rumplestiltskin barked out a laugh.  “No, you might actually prefer that.”

“Rumple!”

Her husband ignored her to look his son in the eye.  “You’re, uh, going to be a big brother.  In a bit over seven months.”

Bae’s mouth dropped open, and Belle couldn’t help giggling.  He looked like he’d just swallowed an entire fish and inherited its bugged out eyes.  Bae’s mouth flopped open, and then snapped shut, only to gape open once more as he stared at the two of them.  Finally, he squeaked out: “You’re _pregnant_?”

“Yes.”  Belle couldn’t help the way her smile grew, even if Bae looked a little horrified.

“Emma is _never_ going to let me live this down,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.  Then Bae cleared his throat.  “Congratulations, I mean.  Really.  Um, I guess it’s kind of cool to be a big brother?”

“Thank you.”  Reaching her free hand out, Belle took Bae’s right hand and squeezed his fingers.  “That means the world to me.”

“To both of us.”  Rumplestiltskin sounded gruff, like he always did when he had too many emotions to process.

Bae gave his father a crooked smile.  “I always wanted siblings.  I just used to think they’d be a lot closer to me in age, but after a couple of hundred years, what’s the difference?”  Then he grimaced.  “You’re going to make me babysit, aren’t you?”

“Nah.  By then Henry should be old enough.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile had turned sly, and Belle could see he’d scored a point there.

Bae snorted.  “You’ll have to pay him.”

“That’s because _you’re_ teaching him to be a budding extortionist,” Belle teased her stepson, who just grinned.

“Damn straight I am.  Now, speaking of babysitting, I promised Emma that I’d help her look after my namesake.”  Bae groaned.  “Speaking of which, will you at least promise me that you won’t name him or her after someone who might just show up alive again?”

Belle and Rumplestiltskin both laughed.  “That we can do.”

* * *

 

In Killian’s experience, the best way to meet lowlife of any specific locale was to join them in their natural habitat.  In Storybrooke, that meant the Rabbit Hole—or, worse yet, in The Fisherman’s Wife, the small dive bar down by the docks.  He’d spent a lot of time there when he’d been in Cora’s employee, mostly because _no one_ with a conscience walked through the door.  He was pretty sure that most of the heroes didn’t even know the place existed, and he certainly hoped that young Henry never found out.  He’d contemplated bringing Baelfire there, once, when they’d both been drunk and stupid, but self-preservation won out.

No one knew better than a reformed villain that being drunk around _other_ villainous scoundrels was simply asking to be taken advantage of.  That was why he’d chosen to sit at the bar—facing the door, of course—and nurse a mug of ale instead of drinking his preferred rum.  Rum was wonderful, but he wanted his mind working for the next few hours.

“Captain! I didn’t expect to see you here.”  Rum—of course it was rum!—sloshed on Killian as Smee slid onto the barstool to his right, and he fought the urge to grimace.

Instead, he made himself smile.   “Well, you can’t keep a sailor away from the ocean for too long.  Once the smell of salt starts to fade, we start to lose ourselves.”

“Right you are!  Any plans to take the grand lady out to sea again soon?  My sea legs have gone rubber, and it’d be nice to go out, even if there’s no prey to be found.”

“You seem to be finding plenty of it hereabouts.”  Killian nodded towards several of his old crew, who seemed intent on bamboozling a drunk out of his money in a game of poker.  _Bloody fool.  Watch their hands!_

Smee shrugged messily, guzzling his rum.  “Just passes the time, is all.”  He slammed the glass down on the bar.  “Another, good sir!  And a drink for our fine captain!”

A few of the sailors noticed him and let out a cheer, and Killian raised his glass in a return salute.  He found himself enjoying this less than he’d expected, but seeing them smile still warmed his heart.  They weren’t bad men, for all that he’d led them into piracy—or at least the men who had once crewed the _Jewel of the Realm_ had not been bad men.  The dregs and scallywags he’d picked up during their years of piracy, on the other hand, were a collection of liars, drunks, and ruthless thieves.  He’d wanted that at the time, but nowadays Killian found that he wanted better.  Still, he was here for a reason, and Smee’s currently inebriated state made his goals rather easy to accomplish.

“Find any better prospects on land than a few drunks in a lousy bar?”

“A couple.”  Smee belched, and then lifted the new glass of rum the barkeep put down in front of him.  “Someone’s hirin’ some bully-boys, but we’ve always wanted to be better than that.  ‘Specially since they’ve got them diggin’ some tunnels or another.  Pay sounds mighty good, though.”

“Pay for what?”

“Ah, nothin’ that would interest you, Captain.  Ain’t you got that fine lady to look after these days?  She wouldn’t want you doin’ dirty deeds with us no more.  Particularly ones in the dirt.”  Smee giggled like he thought the last pun was funny.

“The only fine lady I’m currently engaged with his my ship, Mr. Smee.”  He managed to say the words without grimacing.  Much.  “And, as ladies go, she is far nobler and more loyal than any other could ever be.”

He wasn’t _really_ bitter about Emma making her choice; Killian had mostly moved beyond that.  He’d even taken Lily out to dinner a few nights earlier, and they’d had fun.  But he wouldn’t call that a relationship, and he certainly wasn’t in love with her the way he’d loved Emma.  Emma had been the lighthouse that kept him off the rocks, his beacon in a stormy sea.  He was still trying to decide who he was without her, but coming here made the truth surprisingly clear: he wasn’t the kind of man who belonged amongst cutthroats and bandits any longer.   He’d finally become a man that he felt his brother would have been able to be proud of, and that thought gave Killian more peace than he’d imagined it could.

“Hear, hear!” Smee raised his glass again, and Killian had to shift to avoid being splashed.  Smee seemed to be wearing as much rum as he was drinking.  As usual.  “A toast to the _Jolly Roger,_ the greatest ship to ever sail the seven seas!”

“The _Jolly Roger!_ ” half the voices in the bar chorused, and Killian had to force his heart to stop beating so quickly.

_Don’t let yourself be seduced by this, mate.  Not again.  You’re here to help, not to get drunk and be a pirate.  You’ve grown past that._   It was seductive though, his old life.  It was simple and free, with no responsibilities and no obligations to anyone but his crew.  He _could_ do that again—what did he owe the heroes?  _They’re not just names and faces, now, though.  They’re family…family like I’ve wanted for a long time._

No, Killian would do what he’d come here for, and he turned to ask Smee who exactly was hiring bully-boys, and what they wanted them for.   _And what blasted holes they have them digging._

 

* * *

 

David had asked her at the last minute to babysit, and how could Emma say no to that?  Her dad had been called away to deal with a bar fight at the Rabbit Hole that had turned into a stabbing, and if Emma couldn’t be the sheriff—which she knew she couldn’t, not with the Black Fairy holding the dagger—she could at least watch her little brother.  But how could she trust herself?  What if she was summoned away, or worse yet, commanded to hurt _Neal_?  A thousand terrible scenarios had run through her head before she even agreed to come over, so the first thing she did after saying yes was call the other Neal and ask him to join her.

Baelfire would stop her if she did something stupid.  Emma could trust _that_.

She hadn’t expected him to make her laugh.

“I seem to remember _you_ gloating at me about how awkward it was when _my_ parents had a kid thirty years after me.”  Feeling almost like her old self, she stuck her tongue out at him.  “You’re, what, ten times older than me?”

“Oh, really?  Are we counting Neverland years now?  That’s dirty.”  His scowl was a thing of beauty, and Emma just grinned.

“If the shoe fits, you get to wear it, buddy.”

“Well, it doesn’t!”

She snorted.  “Could have fooled me.”

“Look, you can’t tell anyone yet, okay?  I don’t think Pop and Belle want to spread the news yet, even if the way Belle is glowing will probably tell the whole town before long.”

“And you’re trusting the Dark One to keep a secret?”  Emma arched an eyebrow, but she couldn’t restrain her smile.  And it was a _real_ smile.  One that actually made her feel like herself, the way she’d started to feel before she’d lost the dagger. 

“No.  I’m trusting Emma.”  Bae met her eyes, and for a moment, Emma felt her heart flutter, just a little.  He was smiling that old easy smile of his, the one that had made her fall head over heels for him a lifetime ago.  It was Henry’s smile, too, open and honest, with brown eyes that a young Emma had found perfect for—

Neal’s cry cut her thoughts short, and Emma hurried over to check on him, half grateful for the distraction and half wanting that comfortable feeling of _belonging_ back.  But Neal was hungry, so Emma fetched his bottle from the fridge, warmed it up, and gave him what he wanted, cradling her little brother the way her fake memories insisted she’d once cradled Henry.  She hadn’t, but Emma still _felt_ like she had.  Bouncing Neal in her arms felt so very natural, even though she Dark One, filled with an elemental darkness that tried daily to warp the woman she had been into something evil.  Right now, though, right now she could be Emma.  She could almost forget that someone else had the dagger, that her soul was bound and chained.

“He likes you.”  Baelfire’s comment interrupted her thoughts, and Emma made the mistake of looking up.  He’d come to stand next to her when she was looking down at her brother, and their eyes met.

“This could have been us.”  Emma blurted the words out before she even realized she was speaking.  “With Henry, I mean.”

“Yeah, it could have.”  His smile was sad.  “If I hadn’t screwed everything up.  I’m still sorry for that, you know.”

“I know.”  She swallowed hard.  _Don’t accept apologies,_ the darkness whispered, but it was far too late on that front.  Emma had forgiven Bae a long time ago, back when she’d thought he was dead the first time around.  “Do you ever think about that?”

Bae nodded.  His voice was a whisper.  “All the time.”

“You don’t want to be just friends, do you?”  She’d been trying not to ask that question for weeks, but Regina’s words at the family dinner had made Emma stop ignoring what she knew was true.

“Course I don’t.  But that doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”  Emma was a little offended.  Did he think he was impossible?  Did he think that a relationship with the Dark One was doomed to failure, that she was tainted or changed or that she would never be herself again?

“Because what I want isn’t the point.  What _you_ want and what you need is.”  He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable.  “I can’t hide how I feel about you, Emma.  I’ve never been able to do that.  But I know you’re in a rough place, and I’m not gonna take advantage of that.”

“Okay.”  Emma bit her lip, not asking _What if I wanted you to?_ She knew she was lonely and knew that she wasn’t always capable of making the right decisions, but Emma was pretty sure that the darkness wasn’t driving this. 

She wasn’t sure what was, but she knew it wasn’t that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy—“Burn’d Like One Burning Flame Together”, in which Maleficent and Zelena get in a spat, Belle meets Nuckelavee, Regina asks Emma for help and gets a surprising answer, Baelfire and Killian talk about Emma, Henry visits Morgan, and Rumplestiltskin continues to teach Belle magic.


	70. Burn'd Like One Burning Flame Together

Much to Belle’s surprise, Lancelot came by the library the next day.  At first, she’d thought he wanted a book, or just to reminisce about her mother, but he came around to his subject quickly.

“If you’re going to oppose Arthur, you’re going to have to erode his support amongst the people from Camelot,” he told her once Tiny had gone off to check in the fifth graders’ books and left Belle and Lancelot alone in the back.

“I’ve thought about that, but I’ve also been wondering _why_ people would support him.  I mean, wouldn’t the people from Camelot know that he’s not some ‘king out of legend’ and all?”  Belle just couldn’t see it; none of Arthur’s widespread support made sense.  Had her grandmother enchanted them, or something?

“Why wouldn’t they? Camelot was prosperous and great.”  Lancelot shrugged.  “We won every war we fought, until the War of the Dragons came along.  The only dissidents were those who followed Mordred—and I, I suppose—when ‘Guinevere’s’ identity was revealed.”

“But if they want to collapse the walls between the realms and enslave humanity, wouldn’t the people _know_ that?”

Lancelot snorted.  “You’re underestimating the strength of good propaganda.  Mordred tried to tell that story, of course, but people believe what they want to.”

That made her sigh.  “Then how can I have any better luck than him?  At least he was from there.  I’m a stranger.”

“Right now you are.  And right now most of them will support whichever side they were on before the war.”  Suddenly, Lancelot smiled.  “But I can start introducing you to people, so that way when Arthur and ‘Guinevere’ show their true colors, you’ll be someone people turn to.”

“You mean everyone that isn’t following Mordred.”

“I…might be able to talk him into dropping this King of Camelot thing.  Maybe.”  Her mother’s foster father grimaced.  “For all his faults, Mordred _does_ believe in the rule of law.  If he hadn’t thought that Arthur was going to doom Camelot by listening to her, he never would have raised an army against him.  Legally speaking, you are in line for the throne ahead of Mordred.  He knows that.”

Belle couldn’t stop herself from snorting.  “He didn’t seem very eager to step aside for me when I met him.”

_And I wonder what happens when he learns I’m pregnant._ A chill ripped down her spine, and she was lucky that Lancelot didn’t see her shiver.  Belle knew that she didn’t lack courage, but she couldn’t help but be afraid for the child she carried.  Mordred had tried to murder her mother—his own half-sister!—when Colette was little.  Would he do the same for her child, who would be his niece through Rumplestiltskin?  Belle wasn’t sure.  Mordred hadn’t seemed very threatening when they’d spoken…but things changed.  As much as she hated admitting that Rumplestiltskin might have been right about the need to be careful, Belle was starting to come around to that perspective.

“Let me work on him,” Lancelot promised, oblivious to her worries.

Belle only nodded and forced a pleasant smile onto her face.  So far, the only person she and Rumple had told was Bae, and they were going to try to keep it that way for a while.  Ruby knew, too, of course—as did Whale—but she trusted Ruby completely and knew that doctor-patient confidentiality (along with a healthy fear of her husband) would keep Whale’s mouth shut.  There were so many people that Belle _wanted_ to tell, but right now, secrecy was definitely their best option.  So, for once in her life, she was going to take the safe road.  They had to.

* * *

 

“So, how is it going with Isaac?” 

Henry took the lunch box his mother offered him with a shrug.  “Okay, I guess.  He told me and Gramps about a sword that could kill the Black Fairy, and I was going to go ask Morgan about it after school.”  His mother frowned, making Henry quickly add: “If that’s okay.”

“Not if she’s at Mordred’s castle.”  Regina seemed to let out a breath.  “Otherwise, it’s all right.”

She looked a little hesitant, and Henry knew that his mom wasn’t always okay with the ‘Stiltskin side of the family.  She and Grandpa Gold got along well enough—most of the time, anyway—but Morgan still made her wary.  Killian annoyed her to no end, too, but Henry knew that had nothing to do with the way the pirate was related to him.  That was just the fact that Regina and Killian tossed insults at one another the way other people tossed baseballs.

“Okay.  I don’t think I want to go there, anyway.”  His dad said that Mordred seemed to be trying a little, but that didn’t mean Henry was ready to trust him, either.

“Good.”  Regina stepped forward to kiss him on the forehead, and Henry didn’t pull away.  Most of his classmates would have grimaced and pulled away, but he didn’t.  Truth be told, Henry didn’t want to, and he didn’t understand why other boys wanted to try to prove they were macho by rejecting their mothers’ love.  “Off you go, or you’ll miss the bus.”

“See you later, Mom!”

Regina followed him to the doorway, just like she had most every day of his life, and Henry waved to her with a smile. 

* * *

 

If someone had asked Maleficent just fifteen minutes earlier, she would have said that she’d inevitably sympathize with anyone who had had their child stolen from them.  She’d even offered her sincere condolences to Zelena, having had much the same experience—a child torn away from her before she could even give birth, and a long battle to get her daughter back.  Mal had even been prepared to offer _help;_ Regina might have hated her sister, but Mal was not so blindly loyal to an old (and perhaps former) friend that she was not prepared to take Zelena’s side in this matter.  Fifteen minutes earlier, she would have argued that stealing a child, no matter the circumstances, was unforgivable.

Now she was not so sympathetic.

“Well, I suppose that she can keep the baby until it’s born.”  Zelena flounced onto a couch in ‘Widow Morton’s’ house, sighing dramatically.  “Then _I_ don’t have to carry it, at least.”

Mal couldn’t help the way her eyebrows shot up.  “ _This_ is the conclusion you come to after fifteen minutes of complaining about the way your child was stolen?”

Zelena glared.  “I’m making the best of a terrible situation.”

“No, you were busy regaling me with the disgusting details about how you managed to impregnate yourself.”  She rolled her eyes, crossing her legs and wishing Arthur would just show up so she could get away from this loathsome creature.  _Regina was right about her, I suppose._

Zelena’s face went bright red.  “At least _I_ didn’t have my child stolen by two magicless half-wits!”

“Don’t.”  Mal could feel herself going absolutely still.  She prided herself on never losing her temper unless the situation warranted it, but for Zelena, an exception was possible.

“What, don’t remind you that you—a _dragon_ —let little Snow Whiny and Prince Dumbling steal your child out from under your nose?”  Zelena cackled out a laugh.  “If I had been in your shoes, I would have charbroiled them!”

“And risked your own child while doing so, I have no doubt,” Maleficent said dryly.  Instinct made her reach for magic, for a spell she didn’t _intend_ to use…but having an old favorite in hand made her feel much better.  Regina would never have let her sneak that one through, of course, but Zelena definitely wasn’t Regina.

“ _I_ would have destroyed them!”

“Thank you for proving my point.”  Not rolling her eyes a second time was hard, so instead Maleficent made herself sit back and attempt to relax.  She really wanted to strangle the obnoxious witch, but they _were_ allies.

“Point?” Zelena scoffed.  “The point is that you’re nothing but a has-been.  You’re washed up and cowardly, too afraid to act against the so-called ‘heroes’ that took your child.  It’s amazing that she has any time for you at all after you abandoned her.  In her shoes—oh, wait!  I _was_ in her shoes.”  Zelena leaned forward with a giggle, looking her right in the eye.  “That means I know how she feels, and I _know_ she hates you.”

The nasty grin Zelena wore only made those words dig in further, and Maleficent could take it no longer.  She had worked _so_ hard to build a relationship with the daughter who had been stolen from her, and this inane little witch dared to compare her to Cora?  No.  She would not tolerate that.

Her right hand flicked forward, fingers twitching lightly.  If she had wanted to hit more than Zelena with the spell, she would have needed her staff, but for something so small—and something she was so good at—a simple gesture would do.  The sleeping spell slid right by Zelena’s defenses, too, knocking her clean out and tipping her face-first onto the floor.

“What the—?”

Mal turned to look at where Arthur stood in the doorway, his blue eyes wide.  “So sorry.”  She rose smoothly, ignoring the pile of redhead on the carpet.  “She won’t be participating in our little alliance for a few days.  I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“I…I…well, probably not.”  Arthur glanced at Zelena again.  “Did you have to do that?”

“She’s terribly annoying.”

That made Camelot’s king laugh.  “I can’t argue with you there.”

* * *

 

Lily hadn’t expected to be courted by a king.

Well, not exactly _courted_.  He wasn’t trying to romance her, but Mordred was clearly trying to woo her onto his side.  He was clever, too, and rather good looking, and if she hadn’t already been so attracted to someone else (who was, by all reports, Mordred’s nephew), Lily would have started to seriously regret having talked her mother into joining Arthur and the Black Fairy.

“I _can_ help you, you know.”  Mordred’s eyes were surprisingly earnest.  “I understand that you’ve drifted into my father’s orbit, but, frankly, he’s a terrible dragon.  He hates taking that form, and he’s not very experienced.  When we fought like that, I beat him easily.”

She laughed lightly.  “If I need to learn dragon style combat, I can just ask my mother.”

“Did he tell you that there’s a way to find your father using dragon scales?”

“Yes, actually.”  Lily tried not to smirk—and then the realization that Arthur _hadn’t_ actually gotten off his ass to do said finding hit her, and she no longer felt like smiling at all.  She jutted her chin out, trying to look confident.  “He did.”

“Ah, but has he done it?” Mordred’s smile was small, but Lily could tell that he’d guessed.

“Not yet.”  She crossed her arms.  “We’ve been busy.”

“Of course you have.” Mordred rose from the bench they’d been sharing, turning to face her.  “I won’t press.  But if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.”  Lily didn’t know why making that promise made her swallow.  It just did, though Mordred walked away without another word.

* * *

 

Looking back on it, Belle wondered if Nuckelavee had seen Lancelot leaving the library.  When she ran into the fae, however, that thought didn’t cross her mind.  The first thing that she _did_ think of, however, was if there was a good way to cross the street and get away from him.  Unfortunately, he seemed to be heading straight for her, so Belle settled for quietly gathering a bit of her own magic to her, summoning up the defenses that Rumplestiltskin had insisted she learn.  She knew that she couldn’t stand up to someone like Nuckelavee for long, but being able to defend herself made herself feel better.

Particularly when, as far as she knew, her magic was still a secret.

Nuckelavee inclined his head to her as he approached.  “Princess.”

“I—what?”  Belle stopped cold.  No one had ever called her that before.  She wasn’t a— _Except I guess I am._

“I am Nuckelavee.  I have been your grandmother’s closest follower from the beginning, and I thought it high time I introduced myself.”

“It’s…an honor to meet you.”  Belle couldn’t stop herself from saying the next part: “Even if you were the one who created that dance that hurt so many people.”

“I regret having sucked you into that.  I did not know, and I apologize.”

“But only for me.”  Belle didn’t bother to make her smile sincere; she hated people who singled _some_ out for special treatment and sought to abuse everyone else.  “Am I right?”

“Of course you are.”  He looked like her accusation was a point of pride, not proof that he’d done something wrong.

Belle bristled.  “I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I am _not_ my grandmother.  You and she might enjoy things like that, but I don’t enjoy seeing people I care about hurt!”

“Forgive me. I did not mean to offend you.”  Nuckelavee reached for her hand, probably trying to kiss it, but Belle snatched it away and took a wary step back.  Her magic reared up, almost on its own, and she forced the defenses to calm with an effort. 

“I’m sure you didn’t.”  She just glared.

“I will leave you before I give further insult.  But first, please allow me to say that if you ever need anything, my service is yours.  And I will protect you from anyone who may threaten you.”  Nuckelavee actually seemed genuine, now, and that made Belle even angrier.

“I don’t need your protection,” she snapped.  “The only people who would hurt me are allied with _you_.  So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go meet my husband for lunch.”

For lunch and magic lessons, Belle didn’t add, pushing past the tall fae to head towards Granny’s.  She and Rumple had planned to meet there first, and she had been starving before this unnerving encounter.  However, she was in such a hurry to get away that she didn’t notice the curious way Nuckelavee’s eyes followed her, or the calculating smirk on his face.

* * *

 

“Will you stop pacing already?”  Regina didn’t know what had gotten into Emma.  She’d had a hard enough time convincing the younger woman to come to her vault in the first place, but now Emma seemed determined to make her dizzy. 

Emma stopped long enough to give her a flat look.  “Why?  Is it annoying you?”

“Of course it is.  And what’s up with this caged Dark One act, anyway?  You’re prowling around like you can’t leave, and we both know that isn’t true.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “It isn’t like I have the dagger.”

“What am I here for, Regina?  I’m not into having my time wasted.”  The snarl covered up the way Emma flinched so well that Regina convinced herself it was just her imagination.

“Henry.”  The one word was enough to make Emma stop pacing, at least, and Regina took ruthless advantage of that.  “If the Black Fairy wants his heart, we need to protect it.  Just like I did in Neverland.”

“Fine then.  Do that.  You don’t need my permission.”

“What part of ‘we’ didn’t you understand?  Look, I can pour all the love and power I have into the spell, and it still might not be strong enough to resist someone like her.  But you and I working together, _both_ of Henry’s mothers doing the magic, would make it as close to impenetrable as humanly possible.”

“No.  I can’t.  You do it.”

The answer came so quickly that Regina reared back, staring at Emma in confusion.  “Doing it _together_ will protect Henry better.”

“Yes, but in case you haven’t noticed, my magic doesn’t work very well with others these days.”  Emma’s glare was fierce, but there was something behind her hazel eyes that Regina couldn’t quite grasp.  “And I’m not putting this magic on Henry.  Not the Dark One’s magic.  Not ever.”

“You’ve healed him before—”

“This is different!”

“How?”  Regina crossed her arms, but Emma only shook her head.  That made her sigh and try a more logical approach.  “Look, you’re being unreasonable.  I know you can manage this.  You’ve got control of the darkness these days, and the fact that I’ll use light magic while you’re using dark magic will actually offer more protection, not less.”

“Oh, really?” Now Emma rolled her eyes.  “And which one of us is the expert on being the Dark One?”

“Give me a break.  That’s hardly the point.”  Regina didn’t mean to sound so obnoxious, but Emma was really trying her patience.

“Of course it’s the point!  I’m _dangerous_ , Regina, and if you forget that for a moment, it’ll bite you in the ass.”  Emma snarled as she stepped forward, and Regina tried to fight back the chill of fear that ran down her spine.  “And I won’t put Henry in the middle of this.  _I can’t._ Do it yourself.”

“Emma—”

Her protest died on her lips when the Dark One disappeared in a cloud of suddenly black smoke, and Regina could only stared at the spot where Emma had been seconds earlier.  She sighed again.

“Damn you.”

* * *

 

Emma managed not to start shaking until she was safely inside her own home.  She’d _burned_ to tell Regina the truth, had tried so hard, but even the words to _hint_ at the fact that someone else was controlling her wouldn’t come.  She didn’t really fear using her magic on Henry—Emma knew she could control it—but she did fear being commanded to peel it back.  What happened if the Black Fairy figured out that Henry was the Truest Believer?  What happened if _Emma_ had protected his heart and was then ordered to let that fairy bitch steal it?  Emma couldn’t let that happen, even if Regina was too dense to see what was going on.

Regina had even been headed in the right direction, but then she’d had to go and ruin it with sarcasm and a lack of imagination.    _As if you’re any better!_ Emma berated herself, letting a strangled laugh finally escape.  She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself.  She _couldn’t_.

_You’re trapped,_ the darkness whispered, and was it just her, or was it reveling in her misery?  _So trapped.  Those you love can’t see it, and even your_ predecessor _is blind._ She couldn’t even deny that, and loneliness finally drove Emma to the floor.  Sliding down the wall and pulling her knees up to her chest, Emma squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine how she’d feel if she wasn’t so trapped.  Surely _someone_ would figure it out.  She’d thought Baelfire was starting to catch on, but then she’d gone and distracted him with thoughts of how it would have been to raise Henry together.  And then Henry…Henry was too important to risk.  For _anything._

_She’ll take him anyway,_ Nimue whispered, for once sounding more defeated than gloating.  _She always does.  She’ll trick you and she’ll use you, and she’ll destroy what you love._   Emma tried to ignore the words, but they kept running through her head.  Danns’ a’Bhàis _always_ won in the end.

Nimue knew that from experience, didn’t she?

* * *

 

“This is a _really_ seedy bar, man.”  Looking around at the décor just gave Bae a case of the creeps.  It was nautically themed, but screamed _trash!_   Or, conversely, it screamed that the bartender and the patrons were out to fleece you for all you were worth.

Yeah.  The Fisherman’s Wife was _not_ going to become his new favorite hangout.  Not this side of the apocalypse, anyway.

Killian shrugged.  “You asked for somewhere no one we know would be.”  The pirate gestured smugly, taking in the stained walls, broken table in the corner, and the juke box that had eaten six of Bae’s quarters before he’d decided it was going to play whatever it wanted after stealing all of his money.  “This place _definitely_ fits the bill.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I might get rabies just sitting at the bar.”

“You didn’t specify nice.  Or clean, for that matter.”  Killian waved at the bartender.  “Two of your house ale, if you please.”

The old woman—presumably the Fisherman’s Wife, though Bae was not going to ask—squinted suspiciously at them for a moment before nodding.  “Fine.  Coming right up.”

“Is that stuff safe to drink?” He leaned towards Killian and kept his voice down, though.  That woman already looked prepared to do murder, and Bae wasn’t going to egg her on.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, lad?”  Killian laughed easily, and then elbowed him.  “The ale’s actually pretty good.  Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“Emma.”  Bae took a deep breath.  “Look, I know you two broke up, and I’m not trying to drag you into anything.  But you also know her pretty well.  You’ve been around her more than I have in the last couple of years, between me being dead and sending her to jail before that.   I haven’t exactly been here…so I’d appreciate it if you could share any vibes you’re having with me.  If you are, I mean.”

He felt really weird asking Killian that, particularly since a huge cornerstone of their relationship rested upon not talking about Emma.  He didn’t know what Killian did or didn’t feel for Emma these days, but Bae knew that _he_ was still in love with her.  He was determined not to push her, had promised himself not to so much as nudge Emma towards romance until she was ready.  And if that was never, Bae could live with that.  But he couldn’t live with himself if there was something wrong with Emma and he did nothing.

“I, uh, haven’t spoken to her much lately.”  His cousin’s face twisted up in a grimace.  “It’s not that I don’t care for her, mind, but I try not to go where I’m not welcome.”

“I get it, yeah.”  He’d had to try, though.  Had to ask if someone other than he and Henry were getting that weird vibe from Emma, the feeling that something was wrong that she wasn’t saying.

Killian looked away for a moment, and then cleared his throat.  “Now that you mention it, though, she seemed a bit _off_ at the dinner.  Nothing that being the Dark One can’t explain, but she wasn’t _Emma._ ”  His voice dropped. “Not that she has been herself for a long time.  She’s been all over the map since becoming the Dark One.”

Nodding, Bae let out a breath, not wanting to argue with Killian about the basic nature of the Dark One.  After all, he’d been the one who spent nearly a year trapped inside his father’s mind, learning about the darkness first hand and _feeling_ how manipulative and terrible it was.  Killian—thankfully!—hadn’t had an experience like that, and Bae knew that it was almost impossible to understand, otherwise.  He’d certainly made a hash of understanding his dad, so he knew how it felt.

* * *

 

She hadn’t been expecting a visitor, especially her great-grandson, so when Morgan opened the door, she froze, blinking in surprise.  “Henry.”

“Hi.”  The boy’s smile was big, but she could see the bit of nervousness in his eyes.  “Can I come in?  I should have called, but I wanted to ask you some questions about things Isaac told me and Gramps.”

Well, at least that was easy.  “Of course you can.”  Stepping aside, she opened the door widely.  “Do come in.”

“Thanks!”

Feeling warm rush of familial affection run through her, Morgan led Henry into the living room.  The second curse had given her a nice house on one of Storybrooke’s richer streets—ironically, right around the corner from her youngest son—and the place was nicely furnished, too.  Somehow or another, some of her favorite pieces from Cornwall, things she’d taken to her crystal cave, had been brought over by the curse, too, which meant she was quite at home.  But Henry was the first of her new family to come over, and Morgan felt strangely touched by that.

“Did someone come by, my love?” Accolon stepped around the corner unexpectedly, and Morgan turned to look at her longtime lover.  He appeared vaguely interested by mostly bored; upon arrival in Storybrooke, he’d taken up an annoying interest in modern sports and did little other than watch the television.  He’d hardly been the most engaging man to begin with, but these days Morgan wondered why she stayed with him.

_Lethargy, maybe.  Or just plain metathesiophobia._

“My great-grandson.  Henry, this is Accolon.  Accolon, this is Henry Mills.”

“Nice to meet you.”  Henry stuck out his hand immediately, and Accolon hesitated before taking it, looking uncertain.

“The pleasure is mine, of course.”  He let go of Henry’s hand sooner than was polite and then turned to Morgan.  “I was heading to the store.  Do you need anything?”

“No.  Thank you.”  She didn’t bother to tell him not to stay too late at the Rabbit Hole; Morgan knew there would be several games on, and Accolon had always loved gambling.  She also didn’t bother to watch him leave.

Truth be told, Morgan didn’t regret the way they’d drifted apart.  Accolon had been a good ally in the fight against Arthur, and he’d always been a cheerful and engaging partner, even if he wasn’t a brilliant man.  Morgan hadn’t been looking for love, and she hadn’t been looking for an intellectual equal.  She had wanted a simple relationship, one without commitment and without love.  Accolon had provided that, and he’d never seemed to want more, either.   _I save my love for those related to me by blood.  It is…safer._

Henry waited until the front door clicked shut to comment.  “That was kind of weird.”

“Accolon is….not terribly interested in most things I do,” Morgan said slowly.  “Pay him no mind.  Let’s sit down and talk about what that old Author has told you.”

“He said you had a sword named Galatine, one that was forged by the Lady of the Lake.”  The words made Morgan freeze halfway into her own chair across from the couch where Henry perched, and she lowered herself the rest of the way slowly.

“I have not heard that sword’s name in a long time.”

“But you know about it?  Isaac said it was Excalibur’s dark sister, or something like that.”

“Darker?” Morgan snorted, unsurprised by the fact that the unscrupulous former Author had embroidered the story quite a bit.  From what she’d heard of Isaac Keller, that was his typical modus operandi.  “Hardly.  Galatine was forged by my grandmother Viviane in Excalibur’s image, to be a sword of light magic to combat the darkness.  It was not able to defeat the elemental darkness that eventually became the Dark One, but it _can_ kill dark creatures.”

Henry gulped.  “Like the Dark One?”

“No.” Morgan shook her head. “Your mother is safe from Galatine.  It was one of the most powerful swords ever forged, but not that powerful.  It could not harm the darkness, or the host.”

“Oh.”  Henry’s relieved expression would have been comical if not for the way the boy clearly loved his mother.  Morgan hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Emma Swan, but the young Dark One seemed to have been a good woman before becoming what she now was.  She certainly fought the darkness better than Nimue ever had, and better than Merlin, too.  “Then, um, Isaac was right that it could kill the Black Fairy?”

“Galatine is a secondary power, so yes.  It could kill any original power—Danns’ a’Bhàis, Reul Ghorm, and even your grandfather.”

Henry was a smart boy; he swallowed that quickly and nodded.  “Do you still have it?”

“No, alas.  Merlin took the sword from me a long time ago.”

“Merlin?”

“Yes.”  Morgan sighed, trying not to dwell on the only man she had ever loved.  “He was the Dark One, then, though I didn’t know it.  And I did not know she was controlling him.”

Henry cocked his head.  “How could you not know that he was the Dark One?  I mean, doesn’t the Dark One get the whole scaly thing going in Camelot?  Mom did at the Vault of the Dark One.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.  I always assumed that she commanded him to wear a glamour and conceal what he was.”  It was a good question, one Morgan had asked herself a thousand times since the day when she found out that in killing Nimue, Merlin had become the Dark One in her stead.  But Merlin had never answered her, not even when she’d asked.

“Oh.”

“I don’t know where Galatine went from there.  I assume Danns’ wanted the sword.  She may still have it.”

* * *

 

Belle was able to complete the shielding spell on the first try, which left Rumplestiltskin gaping.  On one hand, he supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised; Belle had always been brilliant.  But on the other, that spell took an enormous amount of power and should have been too advanced for her.  Yet she’d managed it—and easily.  _That was amazing._ She _is amazing._   All Rumplestiltskin could do was stare, looking at the threads of magic twirling gently around his wife, looking at the way they were becoming a part of her.  He found himself short of breath, desire making his heart beat just a little bit faster.

When she turned to face him, Belle gave him a little smile.  “You’re looking at me like you’re not thinking about magic.  Did I do all right?”

“Better than all right, sweetheart,” he reassured her quickly, reaching out to touch her elbows.  “You did amazing.  It takes most people weeks to master that spell, and you did it on the first try.”

“Beginner’s luck, I guess?”  She’d gone a little red, and Rumplestiltskin lifted her left hand to kiss it gently.

“No.  I think you’re just becoming quite the sorceress.”

Belle giggled softly, but she still looked embarrassed.  “I never thought I’d be anything really magical, not like this.”  She swallowed, suddenly sobering.  “I just don’t want to be like her.”

“You won’t.  I know you too well to think you’ll turn to darkness.”  Gently, Rumplestiltskin pulled Belle into his arms, pushing back his instinctive flash of annoyance over having to go through this again.  Belle wouldn’t be Belle if she didn’t have doubts; she was such a good person that she was always terrified of becoming something else.  _No matter how powerful I become, she will always be a better person than I._

“Thank you, Rumple,” she whispered.  “I know that darkness is a choice, and it’s not a choice I’m going to make.  I think I just need to hear someone else say that sometimes.”

“I’ll tell you any time.”  He kissed her hair, and finally felt Belle relax into his chest. 

“Was I really good at it?”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t try to hold back his smile.  “You were perfect.”

“Can we try something else?  Something more complicated?”  Belle tipped her head back to look at him, her blue eyes shining.  “I feel like I’ve made a breakthrough, and everything’s getting easier.”

“Your magic is…solidifying.  Growing, I’d say.  You’re more powerful than you were.”

“Is that due to practice, or something else?”

He frowned slightly.  “I’m not sure.  But it feels organic; no one has _done_ this to you.  Best guess, it’s either because you’re pregnant—which is less likely—or the dance brought a stronger aspect of your magic into the light.”

 “The dance could do that?”  Belle swallowed hard.

“I think so, yes.  It’s like parts of you are awakening.  Parts of you that were always there, but have only now emerged.”  Rumplestiltskin would have been lying if he had to say that he wasn’t even more drawn to her than ever; it was like something else inside him was drawn to something inside her.  He didn’t believe that the feeling was something dangerous, just different.  Rumplestiltskin knew that there was no way he could love Belle more…but there was a magnetism now that simply _amplified_ the love he’d always felt.

Belle nodded, her eyes shining.  “Is it all right to try something else, then?  Something harder?”  She shrugged a little when the question made him grin.  “I like learning.  And I know you like teaching.”

“I do.  But especially when it’s you.”  That was probably the understatement of the year, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t need to go into details.  Belle knew _exactly_ how he felt.  As if she could read his mind, Belle went up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.

“Fun later.  Magic now.”  But she laughed as she chided him, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled with her.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I bet you will.  Now teach me, Sorcerer, unless you want me to make you work harder than you want to.”  She poked him lightly in the chest with a grin.  It made him chuckle.

“Oh, will you?”  Turning her gently, Rumplestiltskin dropped a light kiss on the side of Belle’s neck as he maneuvered her so that her back was against his front.  Granted, having her snuggled up so closely was a bit of a distraction, but he forced himself to put aside how incredibly sexy Belle was when she did magic.  _For now._ “All right.  Put your hand out.”

Belle complied, and Rumplestiltskin matched her motion, laying his hand on top of hers as they both stretched their arms forward, palms down.  He slid his right arm around her, holding her gently and letting his magic slowly flow outwards.

“You want to do this together?” Belle glanced up at him, her eyes bright and fascinated.

She knew him too well, and it made his heart want to burst.  “Yes.  The same protection spell, but your magic and mine, woven together thread by thread.”

“How will we do that? Do we talk through each step, deciding which thread goes where?”

“If we hardly knew one another, yes.  We’d have to.  But I think we’ll be able to let instinct guide us.”  Rumplestiltskin let his cheek settle in right next to her head, holding her close and _feeling_ the way the magic ran through them both.

Belle nodded, and he felt her right hand land on his as she reached into her magic as well.  Slowly, steadily, they began the spell, laying out layer after layer of magic.  Rumplestiltskin let her take the lead—he knew this particularly shielding spell well, having learned it from Merlin’s books and worked it a dozen times since becoming the Sorcerer—but he watched her magic as it ventured outwards, tentative at first, and then more confidently.  Belle placed the first thread, he the second, and then they wove the magic together silently, _feeling_ what the other intended and letting their instincts and their love guide them.  It was utterly exhilarating, close in a way they had never been before.  Rumplestiltskin almost felt like they were two halves of the same whole, their magic binding them together with gleaming threads of love.  The feeling took his breath away, and he could sense that it awed Belle, too.

He was still more powerful than she, and far more practiced, but there was a new echo in Belle’s power…or perhaps it was an old one.  There was something there, something—

The harsh jingle of the bell by the door snapped Rumplestiltskin out of his musings, but Regina started talking before he and Belle could even dissipate the threads of their in progress spell.

“What the hell is it with you Dark Ones being unpredictable?  Do you just _live_ to make the rest of us keep guessing, or is the ridiculously childish nature of that curse?”  The door slammed shut as Regina stopped, glaring at the pair of them.  “What _are_ you doing, anyway?”

“Magic.”  There wasn’t time to finish the spell, so Rumplestiltskin pulled the appropriate threads, yanking the spell apart in one swoop.  He could feel Belle sigh against him, but she squeezed his hand anyway.  He could hear her silent plea for patience as well as if she’d spoken aloud.

Regina gestured impatiently.  “Of course it’s magic, but— _both_ of you?”  She looked at Belle, surprise softening her features.  “ _You’re_ learning magic?”

Belle stiffened; Rumplestiltskin could feel the discomfort radiating from her.  “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.  I just didn’t expect you to decide to grow such sharp teeth.” Regina shrugged.  “It’s about damned time.” 

“Did you come in here with a purpose in mind, Regina, or did you just want to rage a little?” Rumplestiltskin asked before his former student could ask where or when Belle had gotten magic.  That wasn’t something either of them were prepared to share, at least not yet. Maybe not ever.  _Morgan suggested that she might have inherited the White Faery’s power via her grandmother.  Could that be so?  Or is this simply what she has inherited as the granddaughter of an original power?_

Thinking of his mother reminded him that Morgan was the granddaughter of an original power, and she’d said that in her case, the power had skipped a generation.  Morgan was a half power.  Might Belle be as well?  She hadn’t been powerful enough before to make him think that, but now things had changed.  Unfortunately, Regina left him no more time to contemplate possibilities, continuing bluntly.

“Emma’s being stupid again.”

“I doubt that.  Any Dark One has a reason for anything they do, and Miss Swan is not a stupid woman.”  Rumplestiltskin bit back the urge to say something cutting; it was easier now that _he_ wasn’t the Dark One, but the old instinct was hard to overcome.

Regina crossed her arms.  “She’s refusing to protect Henry.”

“That’s—that’s a little out of character.”  Rumplestiltskin blinked, rolling the problem over in his mind.  Emma had always been fiercely protective over Henry, even when she’d been determined not to actually be his mother.  Being the Dark One should make her even more so, which meant Regina had to be leaving something out.  “Tell me everything.”

“You remember the protection spell that I put on Henry to keep Pan from taking his heart?”  He nodded, and she went on:  “It occurred to me that it would be even more powerful if Emma and I cast it together.  She could do it in dark magic and I could do it in light, and as long as we both wanted to protect him—which  I figured was a given—it would have been well-nigh unbreakable.  But she wouldn’t do it.”

_Curiouser and curiouser_.  “Did she say why?”

“She said she wouldn’t risk her magic hurting Henry.  That she wouldn’t put the Dark One’s magic on him.  Ever.”  Regina gave him a suspicious look.  “That’s not something you ever had a problem doing.”

“Could she be worried that she might hurt him by accident?  She’s had a rough time.”  Belle twisted slightly in his arms to look at Rumplestiltskin, who cocked his head thoughtfully. 

“Perhaps.  I didn’t have any experience with magic prior to becoming the Dark One, as well as no other source of it.  Emma is in an entirely different situation, and she’s still very young.  Caution on her part isn’t unreasonable…though it is unexpected.  Most Dark Ones are not exactly hesitant to use their power.”

“You think there’s something going on?”

He shrugged.  “She could be simply ornery.  _That_ is quite Miss Swan’s style, and the darkness does tend to amplify her worst traits.  Keep an eye on her, and in the meantime, protect Henry’s heart yourself.”

Regina nodded, and then hesitated.  Had he not known her so well, Rumplestiltskin might never have seen the self-doubt flickering in her eyes, but it was definitely there.  “What if my magic isn’t enough?  The Black Fairy is just a little more powerful than, well, everyone, and I’m _not_ risking Henry.”

 “As well you shouldn’t.”  Rumplestiltskin released Belle to reach under the counter for one of the books he had temporarily stored there before Belle’s lesson.  “There are two spells in here that will help you.  Do those in addition to the one you already know, and Henry should be safe.”

“Doesn’t legend say that the Heart can only be taken if the Truest Believer is willing?” Belle asked.

Regina snorted.  “I’m not putting my faith in legends.”

“Nor am I.  It’s never been tried, and I have no intention of using Henry for our test subject.”  Rumplestiltskin put Merlin’s spell book on the counter, and was surprised when Regina just gave him a droll look.

“You know, for a super-powered sorcerer, you really are an idiot sometimes.  Unless you’ve fixed something, I still can’t open that book.”

“Ah.”  He _had_ forgotten, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t really have any intention of unlocking whatever spells Merlin had once put on the book.  Belle could open it now, interestingly enough, though he suspected that was due to her association with him.  Whatever the Apprentice had initially marked him with had probably long since expired, but now that he _was_ the Sorcerer, Rumplestiltskin could easily have extended the use of the books to others.  He suspect that he’d inadvertently done so for his wife, but that was quite far enough.  So, he pulled out a piece of parchment, opened the book to the appropriate pages, and waved a hand.   “Here.  These two will do the trick.”

Regina accepted the offered spells without protest, although her smile was a little awkward.  “Thank you.”

“He is my grandson.”  Now it was Rumplestiltskin’s turn to feel awkward, even when Belle touched his hand gently for support.  “I know I haven’t been the best at remembering that in the past, but those days are over.”

“We’ve all made mistakes.”  Regina shrugged.  “What matters is where we go from here.”

“And that we do it together.”  Belle spoke up softly, but Rumplestiltskin knew she meant every word.  “We may be the most dysfunctional family in history, but we are all family.  And we’re far stronger when we stand together.”

Regina just barked out a laugh.  “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

* * *

 

David had called her when he’d had problems tracking down a petty thief, and Emma was only too happy to help.  She was still struggling to find ways to feed the darkness when she wasn’t using lust to sate it, and things only seemed worse now that the Black Fairy had the dagger.  Her fight with Nuckelavee had helped a little, but that had been two weeks ago, and the headaches were growing more frequent.  The voices were more insistent, too, torn between obedience and suicidal defiance.  Emma hadn’t forgotten the threats hanging over her head, and she knew that if she did something stupid, someone she loved would die.

_Like my dad._ Emma shivered, and then steeled herself, trying to push the voices aside through sheer determination.  _I am_ not _letting that happen._

_Sure you’re not,_ Nimue sounded almost sad.  _Just like I wasn’t going to trick my best friend.  We all hurt those we loved.  You will be no different._

_Shut up!_

“Well, that was easy enough.” David spoke lightly as they walked down the street, completely unaware of Emma’s dark thoughts.  “Thanks for the assist.”

“I was glad help.  It sure beats trying to feed this darkness in me in other ways.”

David put a hand on her arm, and for a moment, Emma wanted nothing more than to launch herself into her father’s arms.  But she stopped herself.  He looked concerned.  “Is it still giving you trouble?”

“Always will.”  She made herself shrug.  “Until we get rid of it, anyway.”

“You know, Rumplestiltskin probably could pull it out of you, and—”

“No!”  Her shout seemed to take David aback, so Emma did her best to look like she wasn’t terrified.  “Then someone else would have to deal with it, because he doesn’t have anything that can hold the darkness.”

_Not to mention the fact that I don’t have the dagger, which means_ I _don’t have the choice,_ she couldn’t add.  But she knew that she’d never be allowed to be rid of it.  Not with the Black Fairy’s plans slowly moving towards fruition.

Not that she could share those plans, damn it.

“I hate seeing you burdened like this, Emma.”  David stopped and wrapped an arm around her, and Emma let herself be pulled close.  She needed the contact, craved the love in ways she hadn’t before, and having her father offer such affection was wonderful.  It even quieted the voices, just a little, and for a moment, Emma was almost at peace.

“I hate it, too,” she whispered.  “But I’m the Savior.  Or at least I was.  This is what I’m supposed to do.”

“We’ll find a way to save you, Emma.  None of us have given up, yet.”

“I know.”  She swallowed hard.  That was the one thing that kept her going, the fact that she _did_ have friends and family who wanted to help her.  Even if she was sometimes certain that she was beyond helping, it was still nice to—

Unintelligible whispers cut that thought short, and Emma pulled away from David in surprise.  She could _feel_ the dagger, could feel it whispering and calling to her, and as she turned right, she saw why.  There was the Black Fairy, Danns’ a’Bhàis, standing in the alley next to the Rabbit Hole.  She was far enough into the shadows that most people probably wouldn’t notice her, but Emma had learned a healthy wariness of that fairy.  She had not, however, expected to see Danns’ talking to someone she didn’t recognize.  He had dark skin and a terribly handsome face, and Emma knew that she’d met him somewhere.

It took her almost an hour to realize that it was Morgan le Fae’s boy toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-One—“They Cannot Weep Behind a Cloud,” in which Regina protects Henry’s heart, Rumplestiltskin shares the news with his mother while Belle shares it with her father, Danns’ remembers the past and Lancelot and Mordred share stories with Killian.


	71. They Cannot Weep Behind a Cloud

“Ready?”

Henry nodded firmly.  He trusted his mom—both of them, even if it was weird how Regina was the lighter of the two these days—and knew that she would protect him.  He hated _needing_ protecting, but he was old enough to appreciate the work his mom had put into doing this.  “Yep.  Go ahead.”

“This might feel a little strange.  I practiced the other two spells, but they’re very old.”

“I’m game for whatever you need to do.”  Henry gave her a smile.  “I trust you.”

“And I love you.” 

Regina leaned forward to kiss him on the top of the head, and then she raised her hands.  They glowed with magic, first purple and then white, then blue and red.  The spells took _forever_ , and Henry did his best not to fidget, sitting on the couch like he wasn’t impatient.  As much as he hated needing protection, Henry was old enough to know that this was necessary.  If the Blue Fairy couldn’t convince someone to rip out his heart, she couldn’t use him to control the Black Fairy.  Granted, the idea of stopping the Black Fairy was probably a good one, but Morgan had told them what a bad idea it was to use his heart.  Besides, as much as Henry wanted to be a hero, he didn’t think that was the way.  _Morgan said that Killian’s father thought it was the best way until he sacrificed his heart, and then he was never the same again.  He was careless, and he got himself killed because he no longer cared about anything._

Finally, Regina finished the trio of spells, though Henry didn’t feel any different.  “Is that it?”

“Yes.”  Regina let out a breathless laugh, and for the first time, he noticed how drained she looked.  “That’s ‘it’, Henry.  You might not feel it, but that’s the most powerful magic I’ve ever done.”

“You’re gonna be okay, though, right?  And the baby?”  How had he not asked that before?  Henry felt a sudden flash of guilt; that was his younger sister inside his mom, and he should have been more careful.  He should have thought of it.  Maybe someone else should have done it.

“We’ll be fine.”  She smiled tiredly.  “This magic isn’t harmful.  It’s not dark at all—that would have been a problem.  But this wasn’t.”

“Really?”  Henry still felt guilty, even when his mom squeezed his shoulder.

“Really.”

“Why didn’t Mom do it?  I mean, then you wouldn’t have had to take any risks.”   Emma hadn’t always been good with the whole magic thing, but lately she’d been a lot more comfortable with it, and Henry thought it just would have made sense.  She loved him, too, even if she was the Dark One, and Henry trusted _both_ his mothers.

Regina seemed to hesitate, swallowing slightly.  After a moment, she answered slowly.  “She said that she didn’t want to risk hurting you.”

Henry frowned.  “She wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Tell her that.  I think she’s a little scared of her powers.”  Regina shrugged. 

“That’s weird.”

“Being the Dark One isn’t easy for her, Henry.  I know none of us knew how complicated or difficult it was before now, but Emma’s doing all right.  We just have to give her space when she needs it, and be there for her even when she thinks she doesn’t need anyone.”

“I know that.”  Henry couldn’t help sighing. He didn’t like admitting to what he felt, but he couldn’t help himself.  “I just—I guess I just thought that we’d have found a solution by now.  That she’d be free.”

“Me, too,” Regina admitted.  “But don’t lose hope, okay?  We’re not giving up.  We’ll find a way to get that damned darkness out of her, no matter what it takes.”

“Okay.”  Regina hugged him again, and Henry pushed his worries aside.  It hadn’t even been two and a half months yet, and he supposed that really wasn’t much time at all.  He’d assumed that defeating the Dark One would be quick, the same as many of their other enemies had been, but he supposed that he’d been a little too optimistic.  But his mom was right.  That didn’t mean he had to lose hope, and Henry believed they’d win in the end.

* * *

 

They’d decided that _some_ people needed to know about Belle’s pregnancy, though Rumplestiltskin was still a little hesitant to let the news out.  He and Belle had only known about her pregnancy for four days, and so far the only person they had shared that with had been Baelfire.  Yet they _did_ need to tell a few others…and Rumplestiltskin found himself strangely eager to tell his mother.  He was still getting used to the idea of having a mother, still coming to terms with the fact that the woman who had abandoned him _did_ want him.  Sometimes that frightened him, but other times it was just kind of nice.

Fortunately, Morgan remained a no-nonsense, blunt woman, because she walked into his work room and took matters right out of his hands.  She started the conversation before she even bothered to sit down.  “You wanted to talk?”

“Belle’s pregnant.”  The words blurted out before he could stop them, and the sudden way Morgan’s face went still made Rumplestiltskin cringe.

He was an utter fool.  Here his mother was, the longtime enemy of _Belle’s_ grandmother.  Of _course_ she wouldn’t be happy about this.  She hated the fairies even more than he did—with perhaps better cause—and Belle was, even if Rumplestiltskin didn’t like thinking about it, at least a quarter fae.  As far as magic was concerned, she might as well have been half fairy (or, technically, a part fae and a part fairy, which probably equated to half faery, because magic didn’t quite work like genetics).  Even though Rumplestiltskin didn’t feel anything particularly faery about Belle’s magic, he knew the blood was there.  And blood tended to run true.

Morgan’s lips pursed tightly, and he swallowed the urge to beg her to say something.  _Anything._   Rumplestiltskin didn’t like the sudden surge of self-doubt; he was happy to be a father again, and any child he had with Belle, his _True Love_ , was a miracle.  A gift of value beyond measuring.  He loved their child, their daughter, already, and he wasn’t going to let anyone change that.  _Even if my mother doesn’t feel the same._

“I take it you view this as a good thing?” Morgan asked after a long moment.

“Of course it is.”  He tried not to snap the words, and failed.

Morgan frowned.  “You understand the difficulties this child will cause, yes?”

“I am aware, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin barely managed not to glare.

“I don’t think you are.”  She seemed to take a deep breath, and then finally sat down across from him.  “Belle is…well, at the very least, she is becoming a half power.  I suspect that some of the White Faery’s power has passed to her, probably through her mother’s sacrifice.  Judging from Reul Ghorm’s smug attitude, that almost has to be true.  And it creates a whole host of problems.”

“I know what her lineage is.  I _don’t care._ ”  Now he did let himself glare, just a little.  Belle was the love of his life, and if they’d proven anything, it was that they would fight for one another no matter what the odds were.  “And my daughter is _my_ daughter.”

“This isn’t about that!”  Morgan looked like she wanted to shake him.  “Or not only that, anyway.  You are the Sorcerer, an _original power._   The only human original power who had children was Viviane, and her power skipped a generation—to me—because she married a non-magical human.  Her later child, Lancelot, inherited her long life but _not_ power.  But it appears that the generational skip has already happened with Belle…and your child is _going to be magical._ She’ll be a half-power at the very least.”

He finally saw what she was trying to say.  “And everyone is going to want her.”

“Yes.”  Morgan looked grim.  “Danns’ especially.  She tried to have a child with Merlin more than once.  Thankfully, she never managed.”

“Why?”

Morgan’s face closed off.  “Ask me that some other time.”

“As you like.”  There was a story there, and he remembered something—so vaguely!—in Merlin’s memories hinting at an extremely complicated relationship with Danns’ a’Bhàis, but Rumplestiltskin could not recall the details.  At the moment, however, that old tale was unimportant.  Other things were.  He spoke very softly, but firmly.  “No one is taking our child.  I will use _all_ of my power to stop that, and I will destroy anyone who tries.”

“Good.”

“Good?” he echoed.

“Rumple…I’m not—well, I wasn’t expecting this, although I should have.  I like Belle.  She reminds me of what I heard about Fionna Rèitear, who was a better person than either of her sisters by far.  I simply worry.  Everyone, including Danns’, knows that the two of you are True Love.  A child of that _and_ of your bloodlines has great magical potential.  And I want you to understand that.”

“I’m hardly a magical neophyte.” 

“No, but your training wasn’t exactly what I would call complete.”  Morgan reached out to put a hand on his arm.  “But I am happy for you.”

“Thanks.”  Of course, now she’d gotten him worried—and reawakened a burning need to protect this next child of his.  Fortunately, he had the power to do so.  And allies.  “When people find out…as you said, there will be many who want to take her.  Or to harm Belle.”

“I will help with that, as much as I can.”  Morgan grimaced.  “Though I cannot make promises about Mordred.  You’ve helped him, which I hope means he will behave himself.  But there is no telling with that damned Pendragon ambition.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “He tried to kill my son.  If he tries to do the same for my daughter, I do not care who he is.  I will _not_ spare him again.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that to their mutual mother, particularly when she’d raised Mordred and not him.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  He wasn’t going to tiptoe around the issue, not with her.  Morgan needed to know exactly where he stood.  He and his half-brother might have had a truce of sorts going, but if Mordred threatened his daughter, all bets were off.  To her credit, Morgan nodded once, her expression grim.

“Then I will have to make sure he doesn’t.”

Then it was Rumplestiltskin’s turn to grimace.  “On the subject of bad news...there’s something else you should know.  The Peace Amulet is missing.”

Morgan sat up straight, her eyebrows shooting upwards.  “Missing?”

“Yes.  It was stolen, and I can all but guarantee you that I know where it is.  The question is why.”  He didn’t know _who_ had stolen the amulet he’d intended to help Emma contain the darkness, but that didn’t matter.  They both knew the only person in Storybrooke who would _dare_ take it.  _Unless Emma did, in one of her darker moments…but I don’t think she’s that far out of control._   Still, he couldn’t discount the possibility.  Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone how tricky a Dark One could be.

“Because she has always been interested in the Dark One.  She controlled Merlin in secret for years.”  Morgan hesitated.  “Not that I think this is the case, but has anyone _verified_ that the Dark One has the dagger?”

“Not since she stuck it in me, no.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help the dry response.  “I’ll ask.”

“Do you think she’ll tell you?” Morgan cocked her head.

“We have an agreement on that front.  If Emma starts doing anything…untoward, the dagger will revert to me.”

Morgan’s sudden smile was surprisingly wide, but why did that suddenly make him feel so bashful?  “Clever.”

“Thanks.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to smile back, tried to maintain his cool, but it was hard.  He was no child to crave his mother’s approval—but damn it all, it was nice to have.  Still, there were other topics to cover.  “Speaking of Danns’ a’Bhàis, is she typically good at blocking magic?”

“Regrettably so, yes.  Why?”

“An old…friend has disappeared, and all of our efforts to find him have been blocked.  Can she do that?”

“As you could, yes.”  Morgan’s frown was deep. “Though she has centuries of practice on either one of us—I know not how much older than Merlin she is, but the faeries did come first.”

Damn.  He had hoped that Jefferson could have been somewhere—anywhere—else, but the evidence did point at the Black Faery.  Rumplestiltskin had read enough history, particularly lately, to know of the fae’s tendency to take “pets”, humans whom they used and abused as they pleased.  Danns’ seemed to be more particular than most, but the Hatter had always been the type of man whom women wanted.  Even Belle thought him handsome, though she was fortunately not the type to be swayed by a pretty face.

_We need to find him, but how do I prioritize?_ Rumplestiltskin wasn’t some hero type to go running off and do something stupidly gallant.  He looked at the big picture, and right now, he knew that there were a few things that _had_ to be dealt with before he could try to find Jefferson.  Mordred’s problems were solved, for now; they had at least a month or so before the Sapphire started draining him again, and for the moment, that was enough.  Nuckelavee, however, was a threat they couldn’t ignore, and he had to deal with that personally.  Danns’ a’Bhàis was someone he knew he was nowhere near ready to face, particularly not if she had powerful allies.  He needed to chip away her support base before he was ready to take her down, but in the meantime, they had to stop her from releasing the fae.  And then there was Emma, whom his instincts were starting to tell him was going to be trouble.

_And those are only the problems that_ I _have to deal with,_ he thought moodily.  _Life was so much simpler as a villain._

* * *

 

“Hey, Papa.”  Belle leaned across the counter to kiss her father on the cheek, unable to stop herself from thinking that soon—before too long, even!—she might be too big in the middle to do so.  That thought made her strangely giddy; Belle couldn’t believe that she was carrying a child inside herself.  She was going to be a _mother._

Belle had always wanted children.  Even back in the Dark Castle, she’d wondered what a child of hers and Rumplestiltskin’s might look like.  They’d been idle thoughts, mere wishes while she was busy falling in love with him, but she’d never _stopped_ wondering.  And now she would get to find out.

“Sweeting!  What are you doing here?” Maurice’s smile was full of happiness.  She didn’t drop by Game of Thorns as often as she once had; Belle was still a little leery of how much her father seemed to like her mother’s parents.  Of course, they’d chosen not to tell Maurice that they knew who “Guinevere” truly was, but now that that was no longer a secret, and Belle thought it was definitely time to make sure her father knew everything.

_That, and there’s something else I need to tell him, even if he_ does _tell my grandparents,_ Belle thought.  The risk that Maurice would share the news was high…but he deserved to know.

“I came to talk.  Do you have a few minutes?”

“For you?  All the time in the world.”

There’d been a time when her father would not have been so charitable, but Belle was determined not to hold grudges on that front.  He had been nothing but supportive for the last year or so, and she would forgive him for the past as long as he stayed that way.  So, she kept her smile firmly in place, and walked over to the door to flip the sign to “closed.”  Her father’s assistant wasn’t in at the moment, which meant now was the time.

“Good.”  Heading back towards the counter, Belle squared her shoulders.  “There are two things I need to tell you.”

“Are you all right?”  Maurice’s forehead wrinkled in immediate concern.  “Is that—I mean, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.  Better than fine, even.”  _I feel_ wonderful _, particularly now that the morning sickness is waning a little bit._   “But the news I have…isn’t.  It’s about my grandmother.”

That made her father frown.  “Is she all right? She always seemed to look a bit young for her age, but I thought that was a lucky coincidence, not something foul.”

“Unfortunately, your instincts were right on that.”  Belle sighed.  The sad thing was that her father’s instincts _usually_ were quite good.  Maurice just never listened to them.  “You know how legends say that there is a Black Fairy, equal in power to the Blue Fairy, just not as good?”

“Bedtime stories.”  Maurice scoffed.  “Legends designed to scare little children into behaving.”

“They’re not.  She _is_ the Black Fairy.”

Maurice reared back in shock. “Guinevere?  No.  No, she can’t be.”

“She is.”  Belle swallowed hard.  “‘Guinevere’ was always a lie, and Arthur’s always known.  And it’s not only that.  She’s trying to collapse all the worlds into one great, magical realm, and doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

_Except for me, maybe, but if she thinks that will make me to stand by while she threatens everything I love, she’s wrong._

“Belle, my girl, are you sure about this?  There could be a thousand explanations—”

“No.  There aren’t, and yes, I’m sure.”  She felt bad cutting him off, but not that bad.  There were a thousand ways Belle could support the argument, from Morgan’s statements to Rumplestiltskin’s findings, or even the confirmation Blue had provided, but only one thing mattered in the end.  “She doesn’t deny it, Papa.”

Eyes going wide as his mouth flopped open like a fish, Maurice just stared at her for several long moments, clearly too shocked to speak.  Belle tried to give him a weak smile and then thought the better of it.  Instead, she chose to appear calm but confident, knowing that there were times that her father was all too easily led, particularly where matters he did not understand—like magic—were concerned. 

“I…I see,” he finally said, gulping for air around his disbelief.

“I’m not sure you do, Papa.  They’re gathering allies, people with magic and people without.  We’re not sure exactly what they want right now, but the last time Grandmother was in power, she nearly subjugated the entire Enchanted Forest.  _Thousands_ died.”

“But they’ve been talking to me about taking a greater role in things to come.”  Her father looked a little sick to his stomach.  “I can’t take a part in something like that.  I won’t.”

“I’m glad.”  Belle reached out to take his hand and squeeze it.  “I won’t, either.”

“If they’re so powerful…”

“They aren’t.  There are a lot of people lined up against them, and we’re not going to lose,” Belle said strongly.  “Besides, Rumplestiltskin isn’t the Dark One anymore, which means that he’s _helping_.  And as the Sorcerer, he has the same type of power Grandmother does.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.”  He would probably never like Rumplestiltskin, Belle knew, but at least her father seemed to accept him a little better, now. 

_It’s actually a good thing that Papa doesn’t realize_ how _much power Rumple has, otherwise his ambitions might get the better of him,_ Belle realized.  Her father had always wanted her to marry someone with riches and power, preferably someone with a high title, as well.  But sorcerers existed outside the normal social order in the Enchanted Forest, and the more powerful ones were considered equals to royalty, not landed knights like her father.  _I bet Rumple’s never looked at it that way._ Belle barely managed not to giggle.  Her husband had often wondered—not terribly whimsically—why any noblewoman would ever want to marry _him,_ but as the Sorcerer, he really was far above her in the pecking order. 

“I do.”  She let her smile come out, now, both from how deliciously ironic the thought was and her joy for the news she was about to share.  “And, speaking of Rumple, there’s something else I need to tell you, Papa.  Something wonderful.”

“Oh?”

“I’m pregnant.”  Belle’s grin stretched her face so hard that it hurt.  “You’re going to be a grandfather.”

“I’m—I’m— _what_?  Oh, Belle, that’s marvelous!”  Suddenly, she found herself squashed in a bear hug, one Belle returned with a laugh.  Her father had asked her—even back when Rumplestiltskin had been the Dark One—when she was going to make him a grandfather, and Belle was glad to at last be able to say that she was.

For now, however, she didn’t tell her father that she knew she was carrying a girl.  She had a feeling that the news would get to her grandparents sooner rather than later, and she wanted to keep that bit quiet for now.  _I think Grandmother would be all too pleased by that, and for now, I don’t feel like making her happy,_ Belle thought, just a little spitefully.  She was still determined to sit down with her grandparents and let them say their piece, but the more history she read, the more uneasy she felt.

Most people would have been happy to know they were the one person in the world safe from the Black Fairy, but Belle was far too afraid for everyone _else_ to be comfortable with that.  Pregnant or not, she knew a fight was coming, and it was one she intended to win.

* * *

 

“I met your granddaughter,” Nuckelavee said after they’d finished speaking of other plans, making Danns’ head snap around.

Her voice dropped several octaves, quiet and dangerous.  “You did what?”

“Merely met, My Lady.  Nothing dangerous or untoward.”  He spoke more quickly than was his wont, a fact that made Danns’ smile.  There was almost nothing in the world that could make her hurt her oldest and dearest follower, but if he’d ever imagined threatening Belle, that would all change.  It was good to know that he respected that fact enough to fear such a possible fate.

“And?”

He shrugged, the movement as graceful as always.  “You did not mention that she had inherited your magic.”

“That she—?”  Danns’ made herself cut off, swallowing the words back with an effort.  So far as she’d known, Belle utterly lacked magic, just as Colette had, until the end—

_Oh, what a fool I have been!_   How had she missed something so obvious?  Long had she thought that Colette’s determination to be human—not to mention the way Lancelot had forced her into a mundane life married to an utterly unimportant knight—had kept her away from powerful magic.  Her love for her daughter, her desire to save Belle, had unlocked that.  Until now, of course, Danns’ had assumed that the power had only passed on to Colette via her faery-full heritage, but what if something _else_ had passed down?  Belle had described a brilliant white light, one that left _her_ unconscious and without memories of what had happened.

“She seems quite powerful,” Nuckelavee continued, unaware of the thoughts racing through Danns’ mind.  “Albeit in a very light way.  She seems to wear her heart on her sleeve.”

“Of course she does.”  The words were a murmur, barely even considered before they slipped out.

Slowly, Danns’ lowered herself into her favorite armchair, her mind whirling.  Who else had she known like that?  Who else had been so good, so loving, so kind and so _trusting_?  Once, she had fondly wondered if Colette might one day carry her sister’s power, but her daughter had never been an original power, no matter how much she had wished otherwise.  Danns’ had thought herself doomed to carry Fionna’s power for eternity, but she had no proof that she still did.  She was too powerful herself.  Too close to the problem.  She couldn’t tell.

Nor did Nuckelavee have sufficient perception, no matter that he was the most powerful of her fae.  Only an original power could see the requisite levels of magic, and she was certainly not going to ask her other sister about this.  Nor would she ask Rumplestiltskin; he might learn too much, and if Belle was unable to bring Merlin’s heir to Danns’ side, she did not want him having that knowledge.  _Not if I must do what I know I will._

“My Lady?” Nuckelavee sounded concerned, but she just waved a hand for him to be silent, her memories taking her to the past.

_She was too late.  How could she be too late?  How could Fionna Rèitear, the great peacemaker, need saving?_

_The very notion was incomprehensible._

_Oh, the humans had killed faeries before.  They’d moved on from trying to draw elemental demons into their own souls to acquire magic, hoping that killing faeries would let them absorb their power.  Yet not one of those fools had been successful, and Merlin and Medea had rooted out the last sect of them just a month earlier.  Or so they had said.  Could the three faeries really trust the four humans who had drunk from a ridiculous cup and become what they were?  Fionna claimed they could, and Danns’ had taken her side when Reul sought to put herself above their human fellows.  Most humans were not evil, Fionna had argued, and Danns’ had reluctantly agreed._

_That had been why Fionna had crafted weapons for her allies to use against the demons and dark creatures who roamed the lands._

_Weapons they had now turned on her._

_“Fionna!” Throwing her hands up, Danns’ let a wave of darkness boil out at those same humans, the hungry bastards who surrounded her sister.  A few tried to get up, but she followed that attack with a wall of fire, rushing to Fionna’s side.  She ignored the screams.  They were only humans, and traitors, too.  They deserved far worse._

_“Danns’…” A cough shook Fionna’s already thin form, and her blonde hair was matted with blood._

_She felt cold, implacable rage roaring through her.  “They betrayed you.”_

_“I fear…I fear I trusted the wrong people.  Lailoken…he was not what I thought…”_

_“Save your strength.”  Letting out a breath, banishing her fury to the back of her mind, Danns’ focused on her love for her sister.  The wounds were deep, but was she not an expert practitioner of magic?_ Damn you, Reul, I told you to come!  _Yet their second sister was not there, and Danns’ wanted to scream at her._

_Then she froze._

_Most of the wounds had already gone black and infected, oozing poison as well as blood.  Danns’ hands stopped of their own accord as she stared, distantly willing herself not to start shaking.  Only a decade had passed since Merlin discovered what damage a secondary power could to do to one of them, and they had speculated that such a weapon could kill as well as cause immeasurable pain—_

_“You gave him_ secondary powers _?”  She wanted to shake Fionna as hard as she could, but her sister was already wheezing._

_“I thought I could trust him,” Fionna whispered brokenly.  One of the wounds was almost directly on her heart.  Danns’ could see the stain on Fionna’s white dress.  The wound was far enough away that she lived yet, but not for much longer._

My sister has minutes.  I will kill them all for this. _But her dark thoughts could not withstand the fury of the pain, the betrayal, she felt._ They betrayed my sister.  The best and the lightest of us all.  How could these humans do that when she _trusted_ them?

_“You were wrong!”_

_“Sister, please.”  A ragged rattle rose in Fionna’s throat.  “I have not much time.”_

_“This is not happen.  I will stop it.”_

_“You cannot.  But you can…you can save me.  Or my power, anyway.”  Somehow, her sweet sister dredged up a smile, even though Danns’ could_ feel _her dying.  Fionna reached for her hand, and Danns’ knew that she had not the strength to make it all the way, so she took her sister’s hand in both of her own.  “Take it.  Take my power.”_

_“What?”_

_Shock forced the word out of her.  She was not the_ kind _sister, not the_ fair _sister.  Danns’ was the_ dark _sister, the one who had chosen to name herself for the most macabre thing she knew.  She had chosen death as her emblem, had embraced darkness from the start, for that way lay balance and she was of stern enough stuff to dance on the edge of the pit without falling in.  But Fionna—Fionna was the light.  She was everything good and right in the world, and they would have been utterly incompatible had Danns’ not loved her sister so much._

_“Take my power.  It will help you—_ I _will help you.  Maybe…maybe my light can temper your darkness.”_

_When had she started crying?  Danns’ tasted salt on her face.  “I am what I am.”_

_“As…am I.”_

_“But Reul—”_

_Fionna laughed, but it turned into a bloody cough.  “She will be quite enough trouble without this, I think.”_

_“She is always trouble.”_

_“Yes.”  Power stirred, and Danns’ could feel Fionna offering up everything she was: her heart, her soul, and her magic.  Common sense said that no original power could withstand holding the power and fury of another, but she loved her sister, so she would have to try._

_Perhaps Fionna was right.  Perhaps this would temper her, would help her fight back her worst self.  Danns’ had always tried to check herself for Fionna’s sake, because Fionna had never demanded it, not like Reul.  Fionna simply asked her to try, helped her have a reason to be better.  Reul lectured and carped, and never understood.  Just like she didn’t understand when she arrived to find Danns’ absorbing all that was left of their sister._

_Nor did Reul understand when Danns’ butchered Lailoken and Fionna’s other so-called allies one by one._

_The years would pass, and the gap between the remaining sisters would only grow greater.  Eventually, they split, not more than twenty years later, becoming Fairy and Fae, and turning the war that had begun against darkness into a war against one another._

Shaking her head, Danns’ ripped her mind away from the memories with an effort.  The past was the past, and despite Fionna’s hopes, her goodness had never tempered Danns’ in any meaningful way.  Oh, she had _tried_ —she had even learned to love others!—but in the end, she had always reverted to her own nature.  That was not Fionna’s fault, of course, and Danns’ knew that.  She enjoyed what she was, and would make no excuses for that.  Yet she had never stopped missing her sister, not even after a thousand  years had passed.

The only one of Morgan’s prophecies that Danns’ had ever prayed would come true was the one no one ever spoke of, Seen before she married Arthur and before she and Merlin found themselves in opposition.  _The White Faery reborn_.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Danns’ had hoped—had dreaded—that day, praying it would be Fionna and praying her sister would not make such mistakes twice.  She had always thought that it would serve Reul right to be ousted from her self-proclaimed tower of goodness and light, for Fionna had never shared Reul’s rigid hypocrisy.  Once, she had come to accept that her true sister would not be reborn, Danns’ had come to hope that Fionna’s power might be reborn in Colette…but clearly it had not.

Now the only question left to answer was how _much_ of the power had passed to Belle.  Surely she could not be a full original power.  Danns’ would have known if that were so.

* * *

 

“He was a bloody nuisance.”  Lancelot slammed his glass down on the table, startling Killian and making Mordred glare murder at him.

“If you’re insulting my brother _again_ —”

“Stuff that, Mordred, I’m telling the truth and you know it.”  The knight grinned.  “Gwaine was a good man, strong and true for certain, but also a bloody nuisance.  Particularly once he got some idea in his head.  Then he was impossible to dissuade.”

Mordred snorted.  “So?”

“It’s you bloody Cornwalls.  Every last one of you is stubborn as a mule.  Crazy, too.”  Lancelot leaned back in his chair, sipping his ale contentedly before turning to Killian.  “At least you have better taste in libations than your uncle here, though.  He’s always been attached to too-old wines that are halfway to sour.”

“I have not!”

Killian laughed so hard that he nearly coughed up his own ale.  He’d picked up pair of twelve packs on the way over, guessing that Lancelot had never had anything like modern beer.  Even the store-bought stuff was _far_ better than anything from their own world (refrigeration probably helped with that), and just as he’d anticipated, Lancelot was quite fond of, well, everything.  He’d brought a stout and a pale ale, and they were well into the second twelve pack already.  _I did expect Mordred to have tried the stuff, but I think he’s been too arrogant to lower himself and really find out about the good things in the modern world,_ he thought, raising his own bottle in salute to Lancelot’s compliment as Mordred continued to sputter.  _Loose Cannon.  Apparently it’s an appropriate brand name for all of us ‘Cornwalls’, though I was simply aiming for the nautical angle._

“Of course you have.  I’ve known you since you were twelve, after all.”

That comment made Killian squint.  He wasn’t so inebriated that he couldn’t see how poorly the ages in question lined up.  “How…how is that possible, anyway?  You knew Belle as a child, and you practically raised her mother.  Yet you look my age.  And you knew him at twelve?”

“That’s because I’m not a Cornwall.”  Lancelot smiled smugly, at least until Mordred flicked magic at him and made him squeal.

“His mother was the Lady of the Lake.  He inherited his unnatural long life from her, though no magic.”  Mordred pointed an accusing finger at Lancelot.  “If you wish to be proper about things, he is _my_ great uncle.  Just in case our family tree was not already twisted enough.”

_You have_ got _to be kidding me._ He was _not_ sober enough to figure out what that made Lancelot in relation to him, and Killian fought back the urge to call Baelfire, just to complain.  At this point, he would not have found whining beneath his dignity.  Not at all.  _We have another relative, Bae.  When will it stop?_

“Twisted?  At this point, it looks like a bloody monkey’s fist.”   Killian took a deep drink, finishing off his last bottle of stout.  “And not one made by any sailor worthy of the name.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes.  “I’m going to pretend I know what that is.”

“It’s a knot.”  Surprisingly, Mordred provided that answer, and then shrugged when the other two looked his way.  “Gwaine loved sailing when we were young.  I went with him because Agravaine was afraid of the water.”

“Did you really?” Killian couldn’t help asking.  He barely remembered his father; the memories of his own anger and resentment over having been abandoned were far stronger than any actual memories of Gwaine. 

“Often.  He took you and your brother when you were little, though I doubt you remember it.”

“Not really, no.”  The painful lump in his throat sobered him quickly.  “Maybe a little, but just—images.  Nothing concrete.”

“He would be proud of the man you’ve become,” Lancelot said softly.  His dark face quirked into a smile.  “Even if you are as stubborn as he was.”

Mordred raised his beer, looking just as lost and lonely as Killian felt.  “To Gwaine.”

He couldn’t speak when he raised his own bottle, but in this company, he didn’t need to.  Killian just nodded, and his uncle gave him a sad smile.  There were some things they would never be able to change, but at least they could try to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Two—“All Its Lights and Shadows”, in which Emma reveals a secret, Baelfire asks his father for help figuring Emma out, Regina and Robin plan their wedding, Whale meets Smee in the seedy parts of town, Zelena wakes up to create trouble, and Emma asks for unexpected help babysitting.
> 
> As a note, this will be a one update week—look for ROC72 next Tuesday.


	72. All Its Lights and Shadows

This time, she had consciously chosen to visit her Dark One at home, knowing how unhappy it made Emma.  The fact that Emma couldn’t tell her know, couldn’t keep her out, made the Dark One feel vulnerable and helpless, and Danns’ _wanted_ her in that state.  Emma Swan seemed a smart enough, if rather straightforward, woman, and the longer Danns’ could keep her off balance, the less resistance she would offer.  _I also rather enjoy this game of her trying to figure out how to_ not _tell me things.  She’s trying desperately to do everything short of defiance, and it is just lovely._

Still, Emma had yet to learn to greet her properly, which was why Danns’ sent her crashing to her knees on her living room floor.  That made the blonde grunt miserably, and Danns’ could hear her teeth grinding from ten feet away.

“What do you want?” The Dark One’s voice was a snarl that amused her greatly, but Danns’ would not smile.

Instead, she twitched the dagger, sending shooting pain through Emma’s skull, and holding the command in place until Emma cried out.  “Manners,” she reminded her servant mildly.

Emma glared, but was wise enough to remain silent.

“I have a simple question for you.  You will, of course, answer truthfully.”  She traced her fingers over the name on the flat of the dagger, remembering another name there.  _I do miss you, old friend.  I miss who you were before I enslaved you, and I miss having you at my feet._   Such a pity that Merlin was gone.

“As if I have a choice.”

“You do not, of course.  It does not do you good to dwell on that.”  No Dark One had ever listened to such advice, of course.  They were always furious to be controlled, even the ones who gave in and served her loyally.  Emma Swan, of course, would never fall in that category.

No, she was fraying already.  “Just ask your damned question!”

“Is there anything that you have learned recently that I might want to know?”  Danns’ had mastered the phrasing of that question long ago; there was no way to ask or to know _everything_ , unless she wanted to keep the Dark One locked away when she was not using her, but that was foolishness.  Then the others would know.  So, she had to ask such things—both out of a desire for knowledge and from simple curiosity about what Emma would pick.

“What do you mean?”  But the panicked look on Emma’s face gave her away; there was something, certainly.  Perhaps more than one thing. 

_Do you think I don’t notice every time you try to resist me?  Silly girl.  You are_ so _young._ Danns’ could imagine the voice of the darkness whispering much the same thing to Emma—or maybe Nimue was simply demanding that Emma kill her mistress.  After all, Nimue had tried the same herself so many times.

“Tell me anything you have learned that you believe I would want to know.”  Danns’ was not tired of playing with Emma, but shifting her phrasing into a blunt command made it impossible for the Dark One to weasel her way out of answering.

“I…”  The pain was obviously rising; Emma’s face was stark white and her breathing had grown short.  She’d closed her eyes tightly and was clearly trying _so_ hard to fight the compulsion, but in the end, she gave in.  They always did.  Emma gulped for air, and then the words came out in an agonized hiss.  “Belle is pregnant.”

“ _What?_ ”  The word shot out of Danns’ with more force than she wanted, her heart hammering against her ribcage.  Her granddaughter was _pregnant_?  Surely she would have been told before the creature kneeling at her feet.  She pulled herself back on balance with an effort.  “Who told you that?”

“Neal—err, Baelfire.  Her stepson.”  Emma’s eyes flew open to glare at her, and _oh_ , there was something there, wasn’t there?  Danns’ felt a smile tugging on her lips.

“And why would Rumplestiltskin’s son tell _you_ this?”  Quickly, she cast her mind back over the events she knew had happened in Storybrooke whilst she was plotting and planning, while she was preparing the magical items she would need very soon.  “He is your son’s father, but the two of you are not tied to one another.  Are you?”

“No.”  The mulish set of Emma’s jaw, however, told Danns’ that, although that answer was technically true, there was more to it.

“And yet…?”

Emma winced.  “We’re just friends.”

“Are you?”  Not laughing took all of her self-restraint, but Danns’ would not ruin the game by enjoying it too much.

“Yes.”

She smiled.  “I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence.”

“I…I care about him, all right?  He’s my kid’s dad, and he’s my—my friend.”  Emma suddenly seemed to realize how desperate she sounded, because her eyes went wide and she stopped herself from talking with an obvious effort.  “Please don’t hurt him.”

“Not so long as you’re being cooperative, Miss Swan.”  Reaching out, Danns’ put a hand under Emma’s chin and forced her head up.  “I won’t even do you a favor and order you to do something like sleep with your ‘friend’.  No, you’ve given me useful information, so I will be kind.”

“I’m not sure I like your definition of _kind_ ,” Emma spat.

“Now, now.  Don’t be obnoxious and ruin my goodwill.”  Now Danns’ let herself chuckle softly.  “You wouldn’t want me to hurt someone you love—or force you to do so—for your impertinence, so don’t be _too_ difficult.”

Emma flinched, and wasn’t that gratifying?  She didn’t need to hear more, or to say more; her dear Dark One had clearly gotten the point and was aware of the danger her loved ones were in.  Besides, Danns’ had much to think about— _Belle_ was _pregnant._ That news was completely unexpected, even if, in retrospect, the possibility should have occurred to her.  But her granddaughter, Colette’s daughter, was going to have a child.  She was going to have the _Sorcerer’s_ child, no less.

There was much to do, indeed.  So, Danns’ teleported herself away, never seeing the way Emma slumped in relief once she was gone.

* * *

 

She felt horrible.

Emma stayed on her knees for several minutes after the Black Fairy disappeared, limp with relief and sick with horror.  _How could I do that?_ she asked herself for the hundredth time.  She’d been so desperate not to tell Danns’ that Henry was the Truest Believer—something that she utterly knew the evil fairy would want to know—that she’d let something else slip.  She’d been told about Belle’s pregnancy in confidence, been _trusted_ not to share it…and then she’d told their worst enemy about it.  There was no guarantee that Danns’ wouldn’t steal or hurt that child, and Emma felt like vomiting.

She couldn’t even tell Baelfire that she’d betrayed his trust.  That she might have betrayed his younger sibling to Danns’ a’Bhàis.  To do that, Emma would have had to explain _why_ she’d said something—to anyone!—and the damned commands she’d been given prevented her from explaining.  She couldn’t even warn the Golds that the Black Fairy knew about their coming kid, because she _knew_ Rumplestiltskin would ask too many questions.  Just thinking of doing so made her head pound painfully, made her vision swim and her world try to spin.  _Some loophole you found,_ she berated herself, not even needing the chorus of Dark One voices to let her know how badly she’d screwed up.

The only silver lining of the whole situation was that the Black Fairy still didn’t know that Henry was the Truest Believer, but how long was that going to last?  Emma had to plan what she was going to tell her the next time she asked that damned question, and she needed to come up with something fast.

Something that didn’t betray anyone.

* * *

 

“You think Emma’s acting weird, Papa?”

The question made Rumplestiltskin’s head snap up.  Baelfire had joined him in the back of the shop thirty minutes earlier, and had spent most of the time tinkering with this and that, not saying much at all.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t minded; any time he got to spend with his son was wonderful, and he enjoyed the company.  Now, however, he let the question turn over in his mind several times before answering.  _Was_ Emma acting strangely?  On one hand, she was still pretty much a newly-minted Dark One, with all the paranoia, insecurity, and fury that entailed.  Yet she’d gotten control of herself after they made that deal, or had seemed to, anyway.  And he would have known if she’d harmed an innocent, that much was certain.

Yet Regina had been right when she’d said that Emma’s reluctance to protect Henry was out of character.  And Emma’s near loss of temper during their charming little family dinner had been unlike her, too; as in-your-face as Miss Swan had always been, she wasn’t the type to fly off the handle so easily, even as the Dark One.  He could have excused that, of course, if it had not been coupled with Emma’s sudden refusal to use magic on Henry.  So far as he knew, the two of them were unique in having already had children when they’d become the Dark One, and Rumpelstiltskin knew how fiercely the darkness often fed his desperation to protect Bae.  _There’s no way it’s not doing the same to her, so what am I not seeing?_

Nimue might have changed tactics, but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure that the first Dark One—the main voice of the darkness, the driving force of its anger and smoldering resentment—would change tactics when manipulating a parent’s love for a child had worked so well before.  No, there was something else going on.  But what?

“You know, Regina came in here the day before yesterday with the same question,” he mused, absent mindedly placing a bookmark in one of Merlin’s tomes on magical history and elemental powers.  “She was concerned that Emma had refused to help her shield Henry’s heart from being taken.”

Bae whirled on him, eyes wide.  “Emma _what_?”

“Apparently, she told Regina that she was afraid of her magic hurting Henry.”  With anyone else, he might have shrugged and brushed the problem off, but Baelfire knew the darkness too well.  _And_ he’d once been a young boy struggling with his father’s own possession by that same darkness.  Bae understood the significance of what Rumplestiltskin had said right away.

“You were never afraid of that.  Just the opposite, really.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin took a breath.  “To answer your question, Bae, I’m not certain.  _Something_ seems off, but Emma and I have never been close.  I know the darkness inside her all too well, but she’s come far enough along that she’s made it her own.  At least in some ways.”

Bae frowned.  “You’re saying you can’t predict her?”

“No.  Not at all.  I _am_ saying that I may not be the one who needs to talk to her.  You two seem to be growing closer lately, after all.”

“Um.”  Was it his imagination, or had his son gone a little red?  “Sort of.  I guess.  I’m trying not to push her—I mean, if she just wants to be friends, that’s what I’ll do.”

“But that’s not what you want.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“To your father, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin rose to put a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “She’s not incapable of love or of making logical decisions as the Dark One, Bae.  It’s not like the darkness is going to fall for you, so whatever feelings she has, they’re real.”

Bae shrugged miserably.  “She says she’s not ready for romance.”

“And you’re willing to wait.”  He managed not to smile, but only barely.  Rumplestiltskin never would have wished for a princess for his son, and _particularly_ not one who’d become the Dark One, but he was still so damned proud of his boy.

“‘Course I am.  Always will be, for her.”

“Then talk to her.  See if she’ll tell you what’s wrong.”  Rumplestiltskin turned a few possibilities over in his mind, mulling over what it might be.  “She may be feeling pressure from Nimue—from the darkness, really, for all that it uses her soul to power it—to do things she doesn’t want to.  Or to harm those she _won’t_ harm.  The darkness always has some plan, some scheme it wants to use to dominate the world or make innocents suffer.  If you can find out what she’s feeling guilty about, you can probably figure out what she’s fighting so hard.”

Bae turned to look at him, brown eyes concerned.  “What if she gives in?”

“She won’t.  Not Emma Swan, not as long as she doesn’t have to face it alone.  Help her, and she’ll keep fighting.  I think we both know that about—”

“Hey Dad!  Hey Grandpa!” The excited voice broke into the back room, interrupting their conversation and making both men turn. 

Henry came through the curtain with a smile on his face, but even Rumplestiltskin could see that the lad’s cheerful veneer was a little forced.  He wasn’t terribly surprised; if Baelfire was worried about Emma, Henry probably was, too.  After all, Emma was acting strangely enough for _Regina_ to comment, and Regina was hardly the most observant person Rumplestiltskin had ever met.  Henry, on the other hand, had always been perceptive, which meant he’d noticed.  _Probably before Bae.  Definitely before me._

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how he’d missed the signs; he _should_ have seen them, but he didn’t know Emma nearly as well as the others…and, well, he’d been a bit distracted lately.  _Not to mention overconfident.  I was so certain that she’d found a way to control herself, that she’d reached the same plateau I had, where the darkness was there but not in control._ Yet he hadn’t been wrong.  Emma _had_ gotten control of herself, so what had gone wrong?

There was something he was missing.

“What’s up, kid?” Bae asked his son, ruffling his hair affectionately.  Henry flashed him a quick smile, but Rumplestiltskin could see the strain.

“Did you ask Grandpa about Mom?”

“He did.”  Rumplestiltskin saw no reason to make Bae provide answers for him.  “And I can’t say that you’re wrong.  Your mother has been acting a little out of character, even for the Dark One.”

“She says it’s just that fighting the darkness makes her moody.”  Henry scowled.  “I’m not sure that’s the whole truth, even if _Emma’s_ the one who supposedly has the lie detector.”

Bae snorted.  “You do know that she makes that up, right?  It’s all about studying body language.”

“Yeah, I found the book she has on it.”  Henry shrugged before looking back at his grandfather.  “Do you have any idea of what could be bothering her?”

“There’s always the possibility that the darkness is trying to force her to do something she doesn’t want to.  It always has a plan, Henry, and usually not one that your mother would like.”

“Can it _make_ her do bad stuff?”

 “Not quite, but it certainly can try.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, studying the worried expression on his grandson’s face.  “I don’t think she’s lost control, Henry, but I do think it’s time I concentrated on keeping the promise I made you.”

His mother might have wanted him to concentrate on the Black Fairy first, but as dangerous as Belle’s grandmother was, Rumplestiltskin knew that he needed to realign his priorities.  They needed Emma free before they could take down the Black Fairy, because even if part of him scoffed at the idea of needing the Savior’s help, Rumplestiltskin knew that the Dark One wasn’t a wildcard that he wanted to keep as part of this equation.  _When there are too many moving pieces to track in your plan, make some of them stop._ That was the first maxim of being a manipulator: control the pieces on the board.  And he couldn’t control Emma if she couldn’t control herself.

Henry’s eyes went wide right away.  “You’re talking about pulling the darkness out of her like the Apprentice did for you!”

“Yes, though pulling the darkness out of her has never been the problem.  I could do that tomorrow.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled sadly, hating the way that got Henry excited.  Bae perked up, too, only to sigh and slump a split second later. 

“Then why haven’t you?” Henry demanded excitedly. 

“Because then you have to keep it somewhere, right, Pop?”  Bae sounded resigned.  “And from what you told me, Henry, the Hat didn’t do such a good job of it last time.”

 “Yeah, Mom said that it lasted all of a couple of minutes.” Henry frowned.   “But didn’t Grandma Morgan say that the darkness _was_ trapped for a long time before the first Dark One?”

“It was, but now it’s stronger.”  Rumplestiltskin had read up on this a thousand times, and he couldn’t get past the fact that it had taken a minimum of _three_ original powers to trap the darkness.  Four had done the job the first time.  And while there were three of them in Storybrooke, he couldn’t imagine Belle’s grandmother being willing to play along with that game.  Nor Reul Ghorm, who seemed against anything and everything he might do.

“And the Vault is in the Enchanted Forest.”  Bae had always been quick, and he could see the problems as well as Rumplestiltskin could.

He shrugged.  “I could draw a portal easily enough, but the problem is keeping it there.  I don’t have the power on my own to force it into the Vault.”

“But you’re the Sorcerer.”  Henry’s brow crinkled in confusion.  “Didn’t Merlin do it before?”

“Merlin had help from fairies who are no longer so inclined, particularly if it means working together.”  Still, perhaps he should ask them.  Or at least Danns’ a’Bhàis.  _Then again, do I want to strip myself so bare of power in her presence?  She can be trusted not to hurt Belle, but I’m not sure she’d be so kind to me if I was stupid enough to give her such an opportunity._

“Oh.”

Reaching out, Rumplestiltskin put a hand on Henry’s shoulder, unable to bear the dejected look on his face.  “That doesn’t mean all hope is lost, Henry,” he said softly.  “That only means I can’t use Merlin’s methods.  There are other ways.  What we call ‘the’ darkness wasn’t originally combined; if I can split it apart, I _can_ trap the worst of it, and then we can free Emma.”

Henry swallowed visibly.  “Do you think that’ll work?”

“I promised you that I would help, and I _will_ find a way.”  He squeezed his grandson’s shoulder, but was still surprised when the teen stepped forward to hug him tightly.

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

Rumplestiltskin had to swallow before he could answer, his mouth suddenly dry.  “You’re welcome.”  He’d made that promise for his grandson’s sake, before he’d even become the Sorcerer, but now he had double the reasons to keep it.  Glancing up to meet his son’s eyes, he could see how very much Bae still loved Emma, and Rumplestiltskin was _not_ going to fail his son again.

* * *

 

“Well, that was unpleasant.”  Maleficent grimaced as each hauled a scale through the doors to the Black Fairy’s home.  Arthur was a rather magnificent dragon, she had to admit, though she was certainly not stupid enough to show any interest in that particular direction.  Only a fool would covet Danns’ a’Bhàis’ husband, and Maleficent was no fool.

Fortunately, her daughter was not, either.  _Well, except for the fact that she’s making moon eyes at the pirate, but even I have to admit that he’s good looking.  And far less smarmy than he used to be_ , she thought philosophically.  Maleficent was hardly one to judge her daughter for her taste in men, after all.  She’d become involved with another dragon, for goodness sakes, and all of this complicated magic to discover his identity would not have been necessary if she’d been a little more discerning.  So, she certainly didn’t begrudge donating a scale to the cause.  If it would help bring Lily enough closure by knowing who her father was, Maleficent would have taken the world on single-handedly.

Lily shrugged, clearly trying to make light of the situation.  “Could have been worse.”

“I hate to think what your definition of ‘worse’ is!” Arthur barked out a laugh.  “Remind me never to remove a head scale again.  That’s going to smart for weeks.”

“I’m sure that you know someone who could fix that for you.” Lily turned her sarcastically sweet smile on Arthur, and Mal almost opened her mouth to warn her.  Arthur just chuckled, and fortunately, his wife did not appear to chide them.

Not that Danns’ a’Bhàis was the _chiding_ sort, anyway.  No, she was merely dangerous, and Maleficent always felt like she was being weighed and measured in the Black Fairy’s presence.  Not for the first time, she wondered if joining this alliance was a bad idea, but she had given her word, and Mal was not the sort to break it.  _Particularly now that I have done such foolish things as stealing that swan-shaped amulet from Rumplestiltskin, or refusing to tell Regina that I knew her sister was impersonating her._

“Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” a sarcastic voice interrupted her thoughts.  “You two really do stay here like pathetic little groupies, don’t you?”

_I had to go and think of her, didn’t I?_ Mal wanted to slap herself, but her daughter got in first.

“You’re one to talk.  _You’ve_ been sleeping on the job for two days while the rest of us were taking care of business.”

“Don’t start with me, little girl.  I—”

“Could do some of the same, if you like,” Arthur cut in before Zelena’s face could go really red with anger. 

“Do what?”

“Something useful, perhaps?”  Mal cooed the words and gave her a sweet smile, flicking magic between her fingers and _itching_ to knock Zelena out again.  She’d do it, too, even if it might cost her.  Particularly if Zelena threatened her daughter again.  “It _would_ be a nice change.”

Arthur cut in before Zelena could retort.  “There are several things I would be grateful for help with,” he said with a charming smile.  “Troublemaking things, of course.”

“Such as what?” Zelena’s eyes narrowed, but even Mal could tell she looked interested. 

Arthur took her by the arm to lead her out of the room.  “Let’s talk about that asylum you were in…”

Once they were gone, Mal found herself turning to her daughter.  Lily gave her an apologetic shrug that was completely ruined by the grin that followed it.  “I know I shouldn’t antagonize her, Mom, but she makes it _so_ easy.”

“So long as you’re prepared to deal with the consequences of what you do, your choices are your own.”  Sighing, Mal hefted the scale she was still carrying meaningfully.  “However, I would ask you _not_ to antagonize the next person we’re going to see.  _She_ is not so easily manipulated.”

“Not that stupid, thanks.”  Lily scowled.  “Do you think this will work?  That we’ll find my dad?”

“I don’t know,” Mal admitted.  “But we’ll do all we can.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask.  Least I have you, now.  And if we can’t find him, you’re parent enough for me.” 

Her daughter’s shy smile was enough to melt Mal’s heart, and she returned it as they headed in to talk to the Black Fairy together.

* * *

 

Regina knew what he was going to suggest before Robin even opened his mouth.  “We are _not_ getting married in the woods.”

“There are plenty of perfectly good reasons to get married in the woods,” he objected.  “Besides, it’s not like you’re much of a church goer, and there’s plenty of room for everyone you want to invite.”

“And I do mean _everyone_.”  Regina tapped a manicured nail against the guest list they’d started constructing.  “I’ve done the whole evil-queen-barges-in-uninvited thing, and I have _no_ intention of letting anyone else pull that crap at my wedding.”

“So, we invite everyone.”  Robin chuckled.  “Should we manage the seating arrangements to keep good and evil on opposite sides of the aisle, do you think?”

Regina sighed.  “Probably a good idea.”  The good idea she _didn’t_ have was where to hold the damned wedding, though, and she hated to admit that Robin was probably right.  _Damn Rumple for stealing the well.  I would have done it there, but I’m not copying the old bastard._

“I do have them, you know.”  His grin was teasing, and Regina swatted at his leg in playful annoyance.

“I know.”  She groaned.  “We could do it in town hall.”

“Do you _really_ want to get married in your place of work, ‘Gina?”

Regina scowled.  “No.”

“Well, then.  I’ll just sit here until you come up with a better idea, then.”  Smiling complacently, Robin lounged against the back of the couch, folding his arms behind his head, the absolute picture of smug contentment. 

“I hate you sometimes,” she growled, not meaning a word.

Robin just laughed.  “Of course you do.”

They ended up planning the damned wedding for the woods, of course, near the camp that the Merry Men had evacuated not too long ago.  Truth be told, Regina didn’t care too much _where_ they got married, so long as she finally got to marry a man she loved with all of her heart.  Her first wedding had been a big and showy affair, designed for the entertainment of ‘the people’ instead of for the benefit of a scared young bride.  Her first husband had also been concerned with everyone but her, but she knew that wasn’t going to be the case this time.  This time, Regina was marrying for love, and she didn’t give a damn if she was going to look like a blimp in her wedding dress, either.

This time, she was going to trust in love.

* * *

 

“Yes, we do plan on holding elections.  Right when Regina scheduled them.”  David had emerged from the sheriff’s station to find a group of people waiting for him, but for once, it wasn’t a riot or a lynch mob.  No, these were just concerned citizens were acting in a civilized manner.  _I hate to think it, but maybe now that Sidney isn’t around to rile them up, things will stay calm._

Of course, that left out the important part of who had killed Sidney, but David was no closer to figuring that one out.  Not knowing ate at him, particularly since his daughter was on everyone’s list of suspects.  He was almost positive that Emma hadn’t done it, but the fact that she was the Dark One—and still not a terribly stable Dark One, much though that grieved him to admit—couldn’t be ignored.

“Is King Arthur going to be allowed to run?” Aurora spoke up from behind a stroller, making David cock his head curiously.  She shrugged.  “He gives me the creeps.”

“That’s because he’s not honorable at all.”

Turning his head to look at the woman who had spoken up, it took David a moment to recognize Mulan.  The last time he’d seen her, she’d been lurking in the shadows at the diner, even angrier with him for the way Ruby had been treated than Ruby herself was.  He understood Ruby’s anger, even now—they’d wronged her terribly by lying about Granny’s murder, after all.  Mulan, however, seemed even less enamored of Arthur than she did him, which was saying a lot.

“He’s hiring cutthroats and thieves,” Mulan continued once everyone turned to look at her.  “No one wants to say it in the open, but I’m not afraid to tell the truth.  And it’s only a matter of time before he turns those villains on the town if he doesn’t get his way.”

That sounded a lot like what Hook was reporting, and David opened his mouth to ask for more information. Unfortunately, another voice cut into the conversation before he could.

“David!”

Turning around, David found the pirate pushing through the crowd towards him.  “Killian? What’s wrong?” 

_Tell me it’s not Emma.  Emma has to be all right, and she’s not going to hurt anyone else._ But David couldn’t stop the cold chill that ran down his spine, even though he knew Killian and Emma weren’t together these days and it probably wouldn’t be Killian who heard first if Emma had done something—or had something done to her.  _Please let her be all right._

“Is your phone off?”  The unexpected question made him blink, but Killian just gestured impatiently and went on.  “Whale called me.  Said that someone’s broken into the asylum.  You’d best come quickly.”

“Right.”  Not wanting to forget the other issue, though, David turned quickly to Mulan.  “Come by the station later, all right?  I want to hear what you know.”

Mulan’s frown was faint, but her chin was held high.  “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”  He gave her a quick and sincere smile and then rushed to his truck, with Killian by his side.

Of course, by the time they reached the asylum, Zelena had already let all of Storybrooke’s long-term prisoners out, including Keith Nottingham and Samuel Boucher, the butcher’s son who had attacked the Golds two months earlier.

* * *

 

He’d taken to wandering into the seedier parts of town when Grace was at school.  She spent nights with the parents who the curse had given her—who were surprisingly good people, considering the way Regina had lined things up—but she spent most of her days at Whale’s apartment.  Or she had, anyway, until he’d just up and moved into Jefferson’s house, telling himself and anyone who would listen that it was for Grace’s sake.  But at least that let her stay at home, and Victor was a lot more comfortable surrounded by Jefferson’s things even if he couldn’t find the Hatter.

Still, _someone_ had to know where Jefferson had been taken, even if there was some sort of block keeping magic from finding him.  So, Victor started searching the old fashioned way, asking the town’s worst bastards who might have taken the man he’d come to love.  He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the heroes would come down to this part of town, after all, because they probably didn’t even know that Storybrooke _had_ streets like this one.  All those princes, queens, and special idiots undoubtedly thought of Storybrooke as a bastion of light and hope, but Victor wasn’t that blind.  He might have grown up with money, but he’d discovered plenty of ugly in the world after his brother had died.  And now Victor had no problem wallowing in the filth if it helped him find Jefferson.

“Dr. Whale, isn’t it?” an unfamiliar voice said as he walked down Clinton Road, just past an animal breeder who seemed to have taken in the ugliest and creepiest animals from Camelot and tried to make them look even _scarier_ by cross-breeding _._  

Victor turned.  “Yeah.  Who are you?”

“Name’s Smee.  Been a pirate, a rat, a thief, and all kinds of other things.”  The smaller man grinned.  “I’m the sort that fits down here.  You, not so much.”

“You think I can’t get my hands dirty?  I was run out of town for digging up dead bodies and reanimating them back home.”

Smee snorted.  “Sounds fun.” A calculating gleam entered Smee’s eyes next, however, which put Whale on his guard.  “You know what else sounds fun? Screwing over the almighty bitch that brought us here and who _still_ seems to think that casting the first curse—the worst one!—means she should have power.  Interested?”

_Wow, apparently they don’t issue pirates brains,_ Victor thought, barely managing not to laugh in Smee’s face.  _Explains a lot, though._   “I’m listening.”

It never hurt to hear the idiots out, after all.  Smee could know something useful, or at least something Whale could trade for something _he_ wanted.  He wasn’t dumb enough to throw in with whatever trouble Smee was in, of course, but he was certainly happy to listen to the moron.

“I hear you’ve been pissed off at Her Majesty from moment one.  You want some payback?”

“It depends on how much trouble said payback would be.”  Victor shrugged far more casually than he felt.  “I’ve got a pretty cushy gig as the only real doctor in town, you know.  I’m not dumb enough to damage that just because I don’t like Regina Mills.”

“I get that.”  Smee looked thoughtful, and Victor swore he could smell smoke.  “But am I right in guessing that you don’t want her to have a happy little life with power?  That you might like someone else in the job?  Supporting the right people could gain you a lot of friends.”

“Man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.  My opinion isn’t worth jack in this town, and I don’t really care who the mayor is as long as my paycheck keeps coming and me and mine are safe.  I’m just down here to find a friend.”  And Victor knew that he wasn’t selfless enough to play along with whatever Smee’s friends, whoever they might have been.  He wasn’t some hero to work both sides and try to help the greater good.  He just wanted to find Jefferson.

For some reason, that seemed to get Smee’s attention.  “Who?”

“Jefferson.”  _Can’t win if you don’t play, and it’s not like people don’t know he’s missing,_ Victor reasoned.  “You know.  The Hatter.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen him.” 

“Yeah, neither has anyone else.  That’s why I’m _here_.”

“Nice people really don’t come down this road, you know.”  Smee was starting to look less interested, and Victor fought back his growing feeling of despair.  So far, Smee had been the only person who’d even looked at him twice.  Maybe Smee’s shady friends were his best bet for finding Jefferson.

“Since I’m pretty sure that Jefferson didn’t just wander down here, it actually seems like the right place to look,” he snapped before he could stop himself.  “Everyone who’s up to no good comes here.”

Smee laughed again.  “Not everyone, man.  Just us lowlifes.  No one important comes down here.”

“Lucky for me that I’m not important, then.”

“Pity.  We could have used you.”

And with that, Smee shrugged and walked away, leaving Victor to continue his pointless search alone.

* * *

 

“I think I dislike my brother quite intensely.”  Mordred had been mulling over the issue for a few days, trying not to forget what his mother had told him.  The fact that Rumplestiltskin had somehow found a way to shield him from the Greater Sapphire’s worst effects _should_ have endeared his younger half-sibling to him, but having needed that help still galled him to no end.

His companion snorted.  “Is this news?”

“Lancelot.”  He turned to glare at his distant relative/old friend, who only laughed at him.

“You’ve never liked competition, Mordred.  Not in magical fields or for your mother’s affections—”

“I loved my brothers!”  Any implication that he _hadn’t_ loved Gwaine and even aggravating little Agravaine cut him to the bone; Mordred would have given anything to save either one of them.  Even little Viviane, as much as he’d hated Merlin, had been a charming baby.  _They_ had been his family.  Rumplestiltskin was…well, something else.

“Calm down, Mordred.  I never said you didn’t.”  Lancelot put a hand on his arm, and Mordred swallowed his ire with an effort.  “Just that you really don’t like magical competition, and the fact that your younger half-brother wound up as the Sorcerer drives you insane.”

He sighed.  That much was certainly true, and he could be a little more honest with himself when the Sapphire wasn’t eating at him.  “Quite.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?  Are you going to sit here and pout, or are you going to figure out how to get past it?”

“No.”  The sudden thought hit Mordred, and he smiled.  “I’m going to outdo him in every way.  I’m going to show him that inheriting Merlin’s power doesn’t make him the most knowledgeable sorcerer around.”

Lancelot groaned.  “That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.  This shouldn’t be a competition, you know.”

But now Mordred had the idea in his head, and he turned to his best friend with a grin that made him feel centuries younger.  He _could_ do that.  He didn’t have to make an enemy out of Rumplestiltskin.  He just needed to prove which one of them was better.  Even Mother couldn’t argue about that; she would see it, too, and things would go back to the way they should have always been.  Mordred had a destiny, and he _was_ going to find a way to fulfill it, no matter who else muddied the waters.

“It’s not a competition.  It’s about doing what’s needed, about defeating the darkness once and for all.  Someone of my mother’s line is _destined_ to do that, and it’s going to be me.  And someone of my _father’s_ line has been prophesied to defeat the Black Fairy.  It’ll be me.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He pretended not to hear Lancelot grumbling, and instead headed to the courtyard where he preferred to do his magic.  There was work to be done, and Mordred had sat around moping long enough.  _Let Rumplestiltskin plot and plan.  I’m going to act, and I_ will _do what I’ve always known had to be done._

* * *

 

She still felt like a traitor.

Emma hadn’t wanted to leave the house since Danns’ had visited that morning, and she was starting to think that her initial instinct that the Dark One should stay away from everyone else had been right.  Like she’d tried to tell Regina, she was _dangerous_ , and now she’d managed to betray Bae’s trust.  _And I endangered an innocent child.  I’m doing just_ great, _aren’t I?_   If Emma had been a different sort, she would have destroyed half of her house in a temper tantrum, but that had never been her style.  Instead, she sat and stewed, listening to the voices in her head and hating herself more and more by the moment.

_You can’t save any of them, you know._ Nimue sounded all too logical.  _Not your boy.  Not your ‘friend’s’ little sister.  None of them.  They’ll all die, just like your mother, and—_

A knocking on the door interrupted that pain-inducing thought, just before the tears could well up in Emma’s eyes.  How had she forgotten about her mother?  Snow had died two months earlier, and her loss still _burned._   Emma could see it every time she looked at her father, could see the gaping hole left in David’s soul, could see how badly her dad missed her mom and how hard it was for him to greet every day with a smile.  David was so strong, and Emma wanted to be that strong, too, but she had this darkness festering in her that would never let her forget.  _And now I’m enslaved by the woman who protects my mother’s murderer._   That dark thought dashed her grief away long enough for Emma to wrench the door open.

Her fury, however, sputtered out when she saw Neal—Baelfire, damn it, when would she learn?—standing there.  Her jaw dropped open and she stared stupidly.  “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t come by and see a friend who also happens to be my kid’s mom?”

“Is Henry okay?”  The mention of their son made Emma’s heart leap into her throat.

“Yeah, he’s fine.  He’s with my dad, actually.  They were hanging out in the shop last I saw.”  Baelfire shrugged.  “Worried about you, though.  Can I come in?”

“Sure.”  She didn’t really want him to, but maybe _not_ being alone might be nice.  Bae didn’t bother her with stupid questions, at least.  _And if anyone figures out the mess I’m in, it’ll be him or Henry._ That thought brought with it a sudden flash of hope, and Emma stepped back to let him in.  “Why’s Henry worried?”

“Cause you’re acting weird.”  He’d always been blunt, and now he looked her right in the face.  “Regina told my dad you wouldn’t do magic to protect him, and we’re all noticing that you’re kind of hair-triggered lately.”

Emma felt herself stiffen, and she took an involuntary step backwards.  _He knows,_ the darkness whispered, and she felt the chill of fear roll through her.  She wasn’t permitted to tell anyone, and part of Emma was terrified of what would happen if someone figured it out.  Her predecessors had plenty of memories of horrific punishments at Danns’ hands—yet a part of her, the non-Dark One part, felt the sudden thrill of hope.  “I’m sorry if I don’t measure up to your standards these days,” she snapped before she could stop herself.  “Having elemental darkness chewing on your soul does that.”

“Emma, dude, calm down.”  Baelfire held his hands up in surrender.  “I’m not blaming you, okay?  I get that it’s hard.  I’m not saying you’re not handling being the Dark One pretty damned well, either.  I just want to know if there’s something else going on.”

_Yes!_ Could he figure it out?  Could she give him a hint?  But even when Emma tried to respond like she _wanted_ to, her lips betrayed her and demanded:  “Like what?”

_No telling,_ Nimue mocked her.  Then it was Rumplestiltskin’s giggle.  _Have to find a loophole first, dearie, and you’re not too good at that, are you?_ Emma wanted to scream in frustration, but the command to not show any signs she was being controlled held fast, and she couldn’t.

“Hell if I know.” He shrugged.  “You’re the Dark One.  I just lived in my dad’s body for a bit and got the CliffsNotes version.”

“Yeah, well, then you know it’s complicated.”  Emma snorted, hoping that he’d get the hint.  But it was too broad, and sailed right by him. 

“Isn’t everything?”

“Yeah.”  _I don’t have the dagger,_ she wanted to say.  _I’m not in control_.  But the damned words still wouldn’t come.  Could she try something more subtle?   “I’m not—it’s like I can’t always, um, stop myself.”

Damn it all, was that the best she could do?

Yeah, it apparently was.

“Your heart’s not already going black, is it?” Bae suddenly looked concerned.  “Belle and Henry told me about that mess.”

“I don’t think so.”  _Why can’t you go for the obvious problem?  You were in Gold’s head when Zelena controlled him!_

He nodded thoughtfully.  “So, what’s the reason, then?”

“Reason for what?”  _Reason I’m not in control?  Exhibit A: the Black Fairy._

“That you wouldn’t help Regina with protecting Henry’s heart.”  She hesitated, and he clearly noticed, because he continued:  “C’mon, I know there’s got to be something, even if I can’t see it.”

“I can’t trust myself, okay?”  Much to Emma’s surprise, the words came out just the way she intended.  “I’m not”— _in control_ —“who I want to be.”

“You’re still his mom, though.  Henry trusts you.”  Bae’s smile was probably meant to be encouraging, but Emma felt herself swallow hard.

“He shouldn’t.”

“Just ‘cause you’re the Dark One?  We both know that’s stupid.  You don’t love less because of that.  I learned that too late, but Henry’s a lot smarter than I was.”

At first, those words warmed her.  For a moment.  It was nice to have someone who looked at her like she was still Emma, not like she was some dark creature masquerading as Emma Swan.  She was blackened and she was _wrong_ , but underneath all that, she was still a person who Baelfire seemed to understand.  Then she remembered, and her good feelings evaporated.  _I don’t love less, but I betray people.  Even ones I love,_ Emma thought miserably.  _I broke your trust_.  She’d told the Black Fairy about Neal’s little sister, and she still felt horrible.  Just _looking_ at him made her feel worse, and she snapped her head away to stare at the wall instead of him.

“Emma?”  The hand that landed on her arm made her jump. 

“You should leave.”  The words were harsh, but she couldn’t protect him if he didn’t go.

“ _What?_ ”

“You should leave before I find some other way to hurt you.”  Somehow, that slipped past all the commands she’d been given, and even if the words made Emma wince, they were true.

“You haven’t hurt me, Emma.  And even if you did, I’m tough.  I can take it.”  He stepped in front of her so that she had to meet his eyes.  “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

 “A thousand things.”  That wasn’t even a lie, and it didn’t have to refer to her being controlled.  Was that the loophole she was looking for?  Emma tried for a sad smile, but it came across as a grimace.

Then Baelfire asked what was _almost_ the right question, but not quite close enough: “Is this something else the damned darkness won’t let you say?”

_Not the darkness,_ she wanted to say, but a different answer came out.  “Something like that.”

“I’m not gonna think less of you, you know.”

“You should,” she whispered.

 “Not gonna happen.”  His smile was sad.  “I’m always going to care for you, Emma.  No matter where we go or who we’re with.”  Neal didn’t say the words, but Emma still heard them ringing in the air: _I still love you._

Maybe she was weak, and maybe she shouldn’t do it, but the loneliness was killing her and Emma couldn’t make sense of her own emotions.  She just wanted something _real_ , so she didn’t let herself think.  She just stepped forward and kissed him.  Hard.

Baelfire squeaked in surprise, but his arms wrapped around her quickly enough, letting Emma pour all of her desperation into the kiss.  Maybe it could say what she couldn’t, and even if it couldn’t, she didn’t care.  She _wanted_ him, had always loved him, and Emma just wanted to be Emma for a little while.  And for once, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t the darkness driving her, because this wasn’t lust.  This was something much more complicated, and yet much more comfortable.

Drawing back after a long moment, Emma buried her face in his shoulder and just held on tight.  A long moment passed as they held onto one another before Baelfire asked:

“Not that I’m objecting, but what was that?”

Her laugh was shaky. “Don’t ask, okay?  Not yet.”

“You got it.”

_Well, you got him to stop asking what was wrong,_ Nimue’s wry voice commented.  _Are you sure that was what you wanted?_

Emma didn’t have an answer for that.  These days, figuring out what she wanted was so damned hard.  All she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Three—“Ere the Coming of the Queen”, in which Belle seeks pregnancy advice, Lancelot tries to talk sense into Mordred, Killian takes Robin and Roland sailing, Belle talks to her grandparents, and Emma is ordered to do something she very much does not want to do.
> 
> In other news, I’ve posted another ROC/Ruins & Battles one shot: “Ruins of a Contract”. Check it out when you have the time—its events will come to matter in future chapters of this story.


	73. Ere the Coming of the Queen

Belle hadn’t expected Morgan to come see her so soon when she’d asked her mother-in-law to come by, but Morgan showed up at the library, just a few hours after she’d texted her that morning.  Morgan was a very welcome sight by then, particularly when she had just started her second set of strange cravings.  She’d read every book in the library on pregnancy, but they all contradicted one another, and trying to find information on the internet was like walking into a minefield.  Still, she was pretty sure that cookie dough and ketchup were a _weird_ combination to crave, even if that was what her hormones currently demanded.  Talking to someone who’d actually had a child—more than one, in Morgan’s case—was going to be really nice.

Morgan eyed her stack of cookie dough balls with no surprise, taking in the bottle of ketchup in Belle’s other hand without blinking.  “Started already, have they?”  

“Yes.”  She grimaced.  “It tastes _terrible,_ but it’s all I want.  And I’m not sure the uncooked cookie dough is good for the baby, either.  The package says not to eat it like this.”

“If that’s the worst you crave, you’re doing fine.”  Her mother-in-law pulled over a chair and sat down without ceremony.  “I craved soap while pregnant with Gwaine and raw onions with Viviane.  Cookie dough and ketchup sounds lovely in comparison.”

“Ewww.”  Belle helped herself to another ball of cookie dough, dipping it in ketchup and popping it in her mouth.  She hadn’t been lying; the combination tasted terrible, but wonderful at the same time.  “Is it always like that?”

“Sometimes.  Mordred, Agravaine, and Rumplestiltskin were fairly ordinary: I just wanted strange foods.  Though I did find that my cravings with Mordred and Viviane changed more rapidly, probably because of how much magic they had.”

“I’m on my second one already, and I’m barely eight weeks along.”  Belle had rarely felt so out of her depth; she could research all day long and ask Rumple questions, but he’d never _been_ pregnant, even if he was already a father.  Times like this, she missed her mother terribly, and she was really glad that Morgan was around. 

_We didn’t even know her a few months ago,_ Belle tried to caution herself.  She had grandparents, too—and had even known them longer!—but she knew that her desire to trust them was a mistake.  Morgan was a lot more straightforward about what she wanted, though, and Belle had already seen how fiercely protective Morgan was of her children.  _And of children in general, given how she facilitated moving Robin’s daughter from Zelena to Regina.  She didn’t have to do that, yet she did anyway._ When it came to the topic of childbirth, Morgan was probably one of the safest choices in town.

“I think it’s safe to say that there’s nothing _not_ magical about the daughter you’re carrying.”  Morgan’s half-smile was a little crooked.

“You think so?”  Somehow, Belle hadn’t even thought about that.  She knew that magic didn’t always pass by blood, so she hadn’t even begun to wonder if her daughter would have it.  The idea of being pregnant was still too new, and she wasn’t even showing yet.

“Between you and Rumplestiltskin, there’s almost no chance of a child without magic.  Magic _can_ skip a generation, mind—and often does with original powers, else I wouldn’t be a half power myself—but I don’t think it has, here.”

“Why not?”

“There’s never been a child that is the line of two different original powers before, save Viviane.”  Morgan’s eyes grew distant, and her smile faltered.  “She would have been something extraordinary, I think, though I never knew for sure.  But I think your child will be as well.”

Belle swallowed hard, remembering what Morgan had said the first time they talked about her magic.  “You really think I inherited the White Faery’s power?”

The very thought was terrifying; Belle was still getting used to the idea of having magic at all.  Oh, she’d learned some simple spells and potions, things _anyone_ could learn, but this was different.  This was real and extraordinary magic, as exciting as it was frightening.  The fact that she might be something _different_ , like Rumplestiltskin had become, was enough to take her breath away.  _I always wanted to be a hero, to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.  Is this how I’m going to do that?_   She shivered.

“Not in its entirety, no.”  Morgan put a hand on hers.  “I think some was lost in the transfer, or perhaps Danns’ still possesses a portion of it.  You’re not an original power.”

“I’m not?”  She didn’t know if she should be disappointed or relieved.  Belle _thought_ she was relieved.  But she wasn’t sure.

“Short of cutting you with a secondary power—which I don’t recommend—I can’t be utterly positive.  But I’ve known more original powers than any human left alive, and you don’t feel like one.  Not quite.”  Her mother-in-law smiled sadly.  “You’re something else.”

“It doesn’t make me a fairy—or a faery—does it?”  Once, as a little girl, Belle would have found that idea exciting, but now, having seen what she had, she was more than a little wary.  _Or sickened, though that might just be the pregnancy._

Morgan laughed bitterly.  “No, of course not.  You’re human, even if you’ve inherited faery power.  More human than I, honestly.”

“You?  But you chose—”

“Life forced me to choose one side or the other.   I chose humanity, but that will never stop me from being half fae.”

Belle had never thought of Morgan that way, and it really had never occurred to her that Rumplestiltskin had a part-faery heritage, too.  _I guess that’s why he can’t cast too many stones at me on that front, even if he’s spent his life hating all flavors of fairy,_ she thought behind a grim smile.  But thinking of the fae and the fairies brought Belle around to her next thoughts, so she squared her shoulders and changed the subject.

“Speaking of my grandmother…I, uh, was going to accept her invitation.  Not because I think I can trust her,” Belle added quickly when Morgan looked at her in surprise, “but because I want to understand what they’re doing.  I thought that you might be able to give me a little information on that first, though, since you seem to know them both well.”

“I do.  Maybe too well.”  Morgan grimaced.  “It all comes down to power.  Arthur had always been ambitious, had always wanted to be _the_ king.  He wasn’t a bad king until she came along and promised him more, but don’t make the mistake of thinking he doesn’t know what Danns’ wants.  He does.”

Belle swallowed, forcing herself not to argue.  She _had_ hoped that maybe her grandfather could be swayed away from these world-shattering goals that her grandmother seemed to have, but Morgan would know.  From what Morgan had shared before, she’d tried to pull him away in the past, only to be laughed away.  “Why does she want to collapse the walls between the realms, though?  Wouldn’t that…hurt people?  Destroy worlds?  How is _that_ ‘power’?”

“Because she can then remake the world of magic in her image.”  Morgan’s expression was grim.  “The fae are all magical enough to survive the collapse.  Humans…humans are not so fortunate.  Tens of thousands would die.”

“She says that things aren’t what they seem.”  Belle desperately wanted that to be true, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t.

Morgan snorted.  “She lies.”

“I have to hear her out.  They’re my grandparents—I owe them that much.”

That only got her another sad smile, but at least Morgan didn’t argue any more.  Rumplestiltskin had, of course—at great length—though Belle had mostly convinced him that she should talk to her grandparents one last time.  He wasn’t happy, but he respected her wishes.  And they both knew that she stood the chance of learning important information if only she could be clever and subtle enough.

Now Belle just had to figure out how to do that.

* * *

 

“You’re really determined to do this, aren’t you?”

Silence answered his question, and Lancelot tried not to groan.  Mordred was predictable in so many ways, and once he got an idea in his head, he was impossible to dissuade.  _He got the worst of the Cornwall stubbornness mixed with Pendragon ambition,_ the fallen knight thought wryly.  _I do wish Morgan had listened to Mother when she told her what a bad idea having a child with Arthur was._   Then again, Lancelot didn’t exactly have much of a leg to stand on.  _He’d_ never really listened to his mother, either.   And not doing so had led him down paths he regretted to this day.

“Mordred.”  His voice was sharp enough to make his friend finally look up, and Lancelot met his eyes.  “You’re really trying to research your way into besting the _Sorcerer_ at what an original power does best, aren’t you?”

Mordred scowled.  “Rumplestiltskin might have the power, but he doesn’t have the experience.  I do.  And if I carefully use the Sapphire—”

“Are we _really_ going to go down that road?  The thing was busy killing you!”

“I know.”  Mordred sighed.  “It’s just…the Sapphire is a tool begging to be used, and with it I _could_ be all but an original power.  I know it.”

Lancelot sat down next to him, trying to swallow his annoyance without much success.  “You know, you could focus on using the power you have instead of trying to acquire more.”

“I need more if I’m going to—”

“Fulfill the prophecies, yes.  I heard you the first ten thousand times.”  The words earned him a glare, but Lancelot shrugged it away.  “Why do you have to let your mother’s Sight dictate your destiny?  Why not use the power you have to _help_ people, like we wanted to do in Camelot before we screwed up so badly?”

“I’m meant for _more_ than that, Lance.”  Brown eyes focused on him, looking a little hurt.  “Besides, what’s this sudden fascination with heroics?  Have you been hanging around those infernally short-sighted do-gooders again?”

He scowled.  “No.  I’m just old enough to have contemplated the many things I’ve done in life and regret them.”

“We did what we had—”

“You might have.  I didn’t.”  Lancelot swallowed hard.  “I lost my way after Colette married.  I fought as a soldier for hire, and I did terrible things.  There’s a reason they called me the Leviathan in the Enchanted Forest, and it’s not because I was a good and noble example of what the Round Table stood for.  It’s because I butchered anyone who stood in my way, no matter who they were.”

Mordred shrugged, and the crooked smile on his face saddened Lancelot more than words could express.  _He thinks I’m still the good man I was when we fought for Camelot, yet I’ve become a man whom even Colette would be ashamed of._ “I’m sure you did what you had to in order to survive.”

“I didn’t.”  He swallowed.  “I really didn’t.”

He didn’t want to think of those he had killed, both when he’d been fighting for King George and for others.  He didn’t want to think of the armies he had led, of the towns burned down or the innocent lives destroyed.  Yet Lancelot saw them in his mind’s eye all too often, and there was nothing anyone could say to convince him otherwise.  And yet…yet he wanted to _try_ to be better.  He knew that the path towards redemption wasn’t easy, and he doubted he’d ever make up for what he’d done, but Lancelot was determined to try.

“Please,” he whispered when Mordred just stared at him in confusion.  “Please help me do something right for once in my life.”

A long moment passed in silence, and then Mordred nodded.

* * *

 

David had left a message on his phone asking Rumplestiltskin to come to the sheriff’s station, and in a fit of curiosity, he’d complied.  He’d had his head in books all morning, researching, _thinking_ , and planning, and coming up for air was probably a good idea.  To say that he wasn’t on edge would be a lie; Rumplestiltskin knew that there was a war coming, but it wasn’t there yet, and although he usually treasured the calm before the storm as a good time to plot and plan, he kept thinking that there was something he was missing.  Something important.

Today, however, was probably not going to be the day he found out what it was, so he walked into the sheriff’s station, surprised to see David alone.  Robin was usually there, though he supposed that the former outlaw might have been out hunting the escaped asylum inmates.  Whatever Robin was up to, David sat behind the desk, frowning at the ancient computer.  The surprise on his face when Rumplestiltskin walked in was obvious.

“You came.”

He shrugged a little self-consciously.  A few months ago, Rumplestiltskin would have scorned the prince’s efforts to reach out to him.  Now, however, he found himself strangely amicable about it.  “Your message implied that you needed assistance.”

“Yeah, I could use some help.  If you’re willing.”  David’s smile wasn’t exactly sly, but Rumplestiltskin found himself a little wary.

“If it’s about those two… _vermin_ who escaped the asylum—”

“It isn’t.  I remember what they did to you, and Regina’s covering the magic part of finding them.  It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” Despite himself, Rumplestiltskin was curious.

David sighed.  “Emma’s working on a way to catch Zelena again, but I think we need something stronger than just that anti-magic cuff to hold her.  Can you, I don’t know, help make a cell that would hold her?”  The other man winced, seemingly realizing the irony in what he was about to say. “Kind of like the one the fairies made to hold you.”

“I could, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help snorting.  “Are you telling me that you don’t want to trust Reul Ghorm with such a task?”

“Honestly?  No, I don’t want to.  She’s refused to help against the Black Fairy, and…well, I’m not Snow.”  David’s face twisted up in pain.  “I want to trust her, but she doesn’t seem to want to be on our team.”

“Tell me about it,” he breathed, and then shook himself.  “A cell is simple enough, and may prove useful for any of our myriad of enemies.  Is that all you needed?”

“Mostly.  Though I was hoping you had some news on Jefferson.  Whale said that you and Regina both failed.”

“Unfortunately, yes.  There’s something blocking any magical means of locating him.”  Rumplestiltskin scowled.  Jefferson was something of a friend, and although he certainly suspected _who_ was blocking said spells, he didn’t exactly have proof.  He couldn’t even prove that Jefferson was alive, and that grated on him.  _If what I gleaned from Merlin’s memories is true…there is nothing good about this._

Jefferson had been missing for almost two weeks, and even Rumplestiltskin was getting worried.

* * *

 

This time, she had been summoned to Danns’ home, which Emma viewed as exactly one percent better than having her own home invaded by the damned fairy.  Even if she _did_ wind up on her knees and glaring.

“I have a task for you, Dark One.”  Danns’ spoke without preamble.  “Someone needs to die.”

Horrible though it was, Emma’s heart leapt.  She remembered the deal that she’d made with Rumplestiltskin, and if this was her way out, she would take it.  Bloodthirsty though that made her, Emma didn’t _care._   Still, she couldn’t afford to look too excited.  “Who do you want dead?  It’s not like I can say no.”

She would try, though.  She hoped.  Emma didn’t _want_ to kill anyone.  Killing Granny had been bad enough.  Hopefully, this would be someone like one of Arthur’s knights, someone who deserved it—or maybe even Arthur himself.  _That_ she’d do without arguing.  She’d even be eager.  _He killed my mother._ The thought made her rage coil up, smoking silently and banishing her worries.

“Not an innocent, though.”  The Black Fairy smiled, as if she could read Emma’s thoughts.  “Hardly someone to activate the oh-so-clever contract Rumplestiltskin made you agree to.  Don’t you wish that he’d kept the dagger, now?”

The sudden change of subject made Emma blink, but pain rose until she answered from behind gritted teeth: “Yes.”

“It’s almost a pity he didn’t.  I would have relished that challenge.”  Danns’ seemed to shake herself free of some fantasy.  “And yet, he did not, so now you belong to me.  As you should.”

_The hell I do,_ Emma wanted to snarl.  But she’d learned to keep her mouth shut after one too many punishments.  Danns’ couldn’t read her thoughts, though, so at least she could hate her in the privacy of her own mind.  _And if she wants me to kill someone who_ isn’t _innocent, there’s no way out._ Emma had to fight her.  She _wasn’t_ going to become a killer again, even if the darkness inside her was swelling in sweet anticipation.  Deep beneath that, though, lay a reminder that she pushed aside too quickly to register: resistance had a price, a price Emma was not prepared to pay.

But she had to fight.  If she didn’t, she’d lose herself completely.  The darkness started to whisper something that might have been a warning, but the dagger’s holder spoke too soon, cutting it short.  _Who else might you—?_

“Now, on to whom you’re going to kill for me.  As I said, he is no innocent.  In fact, he’s a kidnapper and a mass murderer, hardly worthy of the anger you’re shaking with right now.”  Danns’ laughed softly, running her fingers down the flat of the dagger’s blade, and Emma could almost _feel_ those fingers touching _her_.  She shuddered helplessly.  “Are you going to fight me?”

“Yes!”  The word came out almost as a shout, and Emma didn’t stop herself from glaring this time. “I’m not some murdering tool who you can—”

The dagger flicked at her, and Emma’s head exploded in pain.

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin knew he was asking that same question for the third time, but he didn’t care.

“It’s only dinner, Rumple.  And even Morgan says that my grandmother won’t hurt _me._ ”  Belle’s hands squeezed his oh so gently, but it did nothing to calm his raging nerves.  “I have to hear them out.  I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to wrap his wife in his arms and never let go.  He’d learned a long time ago that trying to stop Belle from doing what she felt was right was damned near impossible, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.  He’d simply have to trust her instincts, have to believe that she—and his mother—were right, and that Danns’ a’Bhàis would not harm her own granddaughter.

“I worry,” he said softly, and Belle leaned in to kiss him softly.

“I know.  I love you for it, even when I think you worry too much.”

He snorted.  “Impossible.”

“You agreed that I might learn something useful.”  Belle’s voice was still gentle, but he could see her trying not to smile.

“That doesn’t mean—” He cut himself off with an effort.  “I’m not going to have this argument again.  Just be careful, please.  And if anything goes wrong—or you’re even a moment late—I’m going to show up.”

Her laugh was a little uneasy, but the bravery shining in Belle’s eyes—as always—took his breath away.  “I’m kind of counting on that.”

“Please be careful.”  Rumplestiltskin hated how weak his whisper sounded, how afraid for her he was.  But the truth had always been simple.  No matter how powerful Rumplestiltskin was, he’d always fear losing those he loved.  He’d finally come to accept that about himself rather than hating it, but he still had a hard time letting any of them walk into danger without him.

“I promise.”

* * *

 

Emma woke up to someone crouching over her, and she lashed out without thinking, magic slashing out of her hands and throwing the interloper against the far wall.  He hit with a cry as Emma jumped to her feet, the darkness boiling within her and _burning_ for someone to hurt.  She’d finally passed out from the pain, because of course Danns’ wanted her to submit willingly instead of simply commanding her.  Emma had refused to, which meant the Black Fairy had only dragged her punishment out.  She’d actually slipped under twice, only to find herself awoken by a painful command, and Emma was more than a little surprised to find that she’d actually been allowed to wake naturally this time.

She was more surprised, however, by the sight of Jefferson dragging himself painfully to his feet.  _Shit._ She’d known he was missing, of course; most of Storybrooke did, and Henry had mentioned it a bunch of times.  But Emma hadn’t thought to look for Jefferson here.

“Sorry about that.” Ashamed, she looked away, not quite able to make herself focus on Jefferson’s pale face or the dark circles under his eyes.  He looked worse than he had when he’d been half-mad under the curse, and that was saying something.  He was dressed neatly, almost too neatly, but the clothes didn’t cover all of the bruises or sealed-off wounds. 

“Hardly your fault.  She has that effect on people.”  He seemed like he was trying to smile, but when Emma peeked, the expression looked more like a grimace.

“Are you all right?”  Emma didn’t want to know the answer, but she had to ask.

Jefferson snorted.  “Are you?”

“Okay.  Fair question.”  She didn’t answer it, either, but even as Emma shifted uneasily—noticing how her limbs tried to shake and her body wanted to collapse into a heap, because _damn_ she still hurt.  How many hours _had_ the Black Fairy worked her over?  Having the dagger meant that the bitch didn’t even need to leave a mark to put Emma in excruciating pain, though she was willing to bet that she was as wan and miserable looking as Jefferson right now.

“Look, we don’t have much time.”  Jefferson stepped forward, his eyes burning into hers desperately.  “She’ll probably command you not to tell anyone I’m here…but just in case she doesn’t, can you tell Grace that I’m okay?  I don’t want her to worry.”

“Probably a little late for that.  It’s been two weeks.”

Jefferson swayed in shock.  “Is that all?”

“Yeah.”  At least Emma was pretty sure it had been.  She’d have to ask Henry to be sure, and didn’t that make her a crap mother?  But her head was spinning so violently that she could barely think—but she _could_ help Jefferson, couldn’t she?  Emma focused with an effort.  “We need to get you— _arghh!_ ”

_Now, now,_ Nimue’s mocking voice echoed in her head like a rapid ping pong ball as Emma clutched at her skull.  _Can’t go against her interests_ , _remember?  Letting your friend go could definitely constitute as that._

“It’s okay,” Jefferson said quickly.  “She’ll kill Grace if I try.  I can’t.”

“Oh, God.”  The realization slammed into Emma, and suddenly, she had to lean on the wall for support, completely forgetting the pain in her head.  She’d _fought_.  Danns’ had told her what would happen if she disobeyed, if she tried to fight, and—

“I do believe our dear Dark One is a little distressed, don’t you, pet?”

Emma whirled around, her heart in her throat, barely noticing the listless way Jefferson stepped forward when Danns’ beckoned for him.  He stopped at the Black Fairy’s side, tense and miserable, flinching slightly as she ran a hand through his hair.  Danns’ only smiled and looked at Emma.

“You do remember what I told you would happen if you fought me, don’t you?”

She had never felt so cold in her life.  “Yes,” Emma whispered.

“Kneel.”

Emma knelt without thinking, desperate not to further anger the woman who held her family’s lives in her hands.  After a moment, it occurred to her that she couldn’t see the dagger.  Where _was_ it?  She hadn’t been commanded, which meant that Danns’ didn’t have it in hand, but that didn’t mean that Emma was free.  She knew that too well.  But if she could find it—

Searing agony greeted that thought, and Emma gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming.  _Give in,_ the darkness whispered—surprisingly enough, in Rumplestiltskin’s imp-like voice.  _Choose your battles, dearie.  You’ll_ have _to obey her, so don’t make any more dire than you already have to._

“Please don’t hurt my family.”  Emma hated pleading, hated giving in like this, but the voices inside her were right.  “I’ll—I’ll do what you want.”  She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself bitterly, but what choice did she have?  Danns’ didn’t _need_ her to give in.  She just wanted her to.  Too late, Emma understood the cost of defiance.

“You would have me go back on my word?  I did make you a promise.”

Emma cringed, realizing that question was safest left unanswered.  Danns’ only waited a moment before turning and kissing Jefferson lightly on the lips.

“Go downstairs and rest.  You’ll need it.”

Jefferson flinched but did not argue, and his footsteps echoed ominously in the room until he closed the door behind him.  The silence was dark and heavy, making Emma want to shiver and lash out.  _You’ll feel better once you kill,_ the darkness promised, and Emma just shuddered.  Finally, Danns’ turned back to face her, several seconds after the door clicked shut.  _She makes you wait.  Hurt someone for it._

“Choose one,” the Black Fairy said without preamble.  “Choose a family member to die.”

“I can’t—” She almost screamed in pain, because the dagger was back in Danns’ hands, and _that_ had been a command.  Then, amidst the pain, she realized that there was a way out, and suddenly rage and pain outweighed the heartache.  “My _mother._ ”

That jerked Danns’ up short.  “Your mother is already dead.”

“By _your_ husband’s hand,” Emma snarled, the loss of her mother rearing up and making her heart shatter all over again.  “He said he’d make it up to us.  _He_ said he didn’t mean to and that he’d make it right.  Let _this_ be how he does that.”

She braced herself for pain, for punishment, but it never came.

“So, you finally found a loophole.”  Danns’ sounded almost admiring.  “Clever.”

A twitch of the dagger dragged her to her feet, and Danns’ stepped close.  Emma trembled despite herself, desperate to pull away in case the fairy got it in her head to stab her with the dagger again.  Or worse.  Assuming there was worse.  _Looking at Jefferson, there is._   But Emma held her ground, both because she refused to back down and because she was afraid of what might happen if she tried to pull away.  _Her commands won’t let you, either,_ Nimue reminded her.  _You’re not brave._

“Very well.  Never let it be said that I do not honor my family’s obligations.”  The dagger touched her cheek, and Emma shuddered as it traced her cheekbone, terrifyingly close to her left eye.  “A death was promised, and a life was taken.  But do not try me again, for next time, I will not let you choose.  Do you understand?”

Emma almost couldn’t breathe through her relief.  She nodded, unable to believe her luck.  “Yes.”

“Good.”  The whimsical voice turned cold.  “Go kill Lancelot.  Destroy the body.  Leave no evidence.  Allow no witnesses.  If anyone happens to see what you have done, kill them as well.  Tell no one.”

Each word burned into her like a brand, and Emma knew there was no way out.  But before she could teleport away, the darkness _eager_ to carry out those commands, Danns’ added:

“Oh, and do not speak of my pet.  To anyone.”

* * *

 

He had promised to take Roland sailing, and Killian always honored his promises.  Had Robin not collared Keith Nottingham that morning, the Hoods might not have been able to come along, but the former outlaw had found his old enemy easily enough, which left the afternoon for sailing.  Killian _had_ offered to help David hunt down Samuel Boucher, the troublesome butcher’s boy who’d been Keith’s accomplice, but Regina and David had shooed them away.  Part of him hated the idea of going on an enjoyable trip to sea while others did the heavy lifting, but the rest of Killian relished any opportunity to take his beloved ship out.  In the end, he’d managed to co-opt enough of his old crew into sailing the _Jolly Roger_ that the trip didn’t quite feel like a waste of time; he was able to hear what they were talking about and learn a little more about who they worked for.  Most of them seemed to view Robin as a kindred spirit due to his outlaw days, so the trip turned out to be enjoyable all around.

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end, and Killian eased the ship back into her berth two hours before the sun went down.  He’d let Roland “steer” (with his own hand on the ship’s wheel, of course), and the lad was still beaming after they stepped off the brow and back onto shore.

“That was cool!”  Roland was all but skipping, and even Robin was grinning.  “Can we get ice cream now, Papa?”

“Not before dinner.”

“But _Henry_ said—”

“Henry is much older than you, but he still can’t have ice cream before dinner, either,” Robin replied as Killian tried not to laugh. 

“But it’s _ice cream_.”

“And it will ruin your dinner.  So, no.  And not today at all if you don’t stop asking.”  Robin stopped and crossed his arms, which made Roland do the same.  Within a few seconds, Roland was pouting.

Killian was still trying not to smile too hugely, but unfortunately, Roland saw his amusement.

“Do _you_ think I can have ice cream, Mr. Captain?” the boy asked, turning huge eyes on him.

“Uh, I think I’ll defer to your father’s wisdom on that front, lad.”  He was _not_ getting in the middle of this tempest, even if Roland was pouting harder.  In fact, now the five-year-old looked downright sad, his eyes wide and growing watery.

“You don’t like ice cream?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“Then we can have ice cream!” Roland started bouncing up and down so excitedly that Killian had to blink to make sure the lad hadn’t acquired springs.  Fortunately, they were far enough from the edge of the dock that the Roland wasn’t likely to hop off by accident, but his enthusiasm didn’t make that an absolute certainty, either.   _Children.  This is why pirates don’t deal with the bloody rug rats. They win every time!_ Turning to Robin helplessly, he gestured for Roland’s father to take over the conversation, but Robin was too busy choking back laughter to help.

“I didn’t say that,” he tried to object, but Roland just overrode him gleefully.

“Ice cream!  Ice cream!  Ice—”

“How can _anyone_ tolerate that much whining?” Zelena’s voice intruded, and even as Killian and Robin spun around to face her, she waved a hand. 

Magic filled the air, and Roland went abruptly silent, his brown eyes going as wide as saucers.  Killian could hear his soundless gasp, but the boy’d been muted and Roland clearly knew it.  He darted for his father as Killian cursed himself for not carrying a weapon.  Too many years of having a weapon for a hand had spoiled him, and now he was defenseless against the insane witch that had tried to kill him not too long ago.  Robin, however, wasn’t.  Much to Killian’s surprise, _he_ had a pistol in hand, and it was pointed straight at Zelena.

“Take that spell off of my son or I will shoot you where you stand.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.  “You won’t shoot me.”

_Crack!_

The shot took Zelena high in the right shoulder making her stagger as blood blossomed on her black dress.  Had her skin still been green, it occurred to Killian that she might have looked festive in a macabre kind of way, but now Zelena just went pale, landing on her rear.  She looked up at them from the floor of the dock with utter shock, her blue eyes wide and confused.  Anger, however, followed quickly.

“You _shot_ me?” Zelena gaped.

“Get lost or I’ll do it again.”  Robin’s voice was rock hard and his aim was steady; in that moment, Killian really admired the man.

Zelena, however, just snarled in frustration and snapped: “You’ll pay for this!” before disappearing in a swirl of green smoke.

“Nice shot.”  Or at least it had been if Robin hadn’t been aiming to kill Zelena, which Killian probably would have been in his shoes.  Some people in town probably would cry a river over Robin shooting an ‘unarmed woman’, but Killian wanted to applaud.  _Then again, after what she did to the poor bloke, anyone with half a brain should cheer with me._ Still, Zelena’s departure presented a problem.  “What about the lad?”

Robin heaved a sigh, holstered his weapon, and leaned down to pick his son up.  “Let’s go find Regina.  She’ll get it off easily enough.”  He kissed Roland’s forehead as the boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.  “It’ll be all right.  I’ve got you.”

Roland nodded wordlessly, but Killian could see the tears streaking down the poor lad’s face.  He’d been every bit as caustic as Zelena, once, in the worst of his pirate days, but even he’d never victimized small children.  Watching the boy made Killian’s heart twist up painfully, so he offered Roland the best smile he could when the lad glanced his way.

“Maybe then we’ll get some ice cream?  Would you like that?”

This time Roland’s nod was firmer, and his eyes were a little brighter.

* * *

 

Arthur met Belle at the door, hugging her like she was made of glass.  “We’re very glad you could come.”

“So am I.”  Belle accepted the embrace, but she didn’t really let herself relax into her grandfather, either.  He might have been the less evil of the pair, but she knew enough to know that Arthur had chosen this life.  He wasn’t blinded by love, and Danns’ wasn’t lying to him, either.  He was where he wanted to be, and a full partner in her grandmother’s grand plans.  That meant she was wary of him, too.  No matter how much she wanted to love him.

“Dinner’s just about ready.  Please, come sit down.”

Following Arthur into the dining room, Belle noticed how her grandmother walked in from another doorway at the same time she did.  Somehow, she couldn’t imagine _either_ of her grandparents cooking.  Even under the curse, Widow Morton had been finicky but rich, and Belle was willing to guess that she had a cook.  Sure enough, a demure-looking young woman walked in after a few moments, laying out plates.  First came a salad, followed by a fancy pasta dish with chicken.  Belle couldn’t quite identify what it was—Lacey’s cursed memories didn’t exactly run to gourmet food—but it smelled good, and not too spicy.  Nothing made her stomach turn, either, which Belle figured was a bonus.

_It’s not like I want to let them know that I’m pregnant,_ Belle thought.  _Rumple said that even Grandmother won’t be able to tell unless she’s looking, and I should_ know _if she tries that._ She let out a breath to steady herself and got straight to the point.  “I’m here because you wanted a chance to tell me your side of the story.”

“So you are.”  Her grandmother smiled.  “And we thank you for it.”

“Then let’s not waste time.”  Belle met the Black Fairy’s eyes bluntly.  “I’ll be honest.  I _wanted_ to love you and trust you, but you refused to be honest with me.”

Her honesty made Arthur grimace.  “We feared you would react badly.  As you have.”

“ _Hiding_ things never makes them better.”  Belle had ample experience with that in her life, and the last thing she wanted was someone _else_ taking over the family role of subterfuge and lies just when Rumplestiltskin had finally laid it to rest.  So, she ignored Arthur and his pleading look to turn to her grandmother.  “Is what Morgan says true?  _Do_ you intend to destroy the walls between all magical realms and merge them into one?”

“I do, yes.”  Danns’ didn’t so much as twitch under Belle’s gaze.  “Though my purpose is not exactly what Morgan would have you believe.”

Both her eyebrows were threatening to mate with her hairline.  “Oh?”

“The worlds were not always as they are.  Once, there were but two realms: one of magic, and one without.  Humans created the divisions, carving out little empires for themselves.  As centuries passed, those borders became barriers, creating unnatural divisions that do not belong in our world.”

“But people will die.  There’s no way to collapse the walls between realms without destroying some of the people in those worlds.”  Belle, Morgan, and Rumplestiltskin had talked about that one at length, and if there was a way to keep everyone alive throughout the transition, it was not one her husband or mother-in-law knew of.  Even if they tried to bring _everyone_ out of every realm and into Storybrooke.

Danns’ shrugged, almost imperceptibly.  “Both uses of the Dark Curse already damaged the fabric of existence irreparably.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to destroy entire worlds!”

“In order to build something greater, the old must often be destroyed first.”  Surprisingly, it was Arthur who said those cold words, looking determined.

Her grandmother continued serenely, as if she hadn’t even heard Belle’s objections.  “I have fought for years to restore what humanity changed, and now to free my people from imprisonment.  The worlds were not meant to be so split, and my goal is not to destroy, but to restore.  Once the process is complete, we will have a new age of magic and peace.”

“Don’t you even care about the people who will die?” Belle knew the answer, but she had to ask.  “Don’t they matter?  Or are they _only_ human?”

“You’re looking at this as if you were one of them, but you aren’t.”  Danns’ reached out for Belle’s hand, and against her better judgment, she let her grandmother touch her fingers lightly.  “You should have grown up knowing who and what you are, but unfortunately, you did not.  It would have made things easier.”

“Oh, no it wouldn’t.”  She jerked her hand away.  “Growing up knowing that I was your granddaughter wouldn’t have changed what I—”

“Of course it would have.  Belle, your bravery does you credit, but your idealism does not.  You may find my goals distasteful, but your family loyalty should rise above the morality that ill-educated humans have taught you.”

Speechless, Belle could only gape.

“We are your family,” Arthur said after a moment of silence.  Belle was still trying to swallow the utter enormity—and egotism!—of what her grandmother had said, and she just turned to look at her grandfather with shocked eyes.  “We will always take care of you.  All we ask is that you stand by us in return.”

She had to swallow the bile in her throat before she could get words out.  “You’re not my only family.”

“Of course not.  Those you love are more than welcome as our allies.”  Danns’ face might as well have been made from porcelain for all the distress she showed; her calm was utterly disturbing.

“And what if they don’t want to dance to your tune?” Belle snapped.

Her grandmother blinked.  “That would be regrettable.  I would hate to have you caught in the middle like that.  Particularly when you are pregnant and newly learning your magic.”

“I— _what?_ ” Being hit with both truths at once left Belle reeling, and she almost jumped to her feet and left then and there.  Instead, she found herself frozen, staring at her grandparents dumbly.  Arthur was smirking a little, looking rather satisfied with their little knowledge coup, but Danns’ remained calm.

“No matter what you choose, Belle, you are safe.  As is your child.  I will make sure of that.”  Again, her grandmother put a hand on hers, and Belle was too dazed to pull away this time.  “I hope you will stand with us, but even if you oppose us, I will allow no one to hurt either one of you.”

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” she finally managed to whisper.

“No, but you have it.”

Belle gulped a deep breath in.  “How did you know?”  She didn’t have to ask about what.

Danns’ just smiled slightly.  “I have my ways.”

_Rumple said that a pregnancy can’t be sensed without looking, and I_ know _she didn’t look.  Did she find out from someone else?_ Belle desperately ran through the list of people who knew in her mind, but she couldn’t see Whale telling the Black Fairy about Belle’s daughter.  Obviously, neither Rumplestiltskin nor Baelfire would tell—had it been her father?  Was he _still_ under their spell?

“And my magic?”

“Nuckelavee noticed it.  You should be more careful, my dear.”

Belle snatched her hand away again, bristling.  She almost snapped that she wasn’t Danns’s dear, but Danns’ _was_ her grandmother.  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You should think on what we have said.”  Arthur’s tone was insistent, and Belle turned to look at him again.  “We only want what’s best for you.”

“No, you want more power.  And you want me to be your conveniently compliant heir.”  Belle rose, swallowing.  She knew how the old world worked, knew that royalty always thought about continuation of their line, even if part of said royal couple was an immortal faery.  _Arthur is the human face of her domination, and she wants me to follow in his footsteps._

“You _are_ our heir.  Disliking our goals will not change that.”  Danns’ did not stand, though Arthur did, which made Belle take a step back from the table.

She’d eaten all of three bites of dinner, hadn’t even made it past her salad, but Belle didn’t care.  There was plenty of food at home.

“I think I should leave.”  She looked between the pair, raising her chin challengingly.  “Unless you’re planning to trap me here so that I’ll be ‘safe’?”

“Of course not.”  Danns’ smile was mysterious.  _Worrisome._ “Your husband is your True Love.  We all know that means he will die before he allows anyone to hurt you.”

“Then you know that means I’ll do the same for him.”

“As well you should.”  Green eyes met blue.  “I know you love him, Belle.  While Rumplestiltskin and I will undoubtedly have many differences before this is over, I will do my best to preserve that for you.”

A wave of tension ripped down her spine. “I’m not sure I should thank you for such an ominous sounding promise.”

Danns’ only inclined her head regally, and Arthur simply shrugged, escorting Belle to the door without another word.  She felt almost ashamed to be so relieved; part of Belle had really started to worry that they would try to keep her there.  Although she believed that her grandparents truly meant _her_ no harm, that didn’t mean she wanted to be complicit in their plans.  And she couldn’t stand by and let such loss of human life happen.  Not while she was capable of fighting against it.

Now she knew they had to be fought, too, no matter how little Belle liked the idea of opposing her own family.  Arthur might have thought she missed it when he led her to the door, but Belle had paused a moment to peek into the china hutch in the sitting room.  A myriad of magical objects lived in there, and she’d been curious about what her grandmother felt the need to protect with the massive shielding spells she could feel radiating off of the cabinet.  Arthur nudged her along before Belle could identify everything, but that didn’t keep her from recognizing the swan-shaped pendant in the back right corner.

* * *

 

Killian Jones was not normally the type of man Robin would have befriended, despite the way circumstances had tied them both to the same convoluted family.  Still, Roland had taken a bit of a shine to the pirate—probably chiefly because Killian clearly had no idea what to do with a creative and rambunctious five-year-old—and Robin didn’t really regret that.  Their sailing trip had even been successful, at least until Zelena had shown up.

_I don’t regret shooting her, either._

Unfortunately, however, Zelena had managed to hit Roland with some sort of silencing spell, which left Robin’s precious boy frightened.  Roland was old enough to understand that magic could do great and terrible things, but aside from the two times Zelena had impersonated his mother, he’d never been targeted by the terrible things.  Roland had slowly begun to heal from the psychological wounds Zelena had left with her antics, but now her latest trick left had left him in tears.  At least until Killian somehow managed to charm him out of them, making faces, doing funny voices, and basically keeping Roland distracted during the trip back home.  For that, Robin was even willing to forgive Killian for his promise of before dinner ice cream.

“What happened?” Regina met them at the door; Robin hadn’t called ahead because he knew she’d be home, but she clearly read the look on his face well enough to know something was wrong.

Robin let out a breath.  “Zelena found us by the docks.”

“Are you all right?  If she even thought about hurting _either_ of you, I’ll—”

“Relax, Your Overprotective Majesty,” Killian cut in before Robin could answer.  “Your outlaw turned lawman shot her.  Rather nicely.”

“Is she alive?” Regina didn’t sound particularly upset, just a little resigned.  Part of Robin wanted to weep for her; Zelena _was_ her sister, and he knew better than almost anyone how deeply and completely Regina could love someone.  Had things been different, Regina and Zelena might have been close, but fate had clearly intended otherwise.

And Regina hated every bit as fiercely as she loved.

“Alas.  I only shot her in the shoulder.”  Robin grimaced; he’d meant to shoot to kill, but a part of him couldn’t shake the way Zelena had been Marian for those six weeks.  He’d _wanted_ his wife back so badly that he’d ignored the little signs that she wasn’t herself; Robin had stupidly let himself believe that it was real.  His love for Marian didn’t take anything away from his love for Regina, but he hated the way that old love tried to rub off on Zelena.  He _didn’t_ have feelings for the Wicked Witch and never would, but what he’d thought he had with her made him hesitate just a split second too long.

“I’m sure she enjoyed that,” Regina said dryly, and then looked at Roland.  “Are you all right, little man?”

Roland squirmed, and Robin cursed himself for not telling her right away.  “Zelena hit him with a silencing spell.  I was hoping you could take it off.”

“Of course I can.  What do you take me for?” But there was a slight smile in her voice as Regina said that, and she lifted Roland out of Robin’s arms, her voice going soft.  “How about we fix your quiet problem?”

Roland nodded eagerly, and the way Roland relaxed into Regina as she worked her magic just warmed his heart.  He was too lucky for words, he knew.  The fact that he’d found an amazing woman who accepted all of his flaws was unbelievable enough, but the way she loved Roland was worth the world to him.  He watched the pair for a moment before turning to Killian.

“Thank you for the way you cheered him up,” he said quietly.  “He needed that.”

“I was glad to help.” The pirate shifted a little uneasily, looking embarrassed.  “I may have signed you up for ice cream, though.  Sorry about that, mate.”

“No need to apologize.”  Robin chuckled.  “I’d say an occasion like this qualifies for a little before-dinner treat.”

“Ice cream?” Roland piped up immediately, just as Regina turned her glare on both men.

“Not before dinner!”

Robin and Killian just laughed.

* * *

 

“She has the peace amulet, Rumple,” Belle said softly that evening, and he felt a heavy weight settle in his chest.

“Are you certain?”  Yet he knew Belle had to be; Belle had seen the swan-shaped amulet many times.  She’d even helped him with a few spells on it, and Belle had been eager to see something created that could help Emma overcome things that Rumplestiltskin had never been able to as the Dark One.

Her frown was deep.  “Yes.  I don’t know how—or why—she would have it, but it was there in plain sight.  Just in a cabinet, and not even hidden.  Like she didn’t care if I saw it.”

“I had suspected, but I’d hoped that she wasn’t so far ahead of us.”  Rumplestiltskin sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes briefly.  “Now the question we have to answer is why Danns’ a’Bhàis wants the Dark One out of control.”

“Maybe she’s just trying to distract us.”  Belle’s suggestion made Rumplestiltskin’s eyes pop open, and suddenly he felt like an idiot.

“Sweetheart, you’re a genius.”  He could see it, so very easily.  Danns’ had played this game against a master manipulator before, hadn’t she?  She’d beaten his mother, despite having wound up with the Heart of the Truest Believer inside herself twice.  Morgan was every bit as good as stacking the deck as Rumplestiltskin,  and Danns’ clearly knew what kind of opponents she was up against.

The mantra was simple: _Keep the pieces moving, and they’ll be too busy reacting to look ahead_.  He’d fallen victim to it as quickly as any of those he’d once manipulated, but Rumplestiltskin would not continue to be such a fool. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Seventy-Four—“By the Score Fell the Dead”, in which Emma fulfills Danns’ command, Mordred pays his brother a visit, Zelena makes a new friend, Regina tries again to bring Maleficent back to the light, Emma pays Rumplestiltskin a visit, and Belle tries to figure out who told her grandmother about her pregnancy.
> 
> For anyone who is reading, A Different Battle will be updated tomorrow.


	74. By the Score Fell the Dead

Lancelot had spent the previous night in Mordred’s castle, but the moment he stepped outside, Emma was waiting.  She hated herself, utterly despised everything she _knew_ she had to do, but the short reprieve she had been granted was over.  _Go kill Lancelot.  Destroy the body.  Leave no evidence.  Allow no witnesses.  If anyone happens to see what you have done, kill them as well.  Tell no one._   The words echoed through her again and again, had done so the entire night while she sat out in the cold and waited for Lancelot to leave.  Emma knew that she’d never be able to kill Lancelot secretly while he sheltered with Mordred, which left her waiting.

She didn’t want to know if someone had tried to find her at home.  She tried not to think about Henry, about her father, or about Baby Neal.  _Or the other Neal._ She couldn’t bear to.  Emma could only sit and wait, wrapped in darkness and listening to the voices in her head for company.  They weren’t exactly great companions, but they were all she had, the only ones who understood the horror of being controlled.  Or at least the only ones she could tell about it.

By the time Lancelot emerged, two months and thirteen days after Emma had become the Dark One, she was beginning to wonder if she was going insane.

_Go kill Lancelot.  Destroy the body.  Leave no evidence.  Allow no witnesses.  If anyone happens to see what you have done, kill them as well.  Tell no one._

_Kill Lancelot._

Now that she could see him, the words were echoing more potently, louder and louder, making her head pound in tune with each word.  _Kill Lancelot._ Emma hated it, hated herself, but she had no choice.  Her limbs practically moved on their own, following the disgraced knight as he headed out of the castle towards town.  He must have been an early riser; it was barely past dawn, leaving shadows enough for Emma to lose herself in.  She couldn’t quite make herself invisible, but she could cloak herself in darkness and make herself almost impossible to see, which was what she did until Lancelot was well along the trail towards town.  By the time she teleported herself into his path, Lancelot was far enough into the woods that no one would even hear what happened.

_Kill Lancelot._ Emma wanted to scream, wanted to cry.  But at least she could make it fast. 

Lancelot jumped, his dark face going pale.  “What are you—?”

She never gave him the chance to finish that sentence, striding forward and plunging her hand into his chest.  _Make him suffer,_ the darkness whispered.  _Squeeze a little.  You deserve to make someone suffer after all you have been through._

_No!_   “I’m sorry,” Emma whispered.  _Kill Lancelot._

Wide eyes met hers.  “You don’t have to—I mean, whatever’s happened, we can work this out.  There’s no need to kill.”

“There’s every need.”  Her voice turned harsh without her meaning it to.  _Kill Lancelot._   But she would not drag this out.  She would not torture him.  If Emma had to kill, she would make it as painless as she could.

“I—I can’t stop you, can I?”  Lancelot took a step back, but he didn’t run, much though part of her wished he would.

_Make sure she isn’t lying,_ a voice inside her whispered.  _If he’s an innocent, you could go free, even after you follow her commands._ Treacherous hope rose inside her, and Emma found her voice spitting harshly: “Tell me you’ve never killed innocents.  Tell me that you didn’t kidnap a child.”

Lancelot cringed.  “I can’t.”

“Then I’m sorry,” she repeated, feeling that it had to be said.  _Kill Lancelot._  Her head felt like it was going to explode, and Emma swallowed hard.  “Someday, I’ll tell everyone what happened to you.”

It was a promise that Emma didn’t know if she’d ever be able to keep, but she had to make it.  Yet somehow, Lancelot seemed to understand.   He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye bravely.

“Do what you have to do.”

Her fingers closed; Emma crushed his heart.  Numbly, she watched Lancelot’s body collapse as the life went out of him, and she spent several moments staring at the motionless corpse.  Lancelot wasn’t the first person she’d killed, yet he was the first one that she’d killed deliberately.   She wanted to be sick.

But there wasn’t time for that.  _Destroy the body.  Leave no evidence._ The commands would not leave her alone.  So, Emma crouched by Lancelot’s now-still body, raising a shaking hand as she bit her lip to keep herself from crying.  She didn’t deserve to cry, not after what she’d done. 

Slowly, Lancelot’s body disintegrated into ash, and Emma watched numbly as the wind carried it away.

* * *

 

Belle had told him all about her conversation with her grandparents the night before, and Rumplestiltskin had woken up that morning with an all-consuming drive to _act_.  The feeling was a little alien to his nature; normally, he preferred to plot and plan, to move from the shadows and manipulate others into doing what had to be done.  But the fact that Belle had heard Danns’ a’Bhàis’ intentions from the Black Faery’s own lips was worrisome enough that he would have been concerned even back when he’d been the Dark One.  _I may have been selfish, power-hungry, and standoffish, but even I would not have wanted to see the worlds crash together and thousands dying in the crossfire._    Just thinking of it now sent a chill down Rumplestiltskin’s spine, and made him realize—yet again—how unprepared he was for his role as the Sorcerer.

Back when he’d had Merlin stuck inside his head, Rumplestiltskin would never have guessed that he’d have wanted the old enchanter to come back once he was finally gone, but he would have given a lot to ask the original Sorcerer a few questions right now.  Merlin would have known what to do; Merlin would have known Danns’ and known if what she told Belle was the entire truth or if there were other surprises lurking in the shadows.  _Merlin_ would have known how to fight this threat that only the Sorcerer seemed able to face…but Rumplestiltskin was more lost than he wanted to admit.  Belle had done more to discover Danns’ intentions than he had, and he was supposed to be the chess master.

In fact, he—

“Gold?   You hiding back there?” Whale’s voice drifted into the back room as the shop’s door opened, making Rumplestiltskin sigh.  _So much for having a few uninterrupted hours to plan._ Yet he would have to do something soon; he was reacting to the problem and not ahead of the game, and that would not do.

“Back so soon, Doctor?”  He pushed the curtain aside to return to the front of the shop, eyeing Whale curiously.  “And here I thought your walk down Clinton Street might have borne greater fruit.”

Storybrooke’s only physician scowled.  “That place is useless.  Unless you’re looking to get a shady job or to have someone slice your skull open and eat your brains.  Then I suppose it’s a place that meets your needs.”

“Well, that’s descriptive.”  But Rumplestiltskin knew there would be only one reason why Whale would have come back to him, and it wasn’t for the company.  “No luck finding Jefferson, then?”

“No.”  Whale seemed to take a deep breath.  “I need help.  Regina’s magic didn’t manage it any better than yours did, and I’m not going to the ‘Dark Swan’.  Jefferson is your friend, too.  Or at least he was.”  That last comment was accompanied by a suspicious look.  “Even if you did send Regina to fail at finding him.”

“It’s called division of labor, dearie,” he snapped before he could stop himself.  Jefferson was something of a friend, but he was a distraction.  Even Emma’s current strangeness was a distraction!  Yet Rumplestiltskin found himself unable to be as dispassionate as he had been; now he _cared_.  He had never expected that no longer being the Dark One would prove a handicap.

Whale snorted.  “Yeah, you have so many other things to do: running this shop, making babies, babysitting the new Dark One—”

“Stop being ridiculous.  You have no idea what I’ve been doing,” Rumplestiltskin interrupted him coldly.  _I have no idea what I’ve been doing.  I need more information and I_ have _to get ahead of events.  Building alliances and delegating tasks is well and good, but…_ Perhaps some honesty was in order, alien though the concept was.  He took a deep breath.  “We aren’t leaving you out in the cold, Victor.  Jefferson’s disappearance was no accident.  Someone took him.  Someone powerful.”

“I thought your membership in the Villain of the Week Club had lapsed.”

“It has.”  Despite himself, Rumplestiltskin snorted in amusement.  “But that doesn’t mean everyone else’s did.”

“There’s someone new.  Someone from Camelot.”  Whale was no fool; he could put the pieces together, even when worry made him even more sarcastic and irritable than usual.  Still, they’d kept the Black Fairy’s presence a secret so far, wanting to prevent a panic.  She was a legend, and not a good one.  Even people who knew nothing of history feared the Black Fairy.

How badly would Whale react if he told him the whole truth?  Rumplestiltskin was hardly a sympathetic ear for such problems.

“Yes.”  He hesitated for a moment.  “My magic is still blocked from finding him, as is Regina’s.  I suspect that I know where he is, but getting him from there will be no easy task.”

Whale’s eyes narrowed.  “I thought you were some super powerful sorcerer guy these days.”

Suddenly, magic prickled along the back of his neck, shimmering slightly in the air where only he could see it.  Someone had come through the back door, using magic to quiet their approach but not disguise it.  The wards—doubled and reworked again after the peace amulet had gone missing—were able to determine that his visitor had no ill-intent, so Rumplestiltskin decided to let whomever it was wait.  It wasn’t Belle or Regina, or even Emma; their magic he would have recognized immediately.  That didn’t leave many magic users, particularly since Rumplestiltskin would have recognized the sharp taste of another original power.  So, he would simply say nothing he could not afford an enemy to overhear and wait for his visitor to make their move.

“Power can’t solve everything.”  It had taken him _centuries_ to learn that, but he would never be idealistic enough not to weigh the costs of action. “How many would you have die if my bursting in there like some idiot hero causes an all out war?”

“You think it would?”

_I think the war is inevitable, but I will delay it as long as I can._   “Yes.”

“That’s shit math, man.”

“It is.”

“Why should Jefferson suffer to keep everyone else safe?  This isn’t _his_ fault, and why should I give a damn about whatever war it might cause?  We should just take down whoever the hell has him.  Why the hell should we wait?”  Whale paused in his rant, blinking.  “And why him, anyway?  What did Jefferson do to anyone?” 

Outburst finished, Whale slumped, looking broken and exhausted.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t blame him, not really.  He knew he’d be far worse if he’d lost Belle or Bae.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  “Look, I’ve found one more spell that I can try.  Perhaps I am wrong about where Jefferson is.  Even if I’m not, although odds are that we can do nothing _now_ , it does not hurt to try.”

Whale’s nod was tentative, almost as if the man was afraid to hope.  His voice was hoarse when he spoke, too.  “Thanks.”

The man Rumplestiltskin had been would not have offered such hope, but he was no longer that man.  So, he began brewing the potion, sending Whale to fetch some of Jefferson’s hairs and resolutely _not_ wondering why Whale thought it would be so easy to so do.  Some things were best left unsaid, even if he had some strong suspicions about those two; if they didn’t want to advertise, Rumplestiltskin would not force them to.  Whale was clearly unhappy, but he also seemed embarrassed by how emotional his previous outburst had been.

“Don’t screw this up,” the doctor said gruffly on his way out.

“I won’t,” Rumplestiltskin promised.  He didn’t know if the thousand-plus year old spell would work, but there was only one way to find out.

First, however, he had to deal with his second visitor, who appeared the moment Whale left.

“Why do you bother?” Mordred asked as he stepped out of the back room, his dark eyes narrow.  “That… _doctor_ is unimportant.  He has no meaningful power.  Why waste your time helping or reassuring him?”

Rumplestiltskin turned to his brother, trying not to scowl.  For all the darkness he’d once embraced, this was not a question he ever would have needed to ask, and the fact that Mordred did really made him wonder.  Belle would have told Mordred that it was the right thing to do, and a tiny part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to do the same.  But the truth was both simpler and far more complicated.

“The power I have inherited comes at a price,” he said honestly.

Mordred scoffed.  “All power does.”

“This more than most.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “For better or worse, I am the Sorcerer, not simply a man with magic.”

That earned him a glare.  “I’m hardly just a man with magic.” 

“I didn’t say you were.” 

Mordred’s ego really was a bit much, though Rumplestiltskin managed to stop himself before he said so.  The look on his half-brother’s face made Mordred’s feelings all too clear: he was annoyed to be ‘inferior’ to anyone, and he wasn’t prepared to integrate into Storybrooke at all.  Why should he care about Jefferson, or about anyone else?  Mordred seemed the type to live his life in pursuit of one big, dramatic quest—damn the rest of the world.

Rumplestiltskin had done that, once.  The price hadn’t been worth paying in the end.

A moment of silence passed before Mordred spoke stiffly.  “So, you’re helping him because of the price of your magic.  Can’t you find something more important to do that will assuage that?”

“I suppose I could.”  He shrugged again.  “I wasn’t always so inclined, but I’m trying to be a better man.”  Mordred threw him a skeptical look, so Rumplestiltskin continued:  “A long time ago, when I became the Dark One, I had grand ideas of turning the power to good.  I failed at that, but I do not intend to fail now.”

Mordred snorted.  “I still find the idea of a _redeemed_ former Dark One a little hard to believe.”

“Redemption is a process, not a reward.”  Rumplestiltskin had learned that the hard way, but he suspected there was more to Mordred’s comment than simple disbelief.  _Is he searching for the same thing I am, a way to no longer be the monster?_  A few weeks ago, he would have said that Mordred believed himself right in all things, but the uncertain flicker in his brother’s eyes said otherwise.  “You can’t ever make up for the evil you’ve wrought.  Anyone who tells you that you can is a liar.  But you can make sure no one else ever has the opportunity to do what you did.”

“ _I_ did what was necessary.”

Now it was Rumplestiltskin’s turn to snort.  “Tell yourself that often enough, and you’re going to learn to believe it.”  He gestured airily.  “But it doesn’t really matter when harm is done, does it?”

“Not as much, no.”  Mordred grimaced, looking away.  His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.  “Lancelot said much the same.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded silently.  He could tell that Mordred was working his way towards hard and painful truths, but it would take time.  Mordred probably wouldn’t come around today, though from the look on his face, he already felt guilty.  _I underestimated Lancelot, it seems._   Apparently, the disgraced knight had more influence on Mordred than he’d thought.

“I can’t find him,” Mordred said abruptly, making Rumplestiltskin turn to him curiously.  “Lancelot.  He’s nowhere to be found.”

“Do you think he fell afoul of Danns’ a’Bhàis again?”  They both knew that Lancelot had been the Black Fairy’s captive not even three weeks ago; he’d gone to Belle for shelter in the immediate aftermath, though he had shifted to Mordred’s castle not long after. 

“I don’t know.”  Mordred actually looked worried, almost crestfallen.  “I fear so.”  He swallowed.  “Will you…will you help me find him?”

The old Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have, but the new Rumplestiltskin nodded once.  “Let’s begin now.”

* * *

 

Several of her new allies were as annoying as they were powerful.  The Black Fairy and Arthur certainly weren’t appreciative enough of Zelena’s powers, either, which forced her to seek other help.  The dragon bitch was of no use to her, either; she was all holier-than-thou about her own child and looked down her nose at Zelena like she actually thought she was _better_ than her.  That disgusted Zelena to no end, and it forced her to go elsewhere.  Like to a rather gorgeous fae who seemed at least a little sympathetic to her cause.

“I understand your people have made something of a profession out of stealing babies.”

Nuckelavee chuckled.  “Not until _after_ they’re born, I’m afraid.  But I’m open to helping with that little problem of yours after the fact.”

She eyed him suspiciously.  Nothing was ever easy, not in Zelena’s experience, and she wasn’t stupid enough to trust the fae.  She was already angry enough with herself that she’d ended up bouncing from one ally to another; she shouldn’t have _had_ to need anyone, but it was much harder to put her sister in her place when all the heroes were on the same side.  Rumple being with them made things particularly complicated now that he wasn’t the Dark One any longer, yet was still in possession a great store of power.  Opposing the heroes alone was too risky to try, yet there was no reason to trust this too-pretty not-man, either. 

“And why would you want to help _me_?”

He shrugged.  “It has nothing to do with you.  I simply enjoy causing trouble.”

Zelena felt her lip curl up.  “How does that do me any good?”

“It does if your enemies are mine.”  Nuckelavee’s smile was blinding.  “Come with me.  You strike me as the type who will feel better if you create chaos.”

“What type of chaos?”  She was interested despite herself; Zelena was angrier than she’d ever been in her life, and she wanted to make _someone_ suffer.  Right at the moment, she wasn’t particularly picky about who got to suffer.  No one in this disgusting little town had ever lifted a finger to help her, so as far as she was concerned, they could all go straight to hell.

He held a long-fingered hand out to her.  “Do you like to dance?”

“Not if it’s what you did last time!”  Zelena jerked away from him like his touch was made of fire.  She _hadn’t_ enjoyed being pulled into that dance of death, and she was not about to let this self-indulgent fae bastard trick her.  Not again.

“Well, it’s exactly what I did last time, but this time you’ll be immune.”  His eyes gleamed.  “Our lady favors you, which means you are safe from our magic.  But no one else is.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “And what exactly are you going to do?”

“Find a corner of town that the meddling Sorcerer won’t notice until it’s too late and force some little fools to dance themselves into the grave, of course.”

The idea _did_ sound tempting, and besides, Zelena wanted to find out exactly how that magic was done.  It could be useful someday.

* * *

 

Hunting down Mal had been a pain in the ass, but she’d finally found the other woman in the home she’d acquired from Rumplestiltskin when he’d brought the damned Queens of Darkness to town.  Of course, Mal hadn’t been ‘home’ the first two times Regina had called, which meant this time she’d simply showed up.

At least Mal had the courtesy not to ignore her standing on her doorstep, though she looked both tired and thoroughly fed up when she opened the door.

“What do you want, Regina?”

“Just to talk.  Can’t old friends do that?”  Trying to look innocent had never done Regina any good, so she just shrugged.  “Or, I can tell you that I’m trying to bail you out of the mess you’re in, if you prefer.”

Maleficent glared at her.  “I’m not ‘in a mess’, as you so asininely put it.  But you might as well come in.”

She pretended not to hear the way Mal sighed, following her old friend into the sitting room and accepting the seat she’d been offered.  Regina had to stop herself from asking for a snack; she was _always_ hungry right now and was beyond caring that everything she craved was green.  At least vegetables were good for the baby, and mint chocolate chip ice cream _was_ tasty, even if it still irked her to like that annoyingly tart color.  _I’m just glad I’ve avoided green apples so far.  I’d rather eat cucumbers for the next_ year _than start in on those,_ Regina thought moodily.

“I had words with your sister the other day.”  Mal leaned back in her own chair casually enough, but Regina could see the angry glint in her eyes.  “About motherhood.  I ended up putting her to sleep because she vexed me so much.”

“Is it too much to ask that the sleep was permanent?”  Perhaps Regina should not have said that about her own sister, but Zelena had tried to hurt _Roland_ the other day, which was pretty much beyond the pale.  Had Robin’s shot been fatal, Regina thought that she might have wept for what could have been, but she would not have mourned Zelena too much.  Not after everyone her sister had hurt.

“No, but it wasn’t.”  Mal’s level gaze almost dared Regina to object, but she just shrugged.

“That’s a pity.”

“More than you know.  But you didn’t come here to talk about Zelena, and I’m guessing you didn’t come to ask advice for when you’re expecting, either.”  Mal’s smile turned thin.  “What do you want, Regina?”

“I want my friend back.” There, she’d said it.  The full and complete truth.  “I’m worried about you.”

Maleficent laughed.  “Me?  Don’t be.  I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“You aren’t, and you know it.  I never would have thought that you’d ally with the _darkest_ villain in history of the Enchanted Forest, no matter how badly the rest of us treated you,” Regina retorted bluntly.  “You were always smarter than that, because as dark as you and I got, we never held a candle to the Black Fairy.  You know that, Mal.  She’s going to screw you over.”

“She certainly will if I try to desert her now.”  Maleficent snorted.  “You don’t know Danns’ a’Bhàis, Regina.  She returns loyalty with loyalty—my _daughter_ and I are safe as long as I am loyal.  If I betray her, well…I’m not going to contemplate what will happen if I do.  I’m not that foolish.”

“Then why the _hell_ did you get mixed up with her in the first place?” The words tore out of her with more force than Regina wanted them to, and she was rewarded with the slightest of twitches from her stomach.  With an effort, she tried to throttle her anger down.

“So asks the woman who ignored my calls _after_ taking my daughter’s blood to plunge us all into that lovely little alternate world?” Mal snorted.  “Oh, I know you didn’t go through with it, but betrayal sticks.”  She sighed.  “I told you my other reasons.  I’m not going through it again.”

“And what happens when you’re on the wrong side when everything goes down?”  Regina had lost enough people she cared about during her life; she wasn’t about to let that happen again.  Not if she could help it.

“I’ll just have to take my chances.”  Mal met her eyes.  “I’m not shy about facing up to my choices.  I never have been.  Whether or not my choice of sides was an error, I’m stuck with it, now.”

* * *

 

“It’s done.” 

Emma had delayed making her report as long as she could; it was well past sunset by the time she headed to the Black Fairy’s house.  Of course, Danns’ hadn’t demanded she return immediately, but in the end, Emma knew that she couldn’t avoid it.  Doing so would only cause her more pain, and besides, what good would pouting do?  She couldn’t find a loophole to tell anyone, and she _knew_ in her bones that the Black Fairy still had the dagger.  So, she could sit and stare at the wall miserably, or she could face the fact that she’d just murdered a good man who had been a friend to both of her parents.  _Lancelot married them,_ she thought sadly, wondering how she’d ever explain this to her father.

_Don’t tell him,_ the darkness whispered.  _What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and it’s not like the body will ever be found!_

“Is Lancelot dead?” Danns’ voice interrupted Emma’s inner passenger, and she found herself nodding.

“Yes.”  The word came out from behind gritted teeth, but she wasn’t really trying to fight the compulsion to answer.  Emma was just that furious.  She _wanted_ to kill someone, burned to make someone suffer, and she could think of no one more deserving than the bitch holding the dagger right in front of her.

“Well done.”  Green eyes gleamed mischievously.  “Did he die well?  Bravely, and displaying all those other silly human virtues?”

“Of course he did,” Emma snapped.  She’d known he would.  He’d been Danns’ lover, hadn’t he? _Poor bastard._

“Don’t get touchy on me, Emma.”  The whisper-soft voice was someone still threatening, and Emma shuddered when Danns’ reached out to touch her cheek.  _You will never pull away from me._   The Black Fairy could stab her with the dagger right now, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Still, she couldn’t bear to take this meekly.  Not with the fury raging inside her, and not if she wanted to remain anything of who she’d once been.  _I was better than this, once._   _I was!_

“Why not?” she snarled.  “It’s not going to make a difference.”

A diffident shrug.  “It will in regards to how much you suffer.”

“I’m suffering already.  You’re just talking about changing types of pain.”  Emma shrugged, almost surprised to find how little she cared.  It was only pain, and she probably deserved it.  Perhaps that was the way in which she could atone for murdering Lancelot.

“Oh, bravo.  I was starting to miss your fire.”

Emma just glared, refusing to rise to that bait.  If she was going to be stupid, she’d do it on her own terms.

Suddenly, hard fingers grabbed her chin, squeezing tightly enough that Emma had to fight back the urge to gasp in pain.  “But enough of your defiance.  I have another task for you.”

“What _now_?”

“Go to our dear Sorcerer.  Ask him about that little amulet he was making you.”  Danns’ green eyes studied her uncannily as Emma’s heart leapt into her throat.  _He was making something that could let me use_ my _magic and not the darkness!  If I could get that on, I could fight her._ She barely dared hope, but if Danns’ didn’t quite understand what the Peace Amulet was…  “You wanted so badly to have it shield you from the darkness, didn’t you?”

Emma’s hopes plummeted.  “Yes,” she whispered.

“Ask him if it’s ready.  Ask him when you can have it.  Let him know how badly you want it.”

She had to swallow hard.  “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.”  Danns’ released her chin.  “Just go ask.”

Nodding shakily, Emma swept herself away in a swirl of gray smoke before Danns’ could demand anything else of her.  She wasn’t sure what the Black Fairy’s plan was, but if there was any way around it, any way to get the amulet on, Emma would take it.  After all, Danns’ hadn’t forbidden her from wearing it, and if it weakened the darkness’ control, maybe Emma could tell someone what was going on.  Or just _hint_ at it enough for the damned ‘king of loopholes’ to figure things out. 

This might be her best chance at freedom, and Emma was _not_ going to waste it.

* * *

 

The next day, Belle invited her father to lunch at the library.  There were several good reasons to do so, first and foremost amongst which was the fact that she _had_ been ignoring him a little during the last few months.  Maurice seemed so happy to become a grandfather that Belle wanted to keep him involved, and besides, he was less prone to befriending her grandparents if Belle didn’t make him feel like he was being ignored.  Her father didn’t have a lot of friends, she knew.  He never really had, though Belle thought that she might try Baelfire’s suggestion of introducing Maurice to Midas.  They were the same sort of low-key men, and she really liked the idea of giving her father someone healthier than Arthur to hang out with.

The most important reason she invited him to lunch, however, was the question that _had_ to be asked.

“Did you tell my grandparents that I’m pregnant, Papa?” she asked after they were about halfway into their burgers.

“What?  Of course not!  Sweetheart, I’ve respected your wishes on that.”  Maurice looked horrified.  “I haven’t told a soul.”

“I didn’t want to doubt you.”  Belle reached out to lay a hand on his arm, wishing she’d found a less blunt way to bring the topic up.  “But they knew, somehow, even though the only people who Rumple and I told are you and Baelfire.”

“I didn’t tell them.  I promise.  Why, Arthur came by just a few days ago, wanting to talk about how you’d walked out on dinner with them, but I told them it was your choice, and I’d stand by what you wanted.”

Belle felt a soft smile cross her face.  Her father wasn’t the cleverest man she’d ever met, but he had a big heart, and she loved him for it.  _Particularly when he doesn’t let his biases get the better of his good sense._ “Thank you.  I really appreciate that.”

“Your life is your own, sweeting.  It’s not theirs to decide.”

“Try telling them that.”  Belle managed not to snort, remembering how badly her conversation with her grandparents had gone.  She’d wanted to give them a chance to tell their side of the story, and she had.  Belle had just never imagined that _either_ of them would care so little for humanity.

Maurice did snort.  “I suspect it’ll go over like a lead balloon.”

Belle had to laugh.  “Probably.”

“I know I’m not an expert on these things, but couldn’t your grandmother have found out with magic?  If she is who you said she was…well, I’d think that was rather simple.”  Her father shrugged, and Belle sighed. 

“Rumple said that she shouldn’t have been able to, but she must have felt _something_.  Maybe it’s our blood connection.”  She wasn’t sure why she had hesitated in telling her father that she’d inherited magic through her mother, but Belle continued to resist that urge.  Even now that her grandmother knew, she wanted to keep her growing knowledge a secret.

Still, there had to be _something_ to explain how Danns’ had known Belle was pregnant, and her instincts told her that Rumplestiltskin had been right.  Yet if Danns’ _hadn’t_ felt something, and her father wasn’t lying, who could have told her?

* * *

 

A panicked mother had called them after taking her son to the park after lunch, and David and Robin rushed to the scene.  It was a Saturday, which meant that the park would normally have been busy, but the east side was far more crowded than usual.  His heart in his throat, David pushed through the throng, already recognizing the pungent smell of a body left out to rot.

Make that _nine_ bodies, all teenagers, lying in a haphazard circle about ten feet away from the gathered crowd of onlookers.  Thankfully, the mother who had called had taken her son away, and there weren’t any other children present…though that really didn’t make things much better.  His gaze sweeping over the bodies, David found himself frozen, staring at faces stretched into smiles turned into grimaces, with wide and horrified eyes staring up at the sky.  He didn’t have to approach to know that all nine teens were dead; he could smell them from there.  These were far from the first dead bodies David had seen in his life, of course; he’d killed enough in battle to usually be detached about it.  But he’d never killed children, and seeing them like this was a bit of a shock.

_That means they’ve been dead for close to twenty-four hours,_ he thought numbly.  _How could no one notice them?_

“All right, everyone, step back.  This isn’t a show put on for your entertainment,” Robin told the crowd as David forced himself to step woodenly forward.  “Let us do our jobs.”

“Who killed them?” someone demanded.

“Well, we won’t know until we figure things out a bit, will we?”  Robin had a gift for talking people down, and David was very glad for it at the moment.  “Let us figure things out, okay?”

People murmured unhappily, but at least the crowd seemed to step back to give them some space, letting Robin step up next to David as he moved to the center of the circle the bodies laid in.

“They look like Mary MacDonald did after that dance downtown,” Robin said in an undertone, and David felt his breath catch.

“Damn it.  You’re right.”  He swallowed hard.  “But she was old, and they’re all young.”

“Yeah, but that dance lasted for less than an hour.  I can’t imagine holding up much more than that.”  Robin met his eyes.  “I felt like hell after it.  Didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence together for a long moment.  Finally, David let out a long sigh.

“I guess that means we know who did this.  Now we just need to get some confirmation.  You think Regina can help, or should we call Rumplestiltskin?”

“I think dead bodies might turn her stomach something terrible.”  Robin shrugged.  “Let’s try the Sorcerer.”

David nodded.  “Good idea.”

He hoped they were wrong, but when Rumplestiltskin arrived a few minutes later, all he was able to do was confirm their suspicions.  From there, it was a matter of identifying the bodies, notifying their families, bringing Regina into the loop, and then filling up the morgue with nine dead teenagers.

David felt guilty for noting that Grace wasn’t among them; he didn’t know how he was going to tell Henry that a few kids from the high school were dead, and things would have only been worse if one of them had been Henry’s best friend.  As near as he could tell, the kids had come to the park after school on Friday and never returned home, but all of the involved parents had thought they were spending the night at one another’s houses.  They weren’t bad kids, just bored and clever, and they’d been caught by a fae who apparently loved the idea of making children dance themselves to death.

* * *

 

“How’s the daddy hunt going?” August gave her a lazy grin that made Lily want to turn him back into a puppet.

“Terribly.”  She sank into her chair with a groan, glad that August had invited her over to the apartment he shared with his terribly boring father. 

Thankfully, Geppetto was off visiting the cricket, whose heart the Black Fairy still had but wasn’t bothering to use at the moment.  He wasn’t there, though, which was what mattered, because Lily really needed to get out of the house, needed to be herself with a friend she could trust.  She couldn’t bear to let her mother know how bitterly disappointed she was, because Maleficent was a damned rock, always strong and always there for her.  Lily knew that she was a general screwup, and that she ruined everything she touched as a matter of course, but her mother was too wonderful to be on the receiving end of her temper.  Maleficent was everything Lily had ever wanted to be, and Lily _couldn’t_ take this out on her.

August snorted.  “What, did you find out that your dad is a Bearded Dragon instead of a fire breathing one?”

“Not funny!”  She slapped him on the arm, probably a little harder than he deserved.

“Ow.  Sorry.”  He looked sorry, too, but Lily couldn’t bring herself to apologize for hitting him.  The best she could do was tell him the truth.

“We couldn’t find him.  Even with my scales, Mom’s, and Arthur’s, we found nothing.  Wherever the dragons went from Camelot, they’re not in this realm.”

“You don’t think that the Black Fairy is stringing you along instead of telling you the truth, do you?”  August looked thoughtful, but Lily could only frown.  “I mean, she did the magic, right?”

“Why would she do that?  We’re only going to be _more_ loyal if she gives us what we want.”

“Take it from a writer.  It’s kind of an article of faith amongst villains: never give someone _everything_ they want, because if you do, they’ll have no reason to stay on your side.”

Lily rolled her eyes.  “She’s too powerful to bother with that kind of crap.”

Even as she said the words, though, she wondered if she could believe them.  After all, her mother _had_ only chosen the Black Fairy because the heroes had treated them like crap.  But Regina—who Lily would never go near if she had a sharp object in hand again—seemed to be trying to bring them to the side of the idiot heroes.  She knew her mom was a little uncomfortable on the Black Fairy’s side, even if Lily didn’t really give a damn about the morals of it all.  Was Danns’ diabolical enough to keep the truth from them just to stop Mal from jumping ship?

Lily didn’t know, but she sure as hell wanted to find out.

* * *

 

Emma was glad that no one else was in the pawn shop when she barged in; she wasn’t sure how she would have dealt with anyone who couldn’t take a magical beating from her at the moment.  She really didn’t want to deal with Baelfire, either, who could read her entirely too well—or, even worse, Henry.  Henry would _know_ that something was wrong when she started asking questions, but she had to.  So, she strode into the shop as confidently as she could, forced to pretend that nothing was wrong.

_Do as you’re told, slave,_ the darkness mocked her.  Emma could never tell if it liked being controlled or hated it; maybe the darkness just enjoyed her misery.  She was fairly sure that Nimue did, at least, and her soul had lent the darkness most of its twisted personality.  But she was fairly sure that even Nimue didn’t _want_ to obey.  Nimue just wanted to take her anger out on everyone she could reach, and since Emma was the only one there, Emma was her favorite target.  _Ask him if it’s ready.  Ask him when you can have it.  Let him know how badly you want it._

“Can I help you, Emma?” Rumplestiltskin looked at her with those uncanny brown eyes of his, and for a moment, he reminded her of Danns’ a’Bhàis.  That realization jerked Emma up short, almost making her miss a step.

_Their power is the same,_ the voice inside her reminded Emma, sending a cold chill through her body.  _Not so different, are they?_

Except there was one important difference, one that mattered.  Rumplestiltskin had given the dagger _back._ He knew how it felt to be where she was, too.  He’d been enslaved, though at least Zelena was stupider than the Black Fairy.  Zelena hadn’t been interested in hiding her control over Rumplestiltskin, either, though Emma didn’t know if that would have made things easier or harder.  The shame of having her family watch her be used as a puppet would have been unbearable, so maybe things were better like this.

_And maybe you’ll somehow turn this power into butterflies and rainbows by wishing, Swan,_ she told herself angrily before finally remembering to focus on Rumplestiltskin.

“Yeah.”  She tried not to grimace as she answered his question after what had to be an uncomfortable silence.  “I’m here about that amulet thingy that you were making.  I…I think I really need it.”

That wasn’t a lie, even if the words were just in line with what Danns’ had ordered her to say.  Emma still hoped, _prayed_ , that Rumplestiltskin would pop the thing out then and there, put it on her, and then free her to tell the truth.  She just didn’t have a lot of faith in that happening.  _Because I know that bitch of a fairy by now, and if she wants me to ask about it, she knows something I don’t._

“I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem.”  Interestingly enough, Rumplestiltskin suddenly didn’t seem willing to meet her eyes, until he seemed to force himself to look back up at her.

“Why?”

“Because the amulet was stolen about a week ago.”  Brown eyes studied her, and Emma saw a gleam of suspicion there.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No.”  At least she could be honest about _that_.  Emma swallowed, trying not to let the crushing despair get to her.  She’d hoped so hard…but she hadn’t actually expected to find some magical solution to her problem.  Not now.  “I…I didn’t take it.  I wouldn’t.  I do want it.  Really.  I need something to stop me.”

_I need something to stop her,_ she couldn’t say, no matter how badly she wanted to.  The words just wouldn’t come.

“Is there some new problem you haven’t yet mentioned, Miss Swan?” 

_Yes!_   “No.  Why would there be?”

“You tell me, dearie.”  Rumplestiltskin put his hands on the counter, studying her again with disturbing intensity.  “You didn’t happen to lose that dagger of yours, did you?”

He’d guessed.  Emma almost went limp with relief, but the damned darkness wouldn’t let her, and her traitorous lips were already answering: “You’d know if I did.”

“Would I?”  He wasn’t convinced, and Emma could have hugged him for that.

_Tread carefully, dearie, unless you want to live in a world of pain_ , the imp inside her cautioned, but Emma just didn’t care.  She’d face the pain if it meant her freedom in the end.  Still, as much as she burned to tell the truth, she couldn’t make herself.  The magic wouldn’t let her, and her head began to pound from the effort.

Not that she could show the pain.

“I’d hope so, yeah.”  That was the closest to a plea she could get, but was it enough?  Or would even the master manipulator take that at face value?  _Don’t let him guess,_ the darkness whispered, suddenly fierce and agonizing.  She had to say more, had to keep him from knowing.  The Black Fairy had _commanded_ that, and the order burned into her like a brand.  Emma hated lying, but she had no choice.  “I’m not out of control.  You know I suck at lying, so you’d be able to tell.”

Emma hoped he could, but all Rumplestiltskin did was nod, and she left as soon as she could after that, her head pounding wildly.  She’d done her best to throw him hints, but if her predecessor couldn’t guess, who would?  Oh, Henry and maybe Baelfire would know that something was wrong, but that wasn’t enough.  She needed someone to figure out what the hell was going on, and if Rumplestiltskin couldn’t do it, who could?

No one, that was who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update; a family emergency took me away from the computer. We’ll return to our normal updating schedule next week. Next up, Chapter Seventy-Five—“As the Yard Turned to Red”, in which Henry learns he’s going to get a new aunt, the butcher’s son makes another appearance, Morgan works to find Galatine, Belle and David look for Lancelot (again!), Isaac makes a mistake, and Regina and Robin get to be happy.
> 
> As a note, I know that the show has gotten a lot of us down. It’s hard to be positive these days—believe me, I know! But if you are still reading and enjoying this story, please drop me a line to let me know. Writing a story as big as this one can be very draining when the show is so disheartening, so it really helps to know that others are along for the journey with me.


	75. As the Yard Turned to Red

“I’m getting worried, Rumple.”  Belle bit her lip thoughtfully, trying not to let the butterflies in her gut get the better of her.  She liked to think of herself as a brave woman, but not knowing who had told her grandparents about her pregnancy was eating at her.

An arm wrapped around her as Belle kept her eyes on her stomach, where both her hands rested, as if they were somehow enough to ward off the many dangers their child faced.  Morgan hadn’t beaten around the bush on that front; she’d told them everything she knew about what type of power their child might have and who might want that power.  Belle knew, of course, that her grandmother was on the top of that list, and the fact that Danns’ _knew_ about their daughter was going to eat at her for the next seven months.  Or until her grandmother was defeated.

“You’re certain your father didn’t accidentally let something slip?” he asked, pulling her close.  They were together on the couch, watching the sunset out the big windows in the Sorcerer’s House, savoring a quiet evening like they so rarely had.  But the beauty of the sunset was hard to focus on when they were both so worried.

“Papa says he didn’t, and I believe him.  Unless she enchanted him or something…but I couldn’t detect anything on him.”  Finally, Belle looked up.  “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Perhaps I should.”  Rumplestiltskin’s expression was dark.  “I think the odds of my mother saying something to them are somewhere between zero and hell freezing over.”

“Definitely.”  That, at least, was a relief.  Belle knew her father wasn’t the most circumspect or clever man, but it was nice to know that Rumple’s mother was both.  Still, she had to swallow.  “But that only leaves Bae, and we know he wouldn’t tell.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”  His eyes focused on something invisible in the distance, and Belle could almost feel her husband working through his mental catalog of magic.  “I could have been wrong.  She _might_ have been able to do something to sense it.  Her blood link with you could make that possible, but I don’t know how she would have known to look.”

Belle made herself shrug.  They couldn’t change things now; the news was out, and they would simply have to face their fears for their child together.  “I guess that must be it.”

“Yeah.”

Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around her, and Belle let herself melt into his embrace.  With him, she felt safe, and she knew that Rumple would fight for their daughter every bit as fiercely as she would.  They’d find a way to keep her safe.  Together.

* * *

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Zelena demanded as soon as Mal walked through the door, which made her turn to face her so-called ally with a scowl.

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, I certainly didn’t come to visit you.  Don’t you have a quaint little farmhouse to be rattling around in?”

“Unlike you _, I_ have contributed to the cause!”

“Yes, by killing children.  That’s a _beautiful_ contribution.”  It took all of Mal’s self-control to swallow back the bile rising in her throat.  She had done some terrible things in her time, and was willing to do others, but killing children for _fun_ made her sick.

Zelena merely shrugged.  “Some have to die to make room for a better world for _superior_ people.  I have no problem with that.”

“I can tell.”

“Ladies, please,” Arthur cut in before Zelena could start whining, and Maleficent could have kissed him.  Though judging from the way Zelena was making eyes at Camelot’s king, someone else had beaten her to that punch, and she really didn’t envy the witch if she had.  She was just glad that Arthur was there, because she was starting to wonder how lovely Zelena would look charbroiled.

“You called me?” she asked instead of indulging that fantasy.

“I did.  Danns’ wanted to speak to you, but she’s…rather busy.”  Arthur shrugged apologetically, but it was Zelena who gloated:

“Busy disposing of a useless little bug, that is.”

Her giggle grated on Mal’s nerves like nothing else, but she bit her tongue and kept her attention on Arthur. “Can I do something for you? It’s clear that you have company enough for the moment.”

“I—we—wanted to talk to you about removing that extra ‘bit’ of darkness from Lily. Danns’ believes she has found a way how.”

“She…she _has_?”  The words fairly well yelped out of Mal, and she felt her heart hammer into her ribcage, previous annoyance ignored in her excitement.  _Could this be it?  Could we finally find a way to help her?_   Mal didn’t hate her daughter for the double dose of darkness she had, but she did hate the fact that Lily had to suffer like that.

_All to make a better hero for the damned Charmings,_ she thought angrily.  She’d never forgive them for that.  On her more honest days, Mal would admit that she’d chosen the villains’ side partially because it was opposite those who had hurt her daughter.  Even thinking of what they’d done, how they’d stolen her child and how they’d pulled her friend away from her, made Mal want to curse them all into oblivion.  But maybe she could forgive them if the problem could be fixed.  Maybe.

“Yes.”  Arthur’s smile was more understanding than Mal would have expected, but then, he’d lost his child, too.  “Are you interested?”

Mal nodded firmly.  “Just tell me what we have to do.”

She didn’t need to ask Lily.  She knew what her daughter would say.  Lily had been waiting for this moment her entire life, and they would do whatever it took to free her.  Together.

* * *

 

Killian had rather expected to find Lancelot over at Mordred’s, which was why he’d invited Baelfire to come along that morning.  But Bae had bowed out at the last moment, citing a need to keep an eye on Henry and Roland while Robin and Regina went out.  Killian planned on dropping by there after visiting his uncle and his-whatever-relation-Lancelot-was, because he still cared a great deal for Henry and because Roland was growing on him.  The little boy had the makings of a fine sailor…and Killian hadn’t felt this connected to people in a long time.  He hadn’t felt so accepted, either, not since his brother’s death, and he was not going to ruin things by staying on the outside of their strange family.

Unfortunately, he found Mordred hard at work on magic and Lancelot nowhere in sight.  _So much for hoping that we might have another pleasant evening experimenting with different types of ales,_ he thought with a shrug, putting the two six packs he carried on the counter.  Mordred didn’t even notice.  Killian waited a moment, but his uncle kept reading the great tome in front of him, his hand absently stroking the bloody pendant as he did so.

“Ahem.”

Mordred’s head jerked up like a startled bird’s.  “Killian.  I didn’t know you were here.”

“You invited me.”  Killian crossed his arms, still trying not to marvel at the fact that he could do so without being careful not to inadvertently stab himself.  “And I thought your mother convinced you to stop using that be-damned thing?”

“I’m not using it.  I’m just thinking.”  Mordred’s face had a bit of a nervous tick, though.  _Methinks he doth protest too much._

But Killian didn’t say that.  Instead, he forced himself to shrug.  “Thinking about what, exactly?  You’re not planning on how to try your hand at conquering Storybrooke again, are you?  Because I’d be rather duty-bound to get in the way of that, family ties notwithstanding.”

“No, nothing so crass.”  Finally, Mordred’s hand came away from the Sapphire, and Killian sighed quietly in relief.  “I’m looking for what’s-his-name.  The Portal Jumper.”

“Jefferson?” That made him frown.  “Whatever for?”

“Because Rumplestiltskin can’t seem to find him, and I am of a mind to prove that my brother is not as competent as he thinks he is.”

Well _that_ was unexpected.  Killian laughed, smiling despite himself.  “While I’d normally be all in for anything that proved my _dear_ Uncle Crocodile wrong, even I have to admit that the bastard is ruthlessly competent.  Perhaps especially I.”

“I have far more experience than he does, and I’m hardly afraid of finding out where this Jefferson might be.”  Mordred’s expression wasn’t quite a sneer, but it came bloody close.

“And where might that be?  You sound like a man who has an answer in mind already.”

 “It’s obvious to anyone with a functioning mind.”  Mordred gestured at the book.  “Danns’ a’Bhàis undoubtedly has him.  He’s her type.”

“He is?”  Killian hadn’t know the Black Fairy _had_ a type.

“Pretty.”

He couldn’t help snorting.  “I never noticed that about him, honestly.  Is he?”  Killian grinned teasingly.  “And should I be worried on that front?”

“He is, and you would if you were not a Cornwall.  I do believe she steers clear of us on principle.  Or perhaps out of disgust.”

“She might just be steering clear of _you_ because you’re her stepson, Uncle.”

That earned him a monstrous scowl, but Killian had guessed it would.  So, he simply offered Mordred a beer, convinced him to put the still-glowing Sapphire away, and turned the conversation to less disturbing topics than what the Black Fairy did with her captives.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin was still puzzling over his conversation with Emma two days after she’d asked about the Peace Amulet.  On one hand, he knew that Emma Swan was hardly the most subtle of souls, and the idea of her hinting at anything in such a sideways fashion was enough to make his head hurt.  But on the other, something clearly was bothering her.  Yet Rumplestiltskin was hardly what one would call friends with Emma; he knew the Dark One inside her, but he hadn’t ever been close to the Savior.  So, he’d called David to tell the other man to have a chat with his daughter, hoping that he could figure things out.  Unfortunately, David hadn’t reported any progress, which left Rumplestiltskin turning his conversation with Emma over in his mind yet again.

“Hey, Grandpa!”

Hearing Henry’s voice made Rumplestiltskin look up from the way he’d been staring blankly at the counter, and he smiled despite himself as Henry led Baelfire into the shop.  Bae looked a little winded, probably by Henry’s enthusiasm.  Henry was smart and determined, and every time he set his mind to something, the lad managed to pull it off.  He really was a breath of fresh air, even when Rumplestiltskin was as frustrated as he was right now.

He’d even tried looking into the future for answers, but the visions remained the same jumbled mess they’d always been in Storybrooke.  Utterly useless.  So, he forced his mind away from Emma Swan and focused on her son, coming around from behind the counter to meet them halfway into the shop.

“Hello, Henry.”  

“Dad said you and Belle wanted to tell me something.”  Henry glanced around.  “But Belle’s not here.  Is she?”

“No, she went looking for Lancelot, I’m afraid.  But I think I can do the honors in her absence.”

Bae snorted with laughter before Rumplestiltskin could say more.  “I’d say you did _something,_ Pop.”

“Baelfire.”  Adore his son though he did, Rumplestiltskin found that remark rather crasser than the situation called for.  But his glare bounced right off of Bae, who just gave Henry a rakish grin.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” The boy looked between the pair in confusion, his brow scrunching up thoughtfully.

“Yep.”  Bae gave his father a smug look that seemed to say _You’re up,_ and Rumplestiltskin sighed.  He loved his boy more than words could express, but a happy Baelfire could be a bit of a handful.

“Will _someone_ please tell me what the joke is?”  Henry wasn’t quite whining; for a teenager, he was surprisingly mature.  But he did look a little put out, which made Rumplestiltskin feel bad.  Poor Henry had enough on his plate lately.

“What your father is so inelegantly hinting at is that you’re going to have an aunt before too long,” he answered, bracing himself for a negative response from his grandson.  He hadn’t been around to see how Henry reacted to the idea of getting an uncle out of Snow and Charming; Zelena had the dagger back then, and Rumplestiltskin hadn’t precisely been welcome as a member of the family, even afterwards.

Henry blinked hard.  “You’re saying that Belle’s pregnant.  Oh.”  He twisted to look at his own father.  “Isn’t that kind of weird?”

“You tell me, kiddo.  You’ve already done it with my sort of namesake.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.”  Henry suddenly seemed to look guilty.  “But’s cool, too.  Kind of.  As long as my aunt and uncle don’t end up getting together.  Our family tree is bad enough as it is.”

That comment almost made Rumplestiltskin choke.  “I should hope not.”

“No kidding.  That would be the _height_ of awkward, and we’re not living in West Virginia,” Bae agreed quickly.  “Remind me to keep your uncle away from my kid sister, huh?”

Henry snickered.  “I think Gramps might be willing to help with that.”

“I think we _all_ might be willing to help with that,” Rumplestiltskin put in, torn between being happy that Henry had taken the news so well and feeling off balance because this family really _was_ strange.  Would he ever get used to truly being a part of it?  _Probably not._

“She can be friends with my sister, too!” Henry suddenly beamed.  “ _That_ would actually be kind of cool.  Oh, and congratulations, Grandpa.”  Henry’s smile was sincere, but then he turned serious.  “Are you keeping it a secret?  To keep the baby safe?”

“We were, but it turns out that Belle’s grandparents already—”

The door burst open, revealing a face Rumplestiltskin had never thought to see again.  In fact, he’d almost forgotten about Samuel Boucher, the butcher’s son who had teamed up with Keith Nottingham to beat him so badly a few days after he’d woken from the coma that the Apprentice had left him in.  Rumplestiltskin had promised David that he wouldn’t go after Samuel after learning of his escape from the asylum, and he honestly hadn’t given him a second thought since then.  He’d assumed that David and Robin had caught him when they’d locked Nottingham away again, but apparently that hadn’t happened.

Now, seeing Samuel made Rumplestiltskin’s heart leap immediately into his throat, and he could feel it pitter-pattering in instinctive fear.  The last time he’d seen this man, he had been helpless.  A cripple and a coward, a man who couldn’t even defend his own wife.  He’d been so afraid that day, even when he’d struggled to put on a brave front for Belle’s sake—a front that had gotten him _nowhere_.  He’d spent his entire life either under the boot of men like Samuel Boucher or intimidating them, and Rumplestiltskin had learned as the Dark One how sweet the later could be.  Having them fear him kept him from being afraid…but Samuel clearly didn’t fear him anymore, and Rumplestiltskin felt his own hands trying to shake.

Samuel had a baseball bat in his hand this time around, and waved it menacingly.  “You’re going to give me every bit of money you’ve got in here, you sniveling bastard, or I’ll kick the shit out of you worse than I ever did.”  Samuel sneered.  “Or maybe I’ll do it anyway if you’re not fast enough.”

“Um, hi.”  Bae spoke up from Rumplestiltskin’s right, making Samuel jump.  He’d already pulled Henry back a little, Rumplestiltskin noticed, but was wearing his same crooked smile.  Somehow, hearing his son’s voice made him calm down—but then remembering that his son and grandson were both in danger made a new knot of anxiety twist in his chest.

Samuel spun to face Bae.  “Who the hell are you?”

Bae shrugged.  “Oh, just a guy who disapproves of shit kicking in general.  Particularly in front of my son.”

“Then get lost,” Samuel snapped. 

“Not gonna do that.”

“I can handle this, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin spoke up softly as he felt his old fury beginning to rise.  This man had beaten him brutally, and had threatened to rape Belle.  But Rumplestiltskin could stop him now, couldn’t he?  Oh, he didn’t _burn_ to kill him, not like he once would have; now his anger was his own, and Rumplestiltskin had always been good at grudges.

“Yeah, just like you did last time?” Samuel laughed, baring his teeth gleefully.  “I seem to remember you doing the bleeding while the cute brunette did the fighting.  If that damned prince hadn’t shown up, I’d have killed you for what you did to my father.”

Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a slight smile.  “I don’t doubt it.”

“You can’t do this,” Henry cut in.  “You can’t kill us all.  We’re _witnesses_ , and we outnumber you three to one.  You might want to leave before you do something stupid.”

“Stupid?  Stupid is not giving me the money I want!”

Bae was starting to look worried.  “Pop, you can’t—”

“Listen to him, cripple.  Get me the money and maybe I won’t hurt you.”  Samuel brandished the bat threateningly, and Rumplestiltskin finally laughed.

It actually felt good.  He didn’t need to kill this worthless piece of humanity; he could take his revenge in other ways.  Killing was so permanent, after all.  Samuel Boucher wasn’t the type who would ever threaten someone if he felt like he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room.  He didn’t have _power_ , didn’t have anything but a silly little baseball bat and an ego.

“You know, if you’d come in here and asked for help, I might have given it to you,” Rumplestiltskin mused.  “I’m not the man I was, and I do regret turning your father into a pig—or at least what happened to him afterwards.  But you threatened my wife.  And now you’re threatening my son and grandson.  And I can’t allow that.”

His right hand came up, fingers twitching.  The bat flew out of Samuel’s hand—Bae caught it neatly—and then Samuel himself flew back into the door of the shop.  Not too hard, of course; Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to have to replace the glass.  But the butcher’s boy hit hard enough to make a minor crash, although that was nothing in comparison to the comical look of shock on his face.

“You—you can’t—”

“You missed the memo when you were locked away, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged casually.  “I may not be the Dark One, but I no longer lack power.  Threatening those I care about is…shall I say, _stupid_?”

“You’re lucky he _isn’t_ the Dark One,” Henry put in, stepping up next to Rumplestiltskin in an unexpected show of support.  “Cause if he was, you’d probably be dead.”

“Undoubtedly.  But I’m a bit better behaved these days.”  He turned to his grandson.  “Would you mind calling your other grandfather, Henry?  I’m sure David would love to put this malcontent back where he belongs.”

Henry grinned.  “I bet he would.”

A hand landed lightly on Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder, and had he not known that it _had_ to be his son, he would have jumped out of his skin.  Bae still held the bat loosely, but his eyes were on his father.  “You want to tell me what he’s talking about?  Obviously something happened between when you were the Dark One and you becoming the Sorcerer, but I’m kind of getting the feeling that I slept through the details.”

“Maybe later.”  Rumplestiltskin never let his eyes leave Samuel, who was fighting pointlessly against the magic holding him to the door.  If he struggled any harder, though, he might break the door, which would be very annoying.

“How about not ‘maybe’, Papa?  I can’t help if I don’t know what happened.” 

Finally, he turned to look at his son, seeing concern shining out of brown eyes.  Rumplestiltskin swallowed, biting back his instinctive desire to tell Bae that he didn’t need to know what had happened.  Despite all that had happened, Rumplestiltskin was still so ashamed of what happened that day.  If David hadn’t chanced upon them, Rumplestiltskin might have been dead…but that didn’t bother him as much as the thought of what Nottingham and Boucher would have done to Belle.  _I couldn’t protect her.  I was a cripple and a coward, and Belle almost suffered for that._ Rumplestiltskin would always hate himself for all the people that had endangered her because of him—or those who hated his son for the same reasons.

“It’s over,” he said quietly, looking away.  “It doesn’t matter now.”

He could feel Bae’s eyes on him, and knew that his son wasn’t going to drop the subject forever, but at least Bae didn’t ask anything else before David showed up to arrest Samuel Boucher all over again.

* * *

 

“Any luck?”  Morgan didn’t look up from her work; she had to keep slowly stirring the potion for the next minute or so, or the last hour would be utterly wasted.  But Accolon had never minded her distractions before, so she had no reason to think he would be bothered, now.

“None.”  She could hear his frown.  “Even those I knew in Camelot seem to know nothing.”

“Pity.” 

Her lover wasn’t the smartest man, but Accolon’s best talent lay in _finding_ things.  So, after Morgan’s conversation with Henry concerning Galatine, she’d set the knight to looking for the sword she had once carried.  Merlin had taken it from her—undoubtedly at Danns’ command—but she had hoped the sword might have come through from Camelot instead of still being in Danns’ possession.  After all, Danns’ had often been careless with magical items like that, leaving them with Merlin because she was so very confident in her control over him.  He’d beaten her in the end, arranging his own (half) death and the passing on of the curse, and Morgan had managed to catch Danns’ by surprise with the Heart not long after that, capitalizing on the confusion of the war’s end to exile her old enemy.  Morgan was hoping that Galatine might have become lost in that mess.  Had the sword been dumped through the portal with the survivors, it could have been anywhere, but that did not seem to be the case.

_Alas._

“What are you doing?” Accolon leaned into her line of vision as Morgan continued her rhythmic stirring.

“A different kind of finding potion.  My grandmother made the blade, and she was also Lancelot’s mother.  The sword is the closest point of relation between he and I, so I have mixed our blood in.  If all goes well, this potion will lead me to Galatine.”

“And if all doesn’t go well?”

“Then we keep looking.”  Letting out a breath, Morgan withdrew her stirrer from the potion, watching the dark red liquid simmer slightly before calming down.  “This potion needs two days to set, first, so we have time to explore other options.  Did you find Lancelot or Elaine?”

“No.  Lancelot is probably at Mordred’s, and you know how your son feels about me.”  His handsome face twisted into a scowl, but Morgan had long since refused to take sides in Mordred’s little vendetta against her lover.

_He thinks you’re unworthy of me, not understanding that was_ exactly _what I sought when I ensnared you,_ Morgan didn’t say.  Instead, she arched an eyebrow.  “And Elaine?”

“Off helping some woman give birth.  I declined to participate.”

Morgan snorted in amusement.  Accolon could be such a snob sometimes, and he’d never liked the mere ‘servant’ who had once been a young Colette’s nursemaid.  Elaine had somehow survived the frightful semi-frozen years in Camelot, and Morgan had spoken to her a handful of times since then.  She knew that Lancelot had, too.  Elaine was a pearl beyond price, a useful source of information who had always been there when needed.

Accolon’s frown deepened when she did not answer.  “I’m beginning to think that sword is simply lost.  A lot of things can happen in a thousand years.”

Morgan fought back the urge to glare at him.  “Secondary powers are not _lost_ , Accolon.  Galatine would survive the collapsing of realms.  Years will not destroy such a sword.”

“If you say so.”  He shrugged.  “Now, can I get you put down your magic and come out for lunch as you promised, love?”

“Of course.”  She could do nothing else for now, so Morgan might as well enjoy a meal in the meantime.  Perhaps she would come up with another idea of how to find the sword while she was at it.

After all, if they were not going to exile Danns’ a’Bhàis this time, Morgan had to be prepared with a permanent way to deal with her.  Reul Ghorm would not like it, of course—she was rather proprietary where her sister was concerned—but Morgan no longer cared what the Blue Fairy thought.  If Reul had truly wanted to protect humanity, she would not have refused to ally with them.  It was far past time humans proved willing to remove Danns’ a’Bhàis…forever.

* * *

 

David had just finished locking Samuel Boucher away when Belle walked into the sheriff’s station.  Immediately, he twisted to look at the butcher’s son, but Boucher suddenly seemed fascinated by studying the walls.  _Probably desperate not to call attention to himself now that he’s realized Rumplestiltskin has magic again_.  The thought made David smile, even if it probably shouldn’t have pleased a responsible sheriff so much.  Still, Rumplestiltskin could have done a lot worse than pin the man to a wall.  Hell, David would probably have at least broken Boucher’s nose if it had been him, particularly after what Boucher and Nottingham had threatened to do to Belle.

_Sooner or later, we’re going to have to work out a legal system in this place,_ David thought for the umpteenth time.  Unfortunately, now wasn’t the moment.  Not with so much else going on.

“Hey!  What brings you here?” he greeted Belle, who gave him a tired smile.

“I was looking for Lancelot, actually.  I can’t seem to find him anywhere.”  She grimaced.  “I even asked Mordred, but he hasn’t seen him in days.”

That took David a bit aback.  “I haven’t either.”  Quickly, he thought back on the last time he’d seen Lancelot, and it _had_ been awhile, hadn’t it?  “Did you check in the Camelot camp?  There are still some people there, particularly now that the dwarves are helping build houses there.”

“Not yet.  I…well, I don’t really want to go out there by myself.  Rumple offered to go with me, but I was hoping someone a little less intimidating might come along.”

David knew a hint when he heard one, so he smiled.  “I’m free.  Do you want me to come along?”

“I’d appreciate it.” Belle’s return smile was glowing.  “Rumple means well, but he’s not the best at making friends.”

“You can say that again,” David laughed.  It had taken him a long time to warm up to his fellow grandfather, after all.  And he really did know what it was like to be someone with a peasant’s background playing on a different level.  His own transition had been a lot less prickly than the former Dark One’s had, but David understood Rumplestiltskin’s discomfort probably better than Belle ever would.

“Can we go now?  I’m starting to get worried that my grandparents locked him away again, but I don’t want to confront them before I have more information.”

“You bet.”  David stood and grabbed his jacket.  “Let’s go find some answers.”

Of course, their visits were cut short by running into Arthur, who immediately demanded to know why David was with Belle.  That earned Belle’s grandfather a bit of an impressive tongue-lashing that David was rather amused to watch, but it did mean that they ran out of people to talk to.  David didn’t fail to notice how most of the Camelotonians who’d been willing to talk to him and Belle faded away once Arthur approached, and part of him wondered if that was exactly what Camelot’s king had in mind.

He and Belle ended up deciding to try again in a few days’ time, hopefully without Arthur interrupting things.

* * *

 

The summons came right when Emma had been about to call her father and ask him and Baby Neal to join her for an early dinner, and now she found herself standing, yet again, in the Black Fairy’s house.  Her arrival had been as unpleasant as usual, but interestingly enough, Danns’ seemed to cut the normal demeaning routine short.  Was that because Nuckelavee was there?  Emma wasn’t sure.  The male fae studied her with a hungry expression as she rose from her knees, though, and Emma burned to wipe that smirk off of his face.

_Try me, you sick bastard,_ she managed not to snarl.  _I beat you once and I’ll do it again.  Maybe this time I can kill you.  Assuming I can do it before_ she _stops me._   The darkness coiled inside her, loving that idea—but even it froze when Danns’ suddenly said:

“Name a fairy who might have information on the Truest Believer.”

Emma’s heart plummeted, worry for Henry making it hard to breathe.  _Don’t say Tink.  Tink would know, and Tink can’t stand up to this bitch,_ she thought desperately.   The only other name she could think of blurted out almost on its own: “The Blue Fairy.”

It wasn’t like Emma knew a lot of fairies, anyway, but the mention of Mother Superior made Danns’ scowl.  “Other than her.  Who are her closest cronies these days?”

“How should I know?”  Emma snorted.  “I’m not friends with the fairies.  Particularly now.”

They hated her for what she’d become, she knew.  Even Blue, who had supposedly supported her mother’s family for generations, avoided Emma, now.  She didn’t know why that burned, why it hurt to have people look at her like she was the ultimate evil.  _I took this on to save people,_ she told herself firmly, struggling to retain her sense of self and not let the darkness steal it away.  But Nimue’s whisper came immediately:  _So did I.  You’re no better than me, and you’re no Savior, now.  Now you’re just like_ us.

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Danns’ studied her for a long moment, long enough to make Emma shiver.  “Do I need to remind you of the consequences of defying me?”

“No.”  Emma swallowed hard, knowing that she couldn’t risk that again.  She’d been lucky last time, but there was no way things would play out that way again, and screwing up meant someone in her family would die.  “I’m not lying to you.  I don’t know anything about the fairies.  It’s not like I grew up in the Enchanted Forest.”

_Don’t ask me about the Truest Believer,_ she thought desperately, struggling to keep her face blank.  _Please don’t ask me._

For once, luck was with her.  Danns’ turned to Nuckelavee.  “Find one of the purple fairies.  They’ve always been some of Reul’s favorites, and if anyone knows, they will.”

There were purple fairies?  Emma knew the convent was full of nuns, but she had no idea what colors were whose.  Hell, she couldn’t really remember any of them other than Tink or Astrid. Most of the others kept to themselves.  While she was thinking, Nuckelavee vanished, leaving Emma alone with the Black Fairy again.

“Stand over there.”  Danns’ gestured at a place by the far wall with the dagger.  “Do not speak and do not interfere.  Do you understand?”

“Yeah.  Sure.”  Being told to stand in the corner was better than playing twenty questions, even if Emma did feel like a puppet on strings when her legs started automatically carrying her in that direction.  Then she waited, silent and miserable, for Nuckelavee to return with a fairy.

Emma was certain this was going to be ugly, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

* * *

 

Henry had meant to go see Isaac again sooner, but things kept getting busy.  But after Gramps came and took Samuel Boucher away, he and his dad headed out to go talk to the former Author again.  Baelfire asked a couple of questions about what had happened with Boucher and Grandpa on the way, but Henry was only able to answer vaguely.  He didn’t really know what had happened, only that it had been pretty ugly and Gramps had saved the day.  His dad didn’t look too happy hearing any of it, but by the time they reached Isaac’s house, Bae was his normal, cheerful, self.

“You told us a lot about a sword last time we were here,” Henry said after they were sitting down.  Isaac looked annoyed that they’d shown up without calling ahead, but Henry knew enough to know that you _never_ gave someone enough warning to come up with good lies.

Besides, Isaac probably invented lies as easily as breathing, so he couldn’t really be too annoyed about _that_.

“I already told you everything I know about Galatine.  Unless you’re here for stories about Excalibur?”  Isaac smiled.  “The legends about _her_ are very contradictory, but I can—”

“Nah, we’re still interested in the first one,” his dad cut in.  “Particularly in the fact that you sent us on a wild goose chase.”

Henry didn’t miss the way Isaac shifted uneasily, even as the former Author tried to look offended.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”  Henry snorted.  “Of course you had _no_ idea that the Black Fairy already had the sword.  You’d never leave information like that out, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”  Isaac twitched slightly.  “I’m not an idiot.  I like my freedom.”

“Yeah, but I think you’re more ambitious than that.”  Bae leaned forward in his chair, and Henry smirked when Isaac swallowed nervously.  “I think you’ve been double-crossing us.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“Now, it’s just a theory,” Bae overrode him calmly.  “I don’t have proof right now.  But you’d better believe that the moment I do, buddy, you’re utterly screwed.  You’ll go back to that asylum, and you’re never going to see the light of day again after that.  So, I want you to think _really_ hard about if sucking up to the Black Fairy is worth that.”

Isaac crossed his arms smugly.  “You wouldn’t lock me up for life without a trial.”

“Why not?”  It was Bae’s turn to snort.  “Remember, I’m not some goody two shoes hero type.  I’m _practical._ And what’s more, I’m Rumplestiltskin’s kid.  I’m sure my dad has a thousand and one ways to make you miserable.  They might not be as nasty as they were when he was the Dark One, but he’s still pretty damned creative.”

“Besides, my other grandpa is still the sheriff,” Henry put in, liking the way this conversation was going.  “And he doesn’t like you, either.  You knew the deal you made.  It’s not our fault if you break it.”

“I’m not breaking anything.”  His predecessor glared, but there wasn’t a lot of heat in that look.

“Sure.  Stick to the story.”  Bae got up, and Henry followed suit.  “I hope for your sake that we can’t prove otherwise.”

Henry smirked.  “But I bet we can.”

He and his dad headed towards the door together, leaving Isaac sitting in his living room.  Henry really had to fight to keep himself from laughing out loud; this was the second time he and Baelfire had pulled this on Isaac, and he knew that it was going to work again.  Isaac wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t exactly brave.  And he was _really_ predictable.

Sure enough, the former Author’s desperate voice called out before they even got to the door.

“Wait!”

* * *

 

Emma had almost gone numb to the screams.  She wasn’t sure what was worse: listening to the darkness cackle inside her, or watching the Violet Fairy beg and plead for her life.  Emma could have told the poor woman that she was a corpse the moment Nuckelavee had dumped her at the Black Fairy’s feet, but apparently no one had given Violet that memo.  _She’s not careless enough to let anyone see me here that might tell others, and I don’t think she thinks Violet is important enough to waste a memory potion on,_ Emma thought sadly.

_She’s just a fairy, and a worthless one at that,_ Nimue scoffed immediately.  _Listen to her scream.  Look at that_ power.  _That could be yours, if only you would embrace the darkness._ With an effort, Emma wrenched her mind away from those thoughts, but then that meant she had to listen to the conversation taking place ten feet away.

“I don’t know anything,” Violet whispered through bloody lips.  “Mother Superior never mentioned who the new Truest Believer is.  I thought there wasn’t—”

Violet cut off in a scream, and Emma sighed.  This was getting really old, but Nuckelavee really seemed to enjoy his work.  _Sick bastard._   If she’d thought his decapitation of a school bus driver in front of dozens of children had been bad, she’d been wrong.  This was far worse.  Poor Violent was on the ground, shaking and twitching and crying.  They’d been at this for _hours_ , or at least it felt like it.  Maybe time just dragged when she had to watch someone being tortured to death.

“Does she have any humans in the convent?  Any that she pays special attention to?” Nuckelavee asked once Violet grew quiet, save for her harsh panting. 

“No.  Wait!” Violet cried the word desperately when Nuckelavee lifted his hands once more, dark red magic sparking between them.  That spell would flay the fairy alive, Emma knew, and she swallowed back the urge to vomit.  She’d been ordered not to interfere, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look away.

“Well?” Nuckelavee drew the word out playfully, and Emma found a window to stare out of.

“She’s been watching Belle Gold lately—”

“Oh, _useless_.”  The screams told Emma that Nuckelavee had released the spell, and she closed her eyes tightly.  Even the darkness drowned in the face of her horror.  How could she stand here?  How could she do nothing?  But her legs wouldn’t move when she willed them to, and even thinking of using magic to stop the sadistic fae made her eyes water with pain.

“Watch and learn, Dark One,” a soft voice said from her side, and Emma jumped, her eyes flying open.

Whether she wanted it to or not, her gaze immediately landed on the bloody mess the Violet Fairy was becoming, and Emma couldn’t help cringing.  She couldn’t even look at the Black Fairy; no, she had to _watch_.  Nuckelavee took his sweet time killing Violet, too, making the process stretch out for yet another hour, even when it was obvious that poor Violet didn’t know a thing.

And Emma watched, because she had been commanded to.

* * *

 

“That was…painful.”  Regina sighed, leaning back against the couch.  For once, however, it wasn’t her pregnancy bothering her—no, this time it was just politics.  And at least she knew how to deal with that.

“I thought you were pretty spectacular, actually.”  Robin reached a hand out to rub the back of her neck, and Regina melted into his touch.

“Having avoided a lynch mob isn’t particularly impressive, you know.”  But her voice softened more than she wanted it to; the rubbing felt damned _good_ , and she was already going limp.

“I’d say you did much better than that.  You sorted out a number of grievances, and you’ve even put together the beginning of a committee to sort out the laws here in Storybrooke.”

Regina managed a half-shrug, but her muscles objected to the idea of moving any further away from his wonderful touch than that.  “That was David’s idea.”

“And a good leader uses her resources wisely.  Stop being modest, ‘Gina.”  He chuckled teasingly.  “It really doesn’t fit you, anyway.”

“Hey!  I can be modest.” 

“Of course you can.”  She felt him shift closer as her eyes drifted shut, and Regina had to smile as feather-light lips touched her shoulder.  Then Robin’s second hand joined his first, and she let out a small moan of pleasure.

“Don’t stop.  That feels wonderful.”

“I thought it might.  You’re a ball of tension.”

“I’m the mayor of the strangest town in _any_ realm.  Tell me again why I want to fight to keep this job?”  Sometimes, Regina found the idea of dumping the mayorship on someone else _really_ tempting.  Then she could just focus on being a mother—and a wife, before too long.  Just thinking of that sent a pleasant shiver up her spine, and Regina resisted the urge to laugh out loud.

She was getting _married_.  She was going to marry a man she loved, a man whose child was inside her and who loved her as madly as she loved him.  Things were certainly complicated and far from perfect, but Regina didn’t give a damn.  This was the future she wanted, and she could hardly believe how lucky she was.  She knew that she didn’t deserve it, not after everything she’d done, but Regina was determined to fight for her happy ending.

“Because you care too much to let someone like Arthur run rampant over a town you love,” Robin said, bringing her back down to earth.

“Yeah.”  She sighed.  “I do.”

Was that the price to pay for her current happiness?  Doing the right thing by a town _she_ had created out of anger but had someone grown to love?  If so, Regina would pay it tenfold.  She wasn’t afraid of responsibility, not any more.  She would do her best for Storybrooke, because the people she loved were depending on _her_ , and she would be damned if she’d let them down.

Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Six—“All the Tales That You Remember,” in which Regina asks someone to walk her down the aisle, Morgan is betrayed, Archie escapes his apartment, Lily and Maleficent get what they have most wanted, Emma finds a loophole, and Belle finds a certain contract.


	76. All the Tales That You Remember

Regina had thought long and hard about this decision, going back and forth on whether she felt like it was a betrayal of her father.  She would have given _anything_ to have Daddy there for this wedding, to have him give her away to a man she truly loved, but Regina knew that it was her fault that he wasn’t.  She’d spent hours weeping in his crypt yesterday, apologizing over and over again for what she had done.  Even though she’d said repeatedly that she had no regrets from casting the curse because it brought Henry into her life, Regina knew that was a lie.  She’d sacrificed her father to gain her son, and that did leave a hole in her heart that would never fully heal.

She missed him terribly, but in the end, all she could do was move forward.  And…well, she thought her father might understand.  _Even if Mama might not approve.  That gives me even_ more _reason to do what I want to._   Cora would have thought Robin too lowborn for Regina (even if he had been a nobleman before he threw it all away).  She would probably have insisted Regina marry another king, or at least a prince, but Regina didn’t care.  She had learned to value love, and what her mother would have said on that front no longer mattered.  Cora wasn’t there to disapprove as much as Henry Sr. wasn’t there to approve.  Her father would have liked Robin…and he also would have understood that there was only one man left living who she would ask to give her away.

Now the problem of convincing _him_ remained, which left Regina taking a steadying breath as she pushed the pawn shop’s door open. Rumplestiltskin was reorganizing something inside one of the display cabinets to the left, but he came out of his crouch and turned to face her when she walked in.

“Why _do_ you keep this place open?” she couldn’t help asking, stopping about an arm’s length away from him.  “I’m pretty sure you haven’t made a single sale in the last thirty years.” 

He chuckled.  “There’s been one or two.”

Regina snorted.  “Lately?”

“Of course not.  But we both know that’s hardly the point.  Keeping the shop open prevents people from barging into my home.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured her way.  “Such as you.”

“Oh, I’m feeling the love right now.”

“I do believe you have an outlaw for that.”

“Better him than you!”  But Regina laughed, and it was an easy laugh.  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed their sarcastic banter until she’d woken up one day and realized she’d lost that.  She still wasn’t sure which one of them was more to blame on that front, but that didn’t really matter.  What mattered was that Rumplestiltskin was still her oldest friend.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he drawled, which made her snort again.

“You do realize that you’re saying that as the man who slept with my _mother_.”

“Yet another reason not to be interested in you, dear.”

“Well, I’m glad we agree on that.”  Regina found it a lot easier to continue being snarky than to approach emotionally heavy topics, but she made herself square her shoulders.  She could be sassy with Rumplestiltskin all day long, but that wasn’t why she was here.  “Can I…can I ask you a question, Rumple?”

He seemed to notice her change in tone immediately, blinking as his expression turned curious.  And maybe a little wary.  “Of course.”

“Nothing bad,” she said quickly, and then had to stop her hands from windmilling helplessly.  “Or at least I hope not.”

“You have my attention.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was surprisingly soft, but then perhaps Regina was still expecting her old imp, with his sharp edges and oft-intentional cruelty.  The new Rumplestiltskin was no saint, but he really was a kinder man.

Then again, Regina had learned to embrace kindness, too, so it wasn’t like she could cast any stones.

“You know that Robin and I are getting married.”  She brought her chin up, daring him to disapprove, _baiting_ Rumplestiltskin to say something nasty so that she could just eviscerate him and then not have to deal with her own emotions.  But he didn’t take the bait, instead just nodding for her to continue.  Regina gulped.  “So, um, I was wondering if you…if you…”

“If what?” he prompted her all too gently, and Regina’s see-sawing emotions finally got the better of her.

“If you’d walk me down the aisle, damnit,” she snarled.  “You’re a bastard, but you’re the closest thing I have to a father these days.”

She hadn’t meant to ask so aggressively, but there it was.  The question had definitely surprised him, at least.  Mouth dropping open, Rumplestiltskin stared at her with owlish eyes for a long moment.  Regina’s heart started pitter-pattering in regret, every instinct she had telling her that she shouldn’t have put herself out like this.  _You’re showing weaknesses, and you_ know _what he does to weaknesses.  How could you be so stupid?_ Rumplestiltskin was staring at her like he didn’t know what to say, and the way he cleared his throat made Regina cringe.

“I…I would be honored.”

That took a moment to sink in.  She’d been braced for rejection, not acceptance. Regina almost didn’t know what to say.  “Really?”

“Really.”  He nodded, looking almost as lost as she did—but actually, rather touched, too. 

“I, um, thank you.”  She felt like that young woman again, the one who had told him that she wanted _love_ , and had instead chosen darkness.  He’d led her there, but Regina had known what she was doing…and now that she could see the whole of it, she knew that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t really known another path himself.  Not back then.

Now they were both so different, but that didn’t make this any less awkward.  Yet, Regina found herself smiling like an idiot, relief coursing through her and making her laugh.  On a whim, she stepped forward to hug Rumplestiltskin before she changed her mind.  He jumped, but after a moment, he hugged her back.  For once, neither of them said something snarky.

“Thanks, Rumple,” she said softly.  “It means a lot to me.”

She felt him swallow.  “Me, too.”

* * *

 

Nuckelavee had asked her to come around while he captured the Plum Fairy, and Zelena did find their excursion rather enjoyable.  She didn’t like fairies, at least not as a general rule.  They’d never done anything for her, so why should she care about them?  So, when the Plum Fairy turned to her with pleading eyes—Nuckelavee had long since silenced her—Zelena just shrugged and didn’t bother to look away.

Of course, the stupid fairy ended up not having any useful information, not even when Nuckelavee let her talk again.  That meant they were wasting their time, and Zelena was getting bored.

* * *

 

Morgan had stepped out to talk to one of her grandsons, which meant Accolon knew exactly what he needed to do.  The trick was making sure that Morgan couldn’t use magic to pinpoint his guilt, but she’d never managed to do that before.  The important thing was to frequent _every_ area of the house often enough that Morgan could never use magic to determine when he had last been there; he had to keep magical traces of himself everywhere so that she’d never blame him.  But, since he’d visited her here just two days earlier, watching her work on the spell that was due to be complete today, Accolon knew that he’d be safe.

Part of him felt a little guilty for continuing to betray his longtime lover like this, but he’d been in Danns’ a’Bhàis’ service for too long for that to be much more than a flicker.  Morgan thought him simple, thought him easily pleased and lacking ambition.  She should have married him and made him a king, but instead the woman had always kept him merely as a lover, denying Accolon the advancement he knew was his right.  When Danns’ a’Bhàis came to her full power, however, things would be different.  He would be recognized for his longtime service, and Arthur had promised him great rewards.  _Morgan should have treated me better,_ he told himself, reaching for the beaker holding the potion that would lead Morgan to Galatine.

Taking a deep breath, Accolon walked over to the window with the beaker in hand.  He opened the window slowly, careful not to spill a drop of the potion.  He knew enough about magic to know that liquid spilled on a flat surface could be reconstituted and decontaminated fairly easily…so he poured the potion into the flowerbed and watched the dirt soak it up.

There.  He had done his duty to the Queen, and now Morgan would never find Excalibur’s sister sword.

* * *

 

Archie managed to sneak out of his apartment that morning, somehow walking right past the spells Rumplestiltskin had placed to notify them if he made it out.  The wards _did_ notify the Sorcerer that Archie had left, but the delay was noticeable, and allowed Archie to make it halfway across town.  By the time Rumplestiltskin caught up with him, he was trying to light town hall on fire.

At least a wave of his hand could solve _that_ problem.  If only getting Archie’s heart back was so simple.

“Really, Doctor?” he asked, walking up as Archie whirled around.  For a moment, the blank look on the former cricket’s face remained in place, and then it vanished, replaced by confusion and worry.

“What…what did I do?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “Nothing that can’t be undone.”  A flick of his fingers repaired the damage; a twist of his wrist erased any evidence there had ever been a small fire to start with.  _As someone who once_ did _burn down most of this building, I suppose I owe Storybrooke this small public service, at least._   “We’d best get you home.”

“Did I try to burn town hall down?” Archie looked horrified, but Rumplestiltskin had to chuckle.

“Well, of the two of us, only one managed to do so, and it wasn’t you.” 

He knew his smile was lopsided, but Rumplestiltskin was only sort of paying attention.  He’d call David and get him to deal with the therapist’s distress; David was far more suited to that task than he, anyway.  But Rumplestiltskin could _feel_ the magic on Archie, could see the subtle threads surrounding him.  No one had entered Archie’s apartment—Rumplestiltskin would have known if they had—which meant said magic had been cast at a distance.  _On his heart, of course.  It’s a conduit straight to his body…and that shielded him from the wards for just long enough._   Rumplestiltskin felt like a fool.  He was out of his depth, going toe-to-toe with an original power who had more than a thousand years to perfect her knowledge.

_I have never felt so young._

Archie’s voice was still impossibly small, and that jerked Rumplestiltskin out of his reverie.  “Did I hurt anyone?”

“No.  Your fire never grew that much.”  He really was terrible at offering reassurances, so Rumplestiltskin gave Archie the friendliest nod he could manage and pulled out his phone to call David.  David could do the people part of this; he needed to figure out why the Black Fairy would send Archie to burn down town hall when she knew he would be stopped.

* * *

 

Lily had expected something more, well, _concrete._  Something like the Sorcerer’s Hat that she’d heard they tried to contain _the_ darkness in, not a mid-sized crystal bottle that looked more like a flower vase than something suited to holding the stuff that had made her life miserable pretty much since birth.  It had a stopper, sure, but was that delicate looking thingy really suited for holding Emma Swan’s darkness inside it?  Her heart was hammering unsteadily; Lily was excited but terrified, and so very afraid of what would happen if something went wrong.

“Are you ready?” Her mother’s hand on her shoulder helped steady her, and Lily nodded.

“Yeah.  What’s the worst that can happen, it stays in me?”  She tried to smile, but the effort kind of failed.  “Been there, done that.  Even if it gets worse, at least I’m not a baby this time.”

Maleficent’s return smile was one of most reassuring things Lily had ever seen, and not for the first time, she realized how lucky she was to have a mother who _got_ it.  “Whatever happens, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”  She hated how tiny her voice sounded, but there was nothing that could be done about that.  Lily just squared her shoulders and looked at the Black Fairy.  “Let’s do this.”

Danns’ nodded slowly, her green eyes focused on Lily with so much intensity that Lily wanted to shiver.  _I’m just cold._ They were outside, deep in the forest outside of Storybrooke, and the day really was unseasonably cold and rainy.  She could blame her coldness on the weather all she wanted, but part of Lily knew the truth.  Was trusting history’s darkest fairy to pull her extra dose of darkness away even smart?  Sure, Danns’ was probably powerful enough to do it, but what if she somehow decided to screw Lily over in the process?  It wouldn’t be the first time someone she’d trusted had let her down; people had a habit of doing that.  It was the story of her goddamned life.

Except her mother.  Maleficent had never let her down, and it was Mal who had talked to Danns’ about the finer points about how this darkness was going to be removed.  Lily knew a bit about magic, and she was learning pretty quickly, but she didn’t have a deep enough knowledge to comprehend this.  _I trust my mom,_ she decided.  _And I’m not backing down, now._

Magic suddenly sizzled through the air, catching Lily completely by surprise as it slammed into her.  She staggered, and then froze—because she couldn’t move.  Not an inch.  Her breath caught, and she _knew_ her eyes were wide with fear, but she couldn’t stop herself.  “What—why—?”

“What are you doing?” Maleficent’s voice was cold, and the fact that her mother wasn’t freaking out helped Lily calm down.

“She cannot fight me while I do this.”  Danns’ shrugged.  “If she does, it will fail.”

“A warning would have been nice,” Maleficent replied dryly, and Lily tried to nod. 

Of course, that didn’t work.

“My apologies.  Your human…niceties often escape me.”  Danns’ didn’t sound very sorry, but Lily wasn’t dumb enough to antagonize her by insisting she sound sincere.

“No biggie.”  She smiled crookedly.  “I’d nod, but you’ve got me stuck.”

Green eyes flashed; perhaps she’d gone a little too far.  But at least her mother looked amused.  And besides, what was the worst Danns’ could do to her while she was frozen?  Lily’d wished for death more than once in her life, and they all knew that the Black Fairy didn’t need to freeze her to kill her.  She had about a thousand other options that were a lot easier than this.

“Very well.”  Danns’ glanced at Maleficent.  “Step back.”

Maleficent glanced her way one last time, and Lily tried to give her a smile.  Then her mother obeyed, moving fifteen feet back and allowing Danns’ to begin the spell that would _finally_ remove Emma Swan’s damned darkness from her heart.  Lily started to open her mouth to ask if they could give it back to Emma, but then the magic hit her, and she screamed instead.

She didn’t remember the darkness going _in_ hurting so much when she was a baby, but damn it burned now.  Lily would have collapsed if she could, and she could feel her limbs trying to spasm and her throat closing off.  She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and after a moment, she could no longer scream, either.   She wanted to, but the sounds wouldn’t come and her voice wouldn’t work; the world was spinning in a wildly dark tornado, and she felt like her very soul was being peeled away.  If she could have spoken, if it had hurt just a tiny bit less, Lily would have begged for it to stop, would have said that she’d rather live with the double dose of darkness than endure _this_ , but she couldn’t move.

Seconds ticked by, though they felt like hours, until the burning pull finally stopped.  Lily slumped as best she was able, and then suddenly the magic that held her frozen vanished, and she collapsed, landing hard on her knees.

“Lily?  Sweetheart, talk to me.”  Maleficent was by her side, holding her up and keeping her from winding up in a heap.

Lily had to swallow several times before words came out.  “…not dead yet.”

“How do you feel?”

Blinking, she managed to lift her head to look at her mother’s smile.  Trying to talk failed the first time, so Lily gulped in air desperately until she felt almost normal.

“Okay, I guess.  Did it work?”

“It worked.”  Danns’ spoke softly, and Lily’s head jerked around to look at her.  The Black Fairy still held the crystal bottle, but now it was fill of black…liquid?

No, on second glance, it wasn’t liquid.  That was _Emma’s_ darkness, the stuff that had been in Lily for too many years and didn’t belong.  It swirled around gently, not looking angry or put out—not like Lily too often felt—with flecks of purple and red buried in its depths.  Even from ten feet away, it felt familiar, felt like a part of her was missing.  _But it’s not supposed to be mine,_ Lily told herself firmly.  _I’m done with that.  I can make better choices now, and be who_ I _want to be._

So, she smiled at her mother and thanked Danns’ graciously, not bothering to restrain her grin when Maleficent pulled her into a tight hug.  Not having twice as much darkness as anyone else would take some getting used to, but Lily was just fine with that.

* * *

 

The scene kept playing over and over again in Emma’s head.  _“I don’t know anything.  Mother Superior never mentioned who the new Truest Believer is.  I thought there wasn’t…”_   She could still hear the screams every time she closed her eyes, and Emma was so damned glad that she didn’t have to sleep.  Two days had passed since she’d been forced to watch Nuckelavee kill the Violet Fairy, and Emma still felt bile gurgling up in her throat at the mere thought of what had happened.  She could hear Violet begging, could—

“Emma?”

She jumped, spinning around with hands full of magic even though she’d _known_ Baelfire was there.  They’d been talking about Henry’s grades over the kitchen table, and then she’d gone to get a drink out of the fridge when the memories hit her.  And the fury. 

_Let that anger guide you, dearie.  You never know where it might take you._

“Sorry,” she said quickly, killing the three spells that the darkness had wanted her to aim at her ex-boyfriend.  Was he an ex?  She’d kissed him and kept spending time with him, but Bae didn’t push, and for that Emma was beyond grateful.  She couldn’t deal with anything deeper right now, not with how angry she was.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”  _I have to be._ But she wanted to shake in rage, wanted to smash things and hurt people.  Danns’ had forced her to watch Violet die _solely_ to prove that she had implacable power over Emma.  The deal she had made with Rumplestiltskin didn’t cover standing by and letting someone else kill; she was stuck, she was trapped, and she was—

Furious.

Bae came over to lean against the counter at her side.  “You don’t look okay.  If you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Yeah, well, being the Dark One _sucks_.”  That wasn’t a lie, even if she couldn’t say why it sucked so much.  She wanted freedom, but she burned to take Danns’ down a notch almost more than she burned to be released from her control.  Emma could feel magic whipping around herself, could feel it flirting around the room.  She hadn’t _quite_ lost control of her magic, and Bae couldn’t see it yet, but she knew that if she didn’t find some way to vent her frustrations soon, she would.  _Just let it go.  Let it tear into him.  He’s innocent enough to get your dagger back to you, isn’t he?_

_No!_   Emma wanted to throttle Nimue; the bitch was right, probably, but she knew that giving in and hurting an innocent of her own volition would only lead her down a road she couldn’t afford to travel.  Yes, it might get the dagger to Rumplestiltskin, but how much of _Emma_ would she lose if she did that?  She’d felt herself slipping when she killed Granny, and Emma knew that the more people she hurt, the more of herself she would burn away.

“Any particular reason for the suckage, or same old, same old?” he asked, and Emma wanted to demand how he could be so casual about this.  But he didn’t know.  He couldn’t know.

If Bae figured it out, Danns’ would probably kill him, and that thought terrified Emma more than she wanted to contemplate.  _I lost him once.  I’m not losing him again._   The desire to cling to him was suddenly almost stronger than she could resist, but Emma managed to keep her hands to herself.  Still, that didn’t stop the voices.  _He’s a clever one.  Don’t underestimate that.  If anyone can find a loophole…_ Listening to Rumplestiltskin-the-imp talk about the real Rumplestiltskin’s son was downright freaky, but Emma wondered if the darkness might have a point there.

Clearly, she couldn’t give enough of a hint to let anyone figure out that she didn’t have the dagger; Danns’ damned commands were woven too tightly for that.  But maybe she could do something _else_.  What did Danns’ want?  She wanted no one to know about Emma, just like she wanted no one to know about—

_Jefferson._

What had the Black Fairy said?  _“Oh, and do not speak of my pet.  To anyone.”_ She’d said not to _speak_ of Jefferson.  Even Emma could see the loophole there!

“Emma?”

She barely heard Bae speaking.  Was that a loophole, a bit of carelessness, or was that a test?  Emma didn’t really care.  She burned with anger, boiled with the need to do something _good_.  If she could get revenge on Danns’ for making her watch Violet die, so much the better. 

“Hey!  Emma, you all right?”

“I need a piece of paper.”  Spinning around, she dug into her kitchen junk drawer, pulling out a pad and pencil.  She couldn’t _speak_ of it, but she could damned well save Jefferson, anyway.

“You’re starting to scare me a bit here.  I mean, paper is better than cursing people, but…” He trailed off, because Emma was already scribbling on the paper.

_Jefferson is the Black Fairy’s prisoner.  I saw him there.  Can’t say how. Don’t tell anyone how you know._  Could she say more?  On a whim, Emma tried to write that the Black Fairy had the dagger, but her hand wouldn’t move the pencil as soon as that thought occurred to her.  She fought for a moment, fiercely _willing_ the words to appear—until the pencil popped out of her hand, bouncing off the counter like she’d thrown it there.

She supposed she had, just not by choice.  Gritting her teeth, Emma shoved the paper at Bae, and watched his eyes go wide as he read it.  After a moment, he looked back up at her.

“I’m gonna have to tell my dad you told me.  Besides, he’d probably recognize your handwriting.”

Emma nodded, trying not to let her head jerk up and down nervously.  Had she just screwed herself?  Her family?  What if Danns’ learned and decided to take it out on those she loved?  Fear twisted up in her gut, but she’d _had_ to share it.  Even if she hadn’t been so damned furious and looking for revenge, Jefferson deserved better than the hell he was living in.  And it felt good to have done the right thing for once.  Still, she had to swallow to get the word out.  “Fine.  But he can’t let anyone know it was me.”

“Pop’s good at subtlety.”

“Yeah.  I know.”  Emma grimaced.

She only hoped Rumplestiltskin was good enough, or else her entire family might suffer for her impetuousness.

* * *

 

Belle’s voice floated into the front of the shop from the back room.  “What’s this?”

“Hmm?”  Rumplestiltskin cocked his head, putting a bookmark in a book he’d recently found squirreled away in an alcove at home.  He was convinced that the Sorcerer’s House had provided _Of Originale Poweres_ just when he’d needed the book, and it was a fascinating read.  He almost couldn’t tear himself away from it, particularly not with the way he knew they had to take Danns’ a’Bhàis on soon, but Belle had sounded a little concerned.

“Rumple?” she called.  “Will you come back here?”

“Of course.”  Closing the book, Rumplestiltskin slipped through the curtain and hurried his way to his wife’s side. 

Belle sounded…not quite frightened, but more than a little worried, and hearing her like that made his heart start beating faster.  Magic boiled into his hands instinctively, his steps coming quickly as he rattled through a list of people in his mind that would dare threaten Belle.  Had Boucher or Nottingham escaped?  Was someone else such a fool?  If anyone even _tried_ to hurt her, he would—

But when he burst through the curtain, Belle was sitting next to an old box that he hadn’t opened since before he’d become the Dark One, staring at a semi-rolled piece of parchment.  Her eyes were wide and full of tears, but she was alone.  There was no one there to frighten her—Rumplestiltskin even threw four different spells outwards just to make sure, searching the air for the threads that would indicate any threat, but there was nothing.  Just Belle, looking lost, frightened, and broken.

“Sweetheart?”

She looked up at him, her expression horrified.  “Rumple, what’s this?”

“What’s…what?”  The parchment was old, certainly, with faint traces of magic marking it that had all but expired with time.  Confused, Rumplestiltskin stepped around to read the faded writing.

“It’s a contract.”  She was staring at it again, not him, her voice a devastated whisper.  “To give up your second born child.”

“Oh.  _Oh._ ”  A shocked laugh tore out of him, but Belle’s head jerked up to glare at him.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Belle, it’s all right.”  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin dropped to one knee in front of where she sat, taking her hand.  “Yes, that contract was to give up my second born child…three centuries ago.  But it’s long since been voided.  It was returned to me.  Our child is in no danger.”

Belle’s mouth opened silently, forming a little ‘o’ as she struggled for words.  “Really?” she whispered.

“Really.  I swear to you that she’s safe.  I would not keep something like this from you.”  Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand gently, knowing that he once _would_ have kept this a secret, even from his wife.  His True Love.  _But not now. Not now that I have finally come to understand the depth of her love._

“All right.”  Belle nodded jerkily.  “Will you…will you tell me what happened?”

“Bae was bitten by a viper.  He was dying.  There was a healer…but this was the price.”  He nodded at the contract, not bothering to go into the nastier details of the situation.  There was no need to explain how Milah had wanted him to commit murder, or how he’d made a deal instead. 

“How did you get it back?”

“I don’t know, honestly.”  He shrugged helplessly.  “One day, after Milah left, the contract was simply…returned.  I never knew why.  On my more optimistic days, I assumed the healer had a change of heart.”

Belle swallowed.  “Is it still valid?”

“No.  You see the signature at the bottom?  That’s Fendrake—the healer.  He voided it.”  Rumplestiltskin pointed, glad that even his pre-curse self had been wise enough to look for that.  He _should_ have destroyed the thing centuries earlier, and had all but forgotten about it in the intervening years, but somehow the contract had stayed in his old strongbox.

“I’m sorry I overreacted.”  Belle’s fingers squeezed his, but she continued before Rumplestiltskin could tell her not to apologize, saying: “I was just so scared.”

 “I understand, sweetheart.”  Standing—he could only stay on one knee on the cold floor for so long—Rumplestiltskin drew her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.  “I should have told you before…I just didn’t think of it.  It was so long ago, and the threat had long passed.”

Her head nestled into his shoulder.  “You really never expected to have a second child, did you?”

“Who would have me?  Certainly not Milah.”  For the first time in centuries, Rumplestiltskin could speak her name without bitterness.  “We hadn’t slept together in years.”

“And then she left you for Killian.”  Belle snorted.  “Her loss.”

There had been a time when thinking of Milah’s departure would have made him break down or rage, but now Rumplestiltskin could simply smile down at his beautiful wife, marveling at how huge her heart was…and that she loved _him._ “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Hm.  Not lately enough, no.”

He grinned.  “Well, then I shall have to make up for that.”

* * *

 

The potion that would have led to Galatine was gone, which left Morgan to head to her eldest boy’s castle.  She needed more of Lancelot’s blood, a fact that her younger uncle would not be pleased with but would simply have to accept.  Lancelot had a strange phobia for knives and needles for a man who had been so successful in battle, but Morgan did not care.  She _needed_ to find that sword, and fast.

Unfortunately, when she asked Mordred where Lancelot was, her son only gave her an owl-eyed look.  Fury lurked beneath the depths in his eyes, though, and Mordred’s voice was tight.  “He’s missing, Mother.”

“What?”

“For five days now.  I cannot find him.  My spells cannot find him.  There is _nothing!_ ”  The windows trembled slightly with Mordred’s anger, and Morgan was so glad to see that he was not wearing the Sapphire.  Had he been, his rage might have been disastrous.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  By sheer chance, Morgan had met Lancelot after Mordred had, but he’d always been one of her favorite family members.  Her grandmother had given birth to him late in life, just a few short years before she died, and Morgan had often felt more like Lancelot’s aunt than the other way around.  But she loved him nearly as much as Mordred did.

“I thought you knew.”

Morgan swallowed hard.  “I could try a finding, of a different sort than you can.  Or we can ask your brother.”

He just shook his head.  “I did with the Sapphire.  If that can’t find him, nothing can.” 

“Mordred, I wish you wouldn’t use that pendant.  You _know_ what it can—”

“Lancelot is worth the risk!”  Mordred looked broken, and his shout turned to a halting whisper.  “I fear he’s dead.  And I know who would have done it.” 

“As do I.”  Heart heavy, Morgan slumped against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment.  Danns’ had not killed Lancelot in the past, even when he’d uncovered her secrets.  Would she do so, now?  Or was this someone else?  Arthur hated him…

“Tell me that you found the sword, at least.  Tell me one of us can _finally_ kill that bitch with Galatine.”

She had to shake her head, opening her eyes in time to see Mordred rock back at the news.  “My potion was destroyed.  I came to get more of Lancelot’s blood to brew it anew.”

“What? Who could have destroyed it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Accolon.  It has to be him, Mother.”  Mordred’s eyes gleamed with anger.  “I know you’re fond of him, but he’s a worthless sycophant, and he’s _never_ had any reason to be loyal to you.”

“He’s also never given me any inclination that he isn’t loyal.”  They had had this argument at least a dozen times, and Morgan was so tired of it.  “Disliking you hardly counts, my son.  You often go out of your way to make yourself unlikable.”

Mordred snorted. “That is hardly the point.”

“Accolon has stayed with me for many years.  If he had betrayed me, I would have known it by now.”

Her son only sighed, and Morgan changed the subject back to Lancelot.  Mordred’s spells might have failed, but there had to be _some_ way to find out what had happened to the lost knight.

* * *

 

“Isn’t this list rather…long?” Robin asked dubiously, leaning over her shoulder while Regina added another two names to those they were inviting to the wedding.

She snorted.  “What, would you prefer to fulfill the typical fairy tale trope and _not_ invite everyone to our wedding?  Are you just _waiting_ to give someone the excuse to be offended?”

“Well, no.  Of course not.” 

Rocking back in her chair, Regina peered up at Robin’s handsome face, reaching up to stroke his stubble.  “Take it from someone who has _been_ the snubbed evil queen who invaded a wedding.  You always have to invite the villains.  Otherwise, they’ll come anyway and wreak havoc.”

She could feel him swallow.  “Just please don’t tell me that we’re inviting your sister.”

“I wish we could get around that, but she’d be worse than anyone else,” Regina grumbled, twisting around to take his hand.  She could see the pain flickering in his eyes, and Regina _still_ burned to hurt Zelena for the way she’d hurt Robin.  Robin was doing better these days, particularly with Regina carrying _their_ child, but she knew that he still felt violated.  Even if being able to shoot Zelena had made him feel a little less helpless.

“She’ll be worse than anyone else even _if_ we invite her.”  Robin grimaced.  “I’m not sure Zelena knows _how_ to behave herself, even if she wants to.”

“I was thinking about asking Emma to hit her with something nasty the moment she shows up.  Assuming she does.”  With another man, Regina might have hesitated to admit that, but Robin didn’t mind her darkness.  “Something really nasty.  Emma’d probably be happy to oblige.”

“What if she isn’t?”

“Then I’ll ask Rumple to do it as a wedding present.  He hates her as much as you do.”

She could almost feel Robin’s teeth grinding against one another.  “With good reason.”  But then Robin forced a smile and changed the subject.  “I take it that we’re inviting the Black Fairy, then?”

“She gets the first invitation.  I’m not having some crazy evil fairy ruin my wedding with that disgusting dance of death.”  Regina found a smirk crawling into her expression.  “Besides, I think she might give a good wedding gift.”

“Regina!”  But it made Robin laugh, which made her grin.

“You want to bet against it?”

“Sometimes I think you’re crazy.”  But he leaned in to kiss her, and Regina returned the kiss hungrily.  She was almost done with the invitations, and they were ahead of schedule.  She could afford to take some time off to enjoy her husband-to-be.

“You like crazy,” she murmured.

His smile was light against her lips.  “I _love_ crazy.”

* * *

 

Bae had stayed with Emma through lunch, trying to get her to tell him what was wrong, but she became even more closed off than ever after handing him that note.  She wouldn’t eat, either, even when he brought back her favorites from Granny’s, just sitting there grumpily and insisting nothing was wrong.  Eventually, asking the same questions got rather old, and Bae figured that he had to accomplish _something_ that day.  He was still worried as hell about her, but he couldn’t just ignore the information she’d given him.  The fact that he didn’t really know Jefferson didn’t matter, and neither did the fact that the Hatter’s kid was apparently Henry’s friend Grace.  What mattered was that Jefferson _definitely_ needed a way out of where he was.  The Black Fairy was definitely no joke, not if what Belle had found in history books—and heard from her grandmother’s own mouth—was anything to go by.  And Bae knew all too well what it was like to be trapped without any way out.

He’d promised Emma that he wouldn’t tell anyone but his father, though, so to his father he went.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin was in the shop, because Bae didn’t want to have to come up with an excuse not to tell Belle, too.  He knew that his dad disliked keeping secrets from her, but this was one that they’d just have to keep.  For now.

“Take a look at this,” he said without preamble, shoving the note Emma had written in front of Rumplestiltskin.  His father had been reading something—he always seemed to be, these days—but he obediently picked up the scrap of paper and read.

“Emma gave you this?”

Bae snorted.  “I told her you’d recognize her handwriting.  She made me promise not to tell anyone but you.”

That made his father frown.  “Did she say why?”

“Not really.  Something magical, I think.  I’m guessing that she’s getting into stuff she doesn’t want to talk to anyone about—one of those perils of being the Dark One and all.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?  Is that all you’ve got to say?” Bae stared, watching his father study the note for a long moment before Rumpelstiltskin looked up.  “Papa?”

“I’m curious concerning how she came about this information.  It is…interesting that such a thing should come up now, of all times.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured with the note.  “And Emma said nothing of how she saw him?  Or when?”

“No.  Just that she couldn’t say how she knew.”  Scowling, he almost demanded to know why his father wasn’t reacting at all, and then the truth hit Bae like a ton of bricks.  “You think this might be a trap.”

“It would make sense, yes.  Belle’s just told her grandparents that she won’t help them, which has undoubtedly caused Danns’ a’Bhàis to ‘take the gloves off’, so to speak.  I doubt she’s going to hesitate much longer, and this might be her opening move.  She’s said to be subtle.”

“ _That_ subtle?  No one’s good enough to know that Emma would see something and then for some reason want it kept secret.  She’s not infallible.”

“No, but she knows Dark Ones very well.  She has controlled more than a few over the centuries.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “And she could very well have arranged for Emma to see whatever Emma isn’t talking about.  Couple that with the fact that Lancelot is missing…and it begins to add up to a very elaborate first move.”

“You’re the master manipulator here, not me.”  Even if Bae was pretty good at this planning stuff, he knew his dad was in a class all by himself.  _Except for maybe the Black Fairy.  Pop’s making it sound like she’s right there with him._   He let out a shaky breath.  “So, what do we do?  We can’t just do nothing.”

“No, we can’t.  But we can’t afford to play into her hands, either.  Particularly if this is meant as a distraction.”

“A distraction?  Jefferson’s been missing for weeks, he’s got a kid at home, and—”

“ _And_ a lot of the things that have happened can be classified as nothing but.  Between this, the fire that Archie tried to set earlier today, and Lancelot’s continued disappearances…well, it’s fairly obvious that she’s trying to keep us jumping.  The question is why.”

Bae blinked in surprise.  “Why the hell would Archie try to set a fire?”

“She has his heart, remember?”  His father’s scowl was deep, and Bae let out a breath, trying to school his impatience. 

“Yeah.  He tried to light a fire before, right?  One the dwarves stopped?”

“And we never determined the reason behind that either,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.  “But trying to figure that out distracted us quite nicely, didn’t it?  Just as trying to rescue Jefferson will.”

“We can’t just leave him there, Pop.  If half of what Belle’s found in books is right—”

“I know.”  The words were surprisingly sharp, and jerked Bae up short.

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I have Merlin’s memories, or some of them.  And I do recall what she had a habit of doing to Dark Ones, as well.  What Belle has found is rather…less than what she will do.”  

Bae really didn’t like the sound of that.  He had too much experience with what psycho with power could do, and he had a sinking feeling that the Black Fairy was a _lot_ more dangerous than Pan.  Or at least she’d had a lot longer to perfect her methods.  “Then we’ve really got to get him out of there.  We can’t dick around with this one.” 

“We also can’t afford to go in there, guns blazing and _hoping_ that the force of our goodness will terrify Danns’ into surrendering him.”  Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.  “We need a plan, Bae.  And that’s going to take time.”

He felt his heart sinking.  “You knew.  You knew she had him.”

“No.  Not for sure, anyway.  Though I suspected.”

“Papa…” Every time Bae thought he’d wrapped his mind around his father, something like this came up, and he wanted to strangle him.  And yet…yet he’d overreacted before when looking at his father’s responses to problems, and Bae wasn’t about to let himself do that a second time.  Rumplestiltskin had been a simple man back when they’d been mere peasants, but he’d always been _clever_.  Now he was powerful, and had a terrible amount of experience manipulating events.  If his father thought this was a trap…it probably was.  _And that’s why he said nothing before, isn’t it?  Because we’re limited in what we can do without igniting a full scale war._ He swallowed hard.  “Okay.  Then what do we do?”

Rumplestiltskin was silent for a long moment, and then a smile slowly spread across his face.  “We turn the tables.  If we want to get Jefferson back—and probably Lancelot—we take something that Danns’ wants.”

“Like what?”

“I have an idea.”

Somewhere in the midst of their planning, Baelfire completely forgot to tell his father that Isaac seemed to be working with the Black Fairy.  He’d meant to, but the revelation of Jefferson being imprisoned by the Black Fairy and everything else just made it slip his mind.

* * *

 

“Do you really think that she’ll talk to us?” Belle asked as they approached the edge of the small clump of huts that the tent village had become.

“She was willing to last time we were looking for Lancelot.”  David frowned.  “Though she didn’t mention that she’d actually been your mother’s nursemaid, then.  She implied that she barely knew her.”

“I hope that was just her being careful.”  Belle forced herself to be calm when she wanted to ask a thousand and one questions.  Morgan had told her that the same Elaine whom Lancelot had once sheltered with had actually been Colette’s nurse, and Belle wanted to meet this woman more than anything.  Her stomach was a mess of excited butterflies, and Belle really wished that Rumplestiltskin had been able to come along.

Yet coming with David was the right choice.  These people knew David, and he was far less intimidating to people from Camelot than Merlin’s successor—particularly when word had begun to get around that said successor was also Morgan’s son and Mordred’s brother.

David nodded.  “Me, too.”

“You could simply ask me, you know.”

The voice came from the left and made both of them jump, twisting around to face the wizened old woman who stared at them, hands on her hips.  In a sad and lovely way, she reminded Belle a little of Granny; she clearly wasn’t the type to take any nonsense from anyone, yet there was a distinctly maternal air about her.  Despite that, her frizzy hair was wild and her clothes mismatched in a way Granny’s never would have been…but Belle had a feeling that was only the surface.  There was a wisdom in Elaine’s dark eyes that seemed born of hard-won pain, belying the careless appearance.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion.”  David was the first to step forward.  “We met before, if you remember.  I’m the sheriff, and I was here asking about Lancelot.”

“I remember.  I haven’t seen him.”  Her eyes flicked to Belle.  “But that’s not why she’s here, is it?”

“I do want to find Lancelot.”  Belle swallowed.  “But I did also want to ask you if you knew my mother.”

Elaine’s lined face quirked into a rather kind smile.  “I did, Princess.  But if you want to know more about her, you’d best come inside.”  She gestured at David.  “Is he with you?”

“He’s a friend.”

“Not your husband?” Elaine arched an eyebrow, but she barked out a laugh when Belle felt her eyes go wide.  “Worry you not.  I know he’s not the new Merlin.”

“The new—” Belle cut herself off, biting her lip.  “Rumple isn’t.  I mean, he has Merlin’s power, but he’s…different.”

“You sure about that?” Elaine led them into her small hut, glancing over her shoulder at Belle.  Forcing her eyes to adjust to the semi-dark interior was hard, but she could see the calculating intelligence in the old woman’s eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of match your grandmother would dream up.  She was always after Merlin, angry that she couldn’t put him in your grandfather’s place.”

“She was?”  There was a lot that Belle didn’t know about her grandparents, but she thought they genuinely cared for one another.  There certainly seemed to be affection between them, anyway!  Belle thought it was one of Danns’ most redeeming qualities, perhaps the only one.  _Anyone who is capable of love has some goodness in them._

“Aye.  Your mother’s grandmother, Queen Igraine, tried to tell Arthur that he was naught but her second choice, but he never listened.”  Elaine shrugged, stooping to peer in a pot over the fire with a scowl.  “Or maybe he never cared.”

“You knew my great-grandmother?”  It was almost too much, but Belle wanted to hear it all.

“Of course I did.  Morgan told you that I was Princess Colette’s nursemaid, and Queen Igraine always tried to look after her.  She was more of a mother to her than Queen Guinevere ever was.  Or at least a better one.”

“I think…I think my grandmother truly did love my mother.”  Part of Belle felt strange defending Danns’, but part of her felt that she had to.  To her right, David gave her a reassuring nod, and that helped calm her mixed-up feelings.  A little.

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”

Belle swallowed, and then squared her shoulders.  She’d wanted to know more about her background, wanted reassurances that there was more than just darkness on her mother’s side of the family.  Surely Colette must have inherited her goodness from _somewhere_ —and maybe that somewhere had been Queen Igraine.  “Will you tell me more?”

“Sit down and I will, child.  These old bones of mine can’t take standing on ceremony, and I’m not going to sit while royalty is standing in my house.”  Elaine’s smile robbed the words of any sharpness, though, and Belle found herself sitting down.

She listened for hours as Elaine spoke of Igraine and Goloris, Igraine and Uther, of a dream that was Camelot.  Camelot had shined so brightly for so long, through Uther’s rule and into Arthur’s, right up until Arthur married a woman no one knew until it was too late.  Elaine told her of a world that had seemed perfect until one started digging too deeply into the shadows, of a resistance who had fought against evil only to find that _their_ chosen king—Mordred, surprisingly—had damn near destroyed what he was trying to protect.  She spoke of Colette, too, of a happy princess who loved her parents but knew what her mother was, and knew the danger they were all in.

For the first time, Belle had real confirmation that Colette—all of ten years old, but already too brave—had agreed to leave Camelot, to deny her mother the power that _Colette_ knew lay inside her.  They had hoped that power would someday be enough to prevent the destruction of the magical world, and Colette had sacrificed her own happiness to give everyone a chance.

_She passed that power to me,_ Belle knew but did not say.  _Yet it isn’t enough.  Did Mother think it would be, or is there something I am missing?_

Unfortunately, even Elaine did not know the answer to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Seven—“No Light Had We,” where Regina asks Emma an important question, Nuckelavee looks for the Truest Believer, Rumplestiltskin and Morgan plot and plan, Danns’ sends Emma looking for Galatine, David and Rumplestiltskin hatch a scheme, Henry refuses to be Regina’s ring bearer, Belle learns something from Elaine, and someone is attacked.
> 
> Also, don't miss "Rumplestiltskin and the Battle of Hogwarts", the outtake from where Henry convinces his father and grandfather to do a Harry Potter movie marathon. It was just posted yesterday.


	77. No Light Had We

Emma hadn’t expected a call from Regina, of all people. They’d generally steered clear of one another since she’d become the Dark One, except where Henry was concerned.  That hadn’t been true in the first few weeks, Emma supposed, but lately she’d been trying to avoid _everyone._   Not seeing people she cared about just made things easier, particularly when she couldn’t be certain that Danns’ wouldn’t turn her against them.  The fact that their last conversation had been an argument about why Emma wouldn’t help protect Henry’s heart didn’t help matters, either.  But Regina had asked if she could come over…and Emma hadn’t been able to think of a good reason to say no.  Particularly once Regina promised not to bring up the heart-protecting thing again.

“I thought you’d given up on hiding in here,” Regina commented as Emma led her into the kitchen.  “Didn’t you say something about trying to be _you_ again?”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t always work,” she snapped before she could stop herself, twisting around to glare at her friend.  “Being ‘yourself’ when you have bunch of Dark Ones nattering in your head is kind of hard.”

“I get it.  It sucks.  That doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t try to help you.”

Emma looked away.  “Sometimes I think I’m beyond help.”

“Oh, come on.  Don’t say that.  I suck at the nauseating speeches about hope, so please don’t make me try one, okay?”  Regina’s voice was almost pleading, and the idea of listening to _Regina_ try one of the optimistic speeches that her mother used to do was so ridiculous that it actually made Emma laugh.

“Okay.  I won’t.”  She hadn’t expected Regina to make her smile, but when she dared to look at her friend, Regina was smiling in return.  Albeit a little sadly.

“I miss her, too, you know,” Regina said softly.  “It’s weird, because I hated her for so long, but… Your dad and I talk about her sometimes.  It helps, I think.”

“Us to.”  Emma swallowed hard.  She would never forgive Arthur for killing her mother—and she _still_ burned to kill him—but the pain had faded enough that she could remember the good times. 

“Good.”  Regina looked like she was steeling herself before she continued.  “Anyway, Snow’s kind of the reason I’m here.  Obliquely, anyway.”

“Should I be worried?”  The question slipped out before Emma so much as thought, but that was kind of nice.  She actually felt like herself, a little.

“I want you to be my maid of honor.”

Emma felt her mouth drop open.  “Your _what_?”

“Look, I’m bad at this.  I’m bad at making friends, and I’m really bad at telling people I give a damn, but we’ve come a long way, Emma.  And you matter to me, as my friend.”  Regina spread her hands, looking helpless.  “I think you’re the first friend I’ve ever had in a long time, in fact.”

“I can’t be.”  She wasn’t sure how to process this.

“The only other friends I had were people that I cursed into being my friends, so yeah, you are.  Don’t look so surprised.  You met me back then.  I wasn’t exactly a prize.  The one true friend I _did_ have, I trapped under a library, stuck in her dragon form because I wanted her to kill you.  I think it’s fair to say that I suck at this.”

“You’re different now.  Now _I’m_ , well, the Dark One.  You’re not the Evil Queen, anymore.”  Emma didn’t know what to say.  She was touched far more than she wanted to admit.  In fact, even ignoring the voices whispering to her that this was a lie, a trap, was easy. 

“No, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t be friends with the Dark One.”  Regina’s smile was surprisingly tender.  “Even if it does feel funny to have the moral high ground with you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re welcome to take it back any time.”  Regina hesitated slightly.  “So, will you do it?  Or do I have to find someone else?”

“What, did someone else say no?”  That would make sense, at least.  Surely she wasn’t Regina’s first choice.

“No!  Look, if you’re going to say no, just say it.  You don’t get the excuse that you weren’t my first choice, because you are.  You’re my best friend, Emma.  Deal with it.”  Regina’s hesitation turned into a glare, and at least Emma felt more comfortable with _that_.

_Say no,_ Nimue whispered angrily.  _Tell her she can’t use you like this._ But use her like what? For once, Nimue’s arguments were empty.  _You’re not her friend.  She doesn’t really think that._   Yet there was no one in the world less likely to lie about friendship than Regina, and Emma knew that. 

“No need to get your panties in a twist,” she shot back.  “I didn’t say no.  I was just curious.”

“Well?”

“Fine.  I mean, okay.”  Emma swallowed.  “Just…no really frilly dresses, okay?  I’m not sure that the Dark Ones in my head can handle that.”

* * *

 

“I need to know something.”  Nuckelavee’s voice was almost a purr, and it set Maleficent’s teeth on edge.

“Such as?”

In some ways, she found Nuckelavee more frightening than she did Danns’ a’Bhàis.  Danns’ was consistent; she could be counted upon to keep any promises she made, few though those were.  But Nuckelavee gave Maleficent the impression that he would break solemn vows simply for his own entertainment, that he would tie valued allies in knots just to watch them dance.  She’d told Regina that she might regret choosing the Black Fairy’s side, but that wasn’t because Maleficent thought she or Lily would be in danger due to that choice.  No, she regretted it because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to force into the life of a villain like that.  _Lily_ thought she was destined for it…but Maleficent wanted better for her daughter.

And the way Nuckelavee looked at Lily frightened her more than anything, particularly now that Lily was free of her own darkness and a little bit more innocent.

“Our Lady seeks the Truest Believer.”  The fae’s eyes fastened on her, and Maleficent resisted the urge to shiver.  “The rank and file fairies do not know who it is, but _someone_ in this miserable town must.”  He loomed forward, so close that she could feel his too-sweet breath on her face.  “Is that someone _you_?”

Maleficent snorted.  “You’re new here, so you may have missed how long I lived as ashes on the dirt floor of a cave.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”  There was no mistaking the threat in that whisper, and now Maleficent did shiver.  “Your daughter was not ashes.”

“My daughter was not _here_.  Get your facts straight.  She was in the outside world,” Maleficent snapped.

“Yet you’re friends with the snarky little mayor.  I don’t doubt you know something.”  His lazy smile was hungry, and Mal couldn’t help recalling a conversation she had overheard.   Nuckelavee was looking for a new _pet_ , and she was not going to let that happen to her daughter.

“Regina’s not really the sharing type.”

He arched an eyebrow, stepping back and cocking his head.  “Then you know nothing?”

From anyone else, that question might have been a way out, but Maleficent had been around too many dangerous people in her life, had issued too many threats of her own.  No, Nuckelavee was not dropping the subject.  He might have been willing to stop asking her…but there was no telling what he would do later.  And this psychopath was Danns’ a’Bhàis’ favorite.   He could take liberties with the Black Fairy that even Arthur could not, and Maleficent could not ignore that.  She had to appreciate Nuckelavee for the danger that he was.

And that meant she had to tell him something.  Something _useful._ Lying carried a price she was not willing to pay.

She swallowed hard.  “There’s a fairy who might know.”  Mal quashed whatever was left of her conscience firmly; she’d only met the fairy in question once, and even if she’d _liked_ her, that didn’t matter.  “Someone other than Reul Ghorm.”

“Oh?”   Nuckelavee bounced on his toes, a predator ready to leap.

Had she been a better person, Maleficent would have named one of the fairies whom she knew Nuckelavee had already killed.  But she was not.  She was a mother, and her own daughter would always, _always_ come first.  She would not bait this terrifyingly insane fae.  She was not so foolish.  Her chin came up, and she let the darkness in her heart win out, using it to shield Lily from a fate worse than anything Maleficent had ever suffered.

“Her name is Tinker Bell.  They call her Tink.”

 

* * *

 

“Have you asked her about the dagger yet?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “I did.  She said that no one has it…but I don’t think she was telling the truth.”

“You think she’s been ordered to lie.”  Morgan grimaced, leaning back on the cot in the back of the shop to stare at the ceiling contemplatively. 

Rumplestiltskin stayed silent, allowing his mother to assimilate the news.  He hadn’t told anyone of his suspicions yet, not Belle and certainly not Bae.  Baelfire would certainly have done something reckless and heartfelt—love made fools of them all, and he loved Emma Swan more than words could express—and Belle would have pushed for action.  Instead, he had invited his mother over to talk, just the two of them.  He’d even flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’, not that it would stop his most determined visitors.  He’d needed a sounding board, one as sly and manipulative as he was, and he could think of no one who fit that description better than Morgan le Fae.

“Then we do have a problem,” Morgan said after a long moment of silence.  “Galatine remains missing, and I cannot find it.  If Danns’ has the sword and the dagger, she has the only two weaponized secondary powers in Storybrooke.  Those are the only way to kill her.”

“And she’s running circles around us.  I’m beginning to believe that all of this—Lancelot’s disappearance, Jefferson as her prisoner, Doctor Hopper attempting to burn down town hall, the dances that keep cropping up—they’re all her way of keeping us from actively addressing the problem.  She’s playing us, Mother.”

“Agreed.”  Another grimace.  “What do you want to do?”

He met her eyes.  “Play her back.  As much as I pity Emma…we can do nothing for her.  Not without a pitched battle that will get innocents killed.  The fastest solution is to remove the darkness from her, and I do not need the dagger for that.  The Apprentice proved that she does not even need to be _conscious_ for that.”

“If you pull it from her, we’ll simply wind up with a second Dark One who is _also_ under Danns’ control.”

“Not if I can eliminate the need for a Dark One.”

Morgan sat up, snorting derisively.  “That’s been tried.  More than once.  Every time we trapped it, the darkness escaped or was let out—”

“I didn’t say _trap_ it.  I say eliminate the need for a host.  I’m talking about dismantling it.  Pulling out the extra power that the Lyonessian rebels put into it, and destroying the souls of the previous Dark Ones who are tethered to it.  Then it is simply an elemental darkness, something that belongs in the world.  If I can untangle the bulk of it, what remains will not be a force looking for a host.  It will simply re-integrate itself into the world.  Or I can make something that can hold it.”

Eyes wide, Morgan stared at him for so long that Rumplestiltskin’s old rotten self-esteem started to reassert itself.  He could feel the butterflies doing laps within his stomach, and he _knew_ that she was going to tell him that he was a fool.  That his research had been for naught.  That he was utterly incompetent, and that he was no worthy heir of Merlin.  Surely he was wrong.  He had to be.  After all, he was just a bastard peasant who had stumbled into power, and—

“That’s…brilliant.  Do you think you can do it?” his mother asked softly, and Rumplestiltskin gaped.

“I…I think I can, yes.  It would be easier with Emma’s help.  Or with a secondary power.  I had hoped that, if you found Galatine, we could use it to cut the previous Dark Ones away from her.  But there are other ways.  Just messier.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully.  “I might be able to come up with something.  Or you could make a secondary power.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted out a laugh.  “I have many talents, but metalworking is not one of them.”

“Pity.  Mordred might be able to help with that, but…”  Morgan shook her head, and then they sat in companionable silence for a long moment.  Finally, Morgan asked: “So, how do you intend to keep her attention elsewhere while you make preparations?”

“I thought of playing her game of stealing hearts.”  He let himself smile crookedly.  “Though for a bit better cause than I used to.” 

“How so?”

“I thought of taking Arthur’s heart and using it to bargain back for Jefferson’s or Archie’s.  Probably Jefferson, as the Hatter seems to be in more immediate danger.”  This was yet another reason why Rumplestiltskin wasn’t having this conversation with his wife.  As much as he trusted her, and as far as they’d come in understanding one another, he still knew that she wouldn’t approve of this course of action.  And yet Whale had been right.  Jefferson deserved better than to be Danns’ pet, and Rumplestiltskin had too much humanity to ignore that.  These days.

For a moment, he thought that Morgan might disapprove; her lips pursed and she frowned deeply.  Arthur _was_ her stepbrother, of course, and though he had not thought the two close, perhaps he had gone too far.  Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to retract the idea, but his mother got in first.

“I’m not certain Arthur means that much to her.  He might, but with her…you never know.  You’d have to be prepared to kill him if she says no, because otherwise she will _never_ respect you.  If Danns’ can call your bluff, it is all over.”

 Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “That is _not_ what I thought you were going to say.”

Morgan laughed humorlessly.  “Did you think I would argue?  I loved Arthur once, yes.  But he chose to elevate her, chose to give her a platform from which to rule humanity.  Arthur is a cancer.  I will not mourn him.”

_Well, at least that response tells me that my ability to be dispassionate about life and death does not come solely from having been the Dark One,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, a little bemused.  “Do you think it will work?”

“It might.”  She shrugged.  “It’s worth trying.  Though Belle might not forgive you for it.”

“I know.”  That thought made him swallow.  Rumplestiltskin had grown used to being on the same side as his wife, and the idea of doing anything that would anger her this much made his heart fold over.  He knew what they _had_ to do, but Belle…Belle would hate it.  She’d never accept it.

He could try lying to her, of course.  _Because that worked out so well the_ last _time you talked yourself into it,_ Rumplestiltskin thought brokenly.  Not too long ago, he’d been so convinced that if he could just free himself from the dagger’s control, he could explain everything to Belle later and earn her forgiveness.  Yet he’d wound up exiled, broken and deserving it, instead.  _I can’t do that again.  I can’t hurt Belle like that again._   Against all odds, she had forgiven him and loved him still.  Rumplestiltskin could not repay her trust with another betrayal.

Yet he was the Sorcerer.  His magic came with a price: responsibility.  And in this case, responsibility for far more than just himself.  Could he sit by and let Jefferson suffer when he knew how to free him?  Could he fail to manipulate events in the way he _knew_ needed to be done to avoid an all-encompassing war?  But if he killed Belle’s grandfather, he knew she might never forgive him.  Even threatening to do so might cost him the love of his life.  _You are the Sorcerer,_ a wispy voice inside him insisted, sounding like Merlin.  _Is your own love worth more than the fate of the world?_   Squeezing his eyes shut, Rumplestiltskin tried to push that thought aside.  He missed being utterly selfish, sometimes.  He never would have faced this conflict as the Dark One.

“I can’t lie to her again,” he finally whispered, opening his eyes to stare at his shaking hands.  “That nearly destroyed us once.  I won’t do it again.  She deserves better.”

Morgan’s hand landed on his shoulder without warning, making Rumplestiltskin jump.  “You both do.  Perhaps there is another way—and if not, I can do it.  I have done worse, and for lesser reasons than sparing my son pain.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“You’re not.”  His mother met his eyes brazenly.  “Make no mistake, Rumplestiltskin.  This was my fight long before it was yours.  I will see it through, no matter what.”

He had never had someone to lean on like this, never had someone who was willing to sacrifice to help he and Belle be happy.  Their love had always been a battle, both against his former darkness and against the world, which had seemed determine to keep them apart.  Yet now his _mother_ was willing to act so that he did not have to…and Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say.

Morgan must not have known what to say, either, because she simply leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead in silence.

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, perhaps killing Lancelot so early had been a bad idea.  Until Accolon reported to her that Morgan was searching for Galatine—which, contrary to Morgan’s belief, Danns did _not_ have, since Lancelot had stolen it away from Merlin so many centuries ago—she had been content to let Galatine remain lost.  Now, however, things were different.  She could not allow a weapon capable of killing her to fall back into the hands of someone so willing to use it…which meant that she _should_ have questioned Lancelot before ordering the Dark One to kill him.

Still, all was not lost.  Lancelot had been her lover for _years,_ and Danns’ would wager that she’d known him better than anyone, which was why she’d dispatched Emma Swan to find the sword.   In fact, her Dark One should even now be—

A not-so-delicate cough interrupted her thoughts, and Danns’ turned to away from the forgetting potion she was brewing to glare at the intruder.  Zelena—her husband’s new favorite, whom Danns’ was fairly sure he was sleeping with—stood in the doorway, a pout screwing up her pretty features.  So far, Arthur and Nuckelavee had kept the irritating witch away from Danns’, which was undoubtedly good for Zelena’s health.  So, what had made the fool come to _her_?

“Do you want something?” she asked, keeping her voice soft.  Zelena did not seem the type to appreciate a quiet threat, and Danns’ did so enjoy toying with people.  She put the vial down; it was nearly done, anyway.  All it required was a small touch of magic, and she could provide that at any time.  Playing with Zelena was far more enjoyable.

“I want to know what I’m going to be given for my silence.”  Zelena’s nose was turned up; she really did think she was better than everyone else, didn’t she?

“I beg your pardon?”

“I could go tell the little heroes all about that dagger you have.  Think about all they could do with that information.”  Zelena giggled.  “I imagine it would be quite _invaluable_ to them.  I’d wind up in their inner circle, and _you’d_ lose your advantage.”

Danns’ could not help her own incredulous laugh.  “Do you think I am in the habit of rewarding insolence?”

“I’m not _insolent._ But I have something you want, and I expect to be compensated, or I _will_ go elsewhere.”

She cocked her head.  “Do you think I would have let you know I have the dagger if I feared you?”

“I think you’re overconfident enough to make mistakes,” Zelena shot back.

“Very well.”  Danns’ allowed herself another soft smile.  “I will show my appreciation for your silence.”

Zelena’s eyes started twinkling triumphantly, but the smirk never made it onto her face.  Using magic to propel herself across the room faster than the eye could follow, Danns’ landed in front of Zelena.  Plunging her hand into the witch’s chest, she burned through the quartet of protection spells Zelena had placed on her own heart, enjoying the witch’s sharp cry of pain.  Quickly, she tore Zelena’s blackened heart out of her chest, stepping back without ever losing her soft and satisfied smile.  Zelena’s eyes, on the other hand, were wide with shock and her mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’.

“You—!”

“I am not incapable of gratitude,” Danns’ purred.  “You will remain silent, and I will not kill you.  Does that sound like a fair reward to you?”

“No!  Of course it doesn’t!”  Zelena looked more offended than she did frightened, and that would not do.

Danns’ squeezed her heart, and Zelena gasped in pain, falling to her knees before Danns’ let up the pressure.

“Are you _certain_ that you’re not sensing my vast appreciation for your discretion?”  Zelena made a grab for her heart, and Danns’ let all lightness leave her voice.  “Stop.”

Zelena froze, glaring.

Danns’ allowed herself a moment to enjoy controlling Zelena; she always did treasure these moments.  After a moment, however, she let out a breath and forced her baser nature aside.  Zelena had her uses, and she was far more distracting as a wildcard than as a puppet.  “Now that we understand one another, I will give you your heart back.  But I will hear no more of you running to the heroes with that information.  If they do learn, I will assume it is your fault and kill you.”  Darkness colored her smile now, sweet and spicy.  “And do not think that there is anywhere, in any realm, in which you can run from me.  I am patient, and I always keep my promises.”

Zelena gulped.  “You’re not going to keep my heart?”

“No, of course not.  You are my ally, not my puppet.”  She gestured with the heart, not squeezing it this time.  “Now get up and act like it.”

Zelena rose, and grudgingly accepted her heart back when Danns’ offered it.  She would remain silent for now, of course; she was angry but not stupid, and Zelena was not the type to take foolish risks—at least not when she wasn’t so angry that she couldn’t think straight.  No, Zelena would wait.  That meant she would be a problem later, but for now, Danns’ could count on her to remain reasonably loyal.  She would probably lash out at someone on the heroes’ side, likely her sister or her sister’s lover, but that was not Danns’ problem.

If she was lucky, the heroes would waste time eliminating Zelena as a threat.  If not, well, Zelena would still prove an effective enough distraction until Danns’ had her killed.

* * *

 

_Go to the lake._ The words echoed ceaselessly in her mind, making Emma grind her teeth.  Doing so hurt, but didn’t seem to do any damage, even if Emma wanted it to.  Was that a part of being the Dark One, or was she just not trying hard enough?  Emma didn’t really care.

_Find the sword._

Fortunately, there was no one at the lake right now; the sky was dark and gray, and no one wanted to come out in the rain.  Emma was already drenched after just a few moments standing by the water’s edge, but she didn’t really care about that, either.  She just wanted the voices to shut up, which meant that she had to do as she was commanded.  _At least I’m not killing someone today,_ she thought gloomily, watching disinterestedly as her right hand came up.  _Fishing for swords is way better than that._   Even if said swords were buried under six feet of silt. 

_Find the sword._

She could feel it.  Galatine didn’t simply have magic; it _was_ magic.  The blade was like her dagger, but cleaner, somehow.  _Lighter._   It reminded her, just a tiny bit, of Lancelot, though that thought made Emma cringe.  She hadn’t wanted to kill him, but she had.  Her father would never forgive her for it—and Emma would be damned if she’d ask for forgiveness, because she was the idiot who’d thought she could beat this darkness—and now she was stealing the sword that David and the others could actually use against the Black Fairy.  Fortunately, self-loathing was a feeling Emma was getting used to.

_Find the sword.  Hide it close at hand.  Kill_ anyone _who tries to take it._

Galatine ripped out of the water with a splash, sailing toward Emma like the sword had a mind of its own.  Even in the sunless air, the sword seemed to shimmer, beautiful and deadly.  Instinctively, Emma knew that it was a sword designed to combat that which lay within her, a sword the Dark Ones both hated and coveted.  _They tried to kill me with that,_ Nimue laughed inside her.  _They failed._

_Thunk._   The hilt landed in her hand solidly, sending a shock of magic up her arm.  It was light magic, though, nothing that could harm Emma. 

Unfortunately, it couldn’t do a damned thing to the darkness inside her, either.

* * *

 

David hadn’t expected Rumplestiltskin to come to him for help.  Robin had the day off to finish planning his wedding, because although weddings in a world where magic could manage the invitations and dresses came up awfully quickly, there was still much to be done.  That had meant he was alone and rather bored now that Nottingham and Boucher were both back in the asylum.  Not that David minded being bored.  He rather relished it, particularly since it gave him a chance to look over the first proposal Storybrooke’s new Committee on Laws had come up with.

“Do you have a moment?” the Sorcerer asked, making him look up from the neatly typed report.

“Sure.”  Once, David would not have imagined being so relaxed in Rumplestiltskin’s presence.  Somehow, drinking scotch with the man—and receiving a strangely informative education on the different types of whiskey from him—had changed things.  Oddly enough, David rather liked that.  “What’s up?”

“I need your…assistance with something.”  Looking a little uncomfortable, Rumplestiltskin lowered himself into the chair next to David’s desk.

David couldn’t help the way his eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “That’s new.”

“The more I think on it, the more I am concerned that we’re being played.  The political maneuvering, the kidnappings—even Doctor Hopper’s recent attempt to light town hall on fire—they’ve all had a purpose.”

“To distract us.”  David hadn’t thought of it before, but now that Rumplestiltskin said it, everything made sense.

His companion smiled grimly.  “Exactly.  Yet one thing pops out at me as having been suspiciously _not_ mentioned by any of our enemies: the Truest Believer.”

“You think someone’s going to go after the Heart.  Again.”  David almost growled the words.  The way Pan had wanted to use their mutual grandson had been bad enough; learning that Blue had been a party to doing the same sort of thing—more than once!—was even worse.  For the first time, he was glad that Snow was dead, because this would have broken her heart.  And yet he hadn’t failed to notice that Rumplestiltskin had yet to mention Henry by name.  Was he worried that people would overhear?  Whatever his reasons, David decided to follow suit.

“Let’s just say that I find the silence rather conspicuous.”

“Then how can I help?  You know I’ll do whatever I can, but if this is going to be a magical battle…well, I’m not sure what good I’ll be.”  David hated admitting that, but he figured that he should be honest.  He would do whatever it took to protect Henry, but if it came down to magic users flinging fireballs, all he could really do was duck. 

“Ah, fortunately for you, this has nothing to do with magic.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was thin.  “We need a decoy.”

“A decoy?”  David felt his eyes narrow, and then what Rumplestiltskin was saying hit him like a punch in the gut.  “Yeah,  I can do it, sure, but the ruse won’t last for long.   If someone pulls my heart out, they’ll know, right?”

“If they can, yes.  But if we—if _I—_ layer protection spells on you, it’ll lead others in that direction.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured with both hands, palms up.  “And it might buy us time.”

“And if we’re careful about who we give the information to, we’ll know if we have a leak.”  David nodded thoughtfully.  “Worst case, we’ll at least know when the other side is read to make their move, and that’s something.”

“Exactly.”

Their eyes met, and David squared his shoulders.  Too often he felt like he couldn’t help in the magical fights; half of their strange family could use magic in frightening and awesome ways, but he couldn’t so much as move a feather with his mind.  But this he could do.  He could finally make a difference in this vast magical battle, and even if it was a small one, this would help protect his grandson.  Besides, he’d already cheated death twice, once by sharing Snow’s heart and now by having it in his chest.  If he—and Snow’s heart—could protect Henry, David would do whatever was necessary.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

 

Emma hid the sword in her basement, glad that she at least didn’t have to kill someone with it.  That was something, at least, though she didn’t trust Danns’ not to make her do it eventually.  Emma wasn’t an idiot, and she _did_ know when to listen to the knowledge within her.  Nimue was very insistent, too.  Galatine was a secondary power, and although the sword couldn’t kill _her_ —the strange thing about being the Dark One was that she was actually harder to kill than any original power, because only one weapon could do the job—it could kill Rumplestiltskin.  And while Emma had had her share of differences with her predecessor, she really didn’t want to _kill_ him.

He was trying to be better these days, after all.  He’d even helped her a lot.  And killing him would break Baelfire’s heart…which Emma just couldn’t bear to do.  She shouldn’t have kissed her ex last week, because Emma knew she wasn’t ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still care about him.   He was her friend, if nothing else, and she couldn’t do that to him.  Not if she had any—

The tug almost knocked her off her feet, and Emma found herself teleporting to Danns’ a’Bhàis’ home yet again.  She landed with a snarl, and learning who her next target was made her day no better, particularly not once she was given a crystal bottle full of darkness that had once been her own.

* * *

 

All in all, it had been a pretty good day.  Emma had agreed to be her maid of honor, with rather less bitching about it than Regina expected.  Mal had agreed to be one of her other bridesmaids, too, though she couldn’t get ahold of Tink no matter how hard she tried.  She wasn’t sure how she’d pissed the fairy off this time, but fortunately, Kathryn had actually answered when she’d called, and the former Princess Abigail had been delighted to be one of the bridesmaids.  Belle rounded out the quartet, and although Regina had been most nervous about asking her—Belle hadn’t been wrong when she’d pointed out to Regina the many ways in which she’d wronged her—Rumple’s little wife had agreed easily.

She’d managed to get three of the four together to talk about dresses that morning, and Emma had already said that she didn’t care what they wore so long as it wasn’t insanely floofy or flowery.  The other three had been pretty easy to work with, and a quick trip to Modern Fashions plus a little magic had them set for the wedding, which was scheduled for a week away.  Regina’s stomach was a mess of butterflies, and every instinct she had was screaming that it was _too soon_ , and there were a thousand things left to do…but the reality of it was that she only had one person left to talk to, and he was bound to be the easiest one.

Which was why she really wasn’t expecting Henry to say no when she asked him to be their ring bearer.

“I can’t be your ring bearer, Mom,” her son explained as Regina’s heart plummeted.  His young face was so serious, but Regina wanted to rip her hair out as all her careful plans fell apart.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”  Her demand came out a little harsher than she intended, but she couldn’t help herself.  Henry had been the one who she’d counted on most, and now he was grinning like an idiot.  Did he think this was _funny?_

“Because Robin asked me to be his best man.” 

“He…he _what_?” Regina yelped.

“Yeah.”  Henry’s grin only grew.  “He told me not to tell you until you asked.”

“That—that—that bastard!”  She was almost speechless.  “I’m going to _kill_ him!”

“Please don’t kill him.  Besides, it would be hard to marry Robin if he was dead, Mom.”  Henry shrugged.  “Anyway, I thought Roland would make a great ring bearer.  He’d really like it, and it’s not like he can be your flower girl.”

“You really are turning into a little schemer, aren’t you?”  She reached out and wrapped an arm around her son, her heart fairly well bursting. 

“No, I’m a _big_ schemer.  I’m the tallest in my class, now.  My teacher says that I look like I’m almost fifteen, not thirteen.”

Regina only laughed and hugged him tighter.  She was getting married in six days, and she had the best son in the world.

* * *

 

Belle had gone to talk to Elaine again that afternoon, this time without David.  She felt safer in the odd little secondary town now that Elaine had started introducing her to people, and she couldn’t help being surprised by how welcoming everyone was.  It was touching on a personal level, but also useful; Belle hadn’t forgotten about the political aspects to their war against her grandmother.  Much though she hated being on the opposite side from family, she had made her choice.  Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do her best to make sure the war was as bloodless as it could be.  A big part of that battle could be won by giving the people of Camelot an alternate choice of leader, and to do that, Belle had to earn their trust.

So, she started with Elaine.  Her mother’s old nursemaid seemed to understand at least some of what Belle was doing, because she’d taken her around to meet a lot of people without even being asked, interspersing stories about Colette amongst the introductions.  Belle had never really stopped grieving for her mother, even once she’d finally been able to remember the circumstances of Colette’s death.  Yet learning about Colette’s childhood seemed to ease the pain just a little, and Belle found herself smiling and laughing by the end of the day.

“Have you heard from Lancelot at all?” she asked as she led Elaine back towards the old woman’s small house.  Elaine was clearly exhausted, leaning tiredly on Belle’s arm, but her cheerfully blunt manner had never wavered.

“I’d hoped he’d found you again by now, Princess.”  Elaine squinted at her.  “He hasn’t?”

Belle shook her head, having finally given up on trying to get Elaine to call her anything else.  At least, coming from Elaine, the title seemed more of an endearment than an honorific.  “No.  Not for a week.”

“And you’re worried.”

She nodded, swallowing hard.  This wasn’t the first time they’d searched for Lancelot, and she knew from experience that her grandparents would only lie to her if she asked if they knew where he was, but Belle found herself far more concerned than she had been last time.

“I wouldn’t be.  Lancelot’s a smart lad, and he’s got a magic sword that can kill any of those fae monsters if they come after him.”

“A magic sword?”  Belle perked up.  Lancelot hadn’t mentioned anything like that, and now she was curious.  “Like Excalibur?”

“Exactly like, ‘cept not quite.  Galatine, I believe he said she was called.  Excalibur’s sister sword.”

“Lancelot—Lancelot has _Galatine_?”  She knew that Henry was looking for the sword, that even Morgan didn’t know where it was. Had Lancelot had the sword all along?  They’d never thought to ask him, had they?

Elaine bobbed her head, pulling open the door to her home.  “Aye, though he said he hid it somewhere safe so that the Queen couldn’t find it.  You’d have to ask him where.”

“Thank you.”  Belle was breathless with excitement—was this the break they’d been hoping for?  Now all they had to do was find Lancelot and he could produce Galatine!  Or, worst case, even if Lancelot was nowhere to be found, this meant that her grandmother didn’t already have the sword.  That meant a great deal.  Galatine was still out there, just waiting to be found.

“I’m glad to help, Princess.  Now, you go to your friends—and good luck.”

Impulsively, Belle hugged the old woman, and then made sure that she was settled in before heading out of the settlement.  She had to pause to talk to several other people on the way, people who just wanted to greet her or offer assistance, and Belle managed to throttle down her excitement enough to be gracious.  Still, as soon as she was in the car, she pulled her phone out and called Rumplestiltskin.

“Belle!  How was your visit with Elaine?”  Just hearing her husband’s voice made her smile, but Belle was too excited to provide details on that.

“It was good.  She told me something, though, something important.”

“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess.”

Belle couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “You wouldn’t guess this one, anyway.  Elaine said that Lancelot had Galatine, Rumple.  That he hid it from my grandmother.  She doesn’t have the sword.  Morgan was wrong.”

“Well, that does change things, doesn’t it?” he murmured, and she could feel the wheels turning in Rumplestiltskin’s clever mind.  “I’ll have to tell my mother.  She just left.”

“We’ll have to keep looking for Lancelot, but even if we can’t find him, we can try to figure out where he might have hidden the sword, right?”

“Mother might have a few ideas on that, yes.  Or even Mordred might.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped a little when speaking of his brother, and Belle grimaced.  She knew that Rumple still wasn’t sure what to make of the egotistical man who was also _her_ half-uncle, but at least Mordred seemed to be on their side these days.

Combined with the facts that Galatine wasn’t in her grandmother’s hands and the Camelotonians were warming up to her, Belle felt like they might finally be getting ahead in the race. 

* * *

 

Morgan made it two turns off of Main Street when magic hit her right between the shoulder blades, sending her sprawling onto the pavement.  Instinct made her roll right despite the screaming pain, and the second spell impacted right where she had been, sending burning asphalt flying into the air.  Seeing stars, she staggered to her feet, her hands up and shields at the ready, but the next attack burned through the meager defenses she had been able to raise.  It was blunted but not dispelled, and Morgan stumbled as a black wind of power nearly tore her off of her feet.  She barely managed to dismantle the fourth spell, relying on her centuries of experience to brutally exploit its weak points, but the fifth got through, driving her straight to her knees.

But the next thing to hit her was not a spell or a curse; it was darkness, pure and simple, something unhinged and all-too-human.  It wasn’t dark magic; this was something that felt raw and unfettered, and it slammed into Morgan like a hammer blow, slamming her onto her back.  Her head hit the street hard, but seeing stars was the least of her problem.  She could feel that power trying to seep into her very bones, trying to consume her soul, and even as Morgan fought desperately, she knew she was losing.  This darkness was not her own, and it was _not_ something she could endure for long—particularly once another spell slammed into her, and then another.  She knew that magic, much though it was obscured by the _other_ darkness eating at her.  _I should have known!_

Morgan had not expected to be Danns’ next victim.  Somehow, she had assumed that her old enemy would not strike at her, that Danns’ would dance around her as she always had.  But she could feel her soul withering and sparks were beginning to consume her vision.  _I can’t fight this._ The relentless attacks finally paused at that point as she gasped for air, wishing for her old power but finding herself still near empty.  Still, her knowledge was still greater than any living human’s, and Morgan brought her hands up, not bothering to stand, catching threads as the next two spells came in side by side, ripping them apart and watching the attacks collapse around her.  Only then did she raise her head to look at her attacker, already having recognized the specific flavor of _that_ magic attacking her.  Yet there was that something else, too, the raw darkness she couldn’t identify. 

“So it is true,” she rasped, looking a miserable Emma Swan in the face.  “She’s done it again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  The Dark One looked like she was _trying_ to sound threatening, but she was clearly trapped and furious, hating herself and everyone around her.  Emma had a vial in her hand, though, with a potion in it that Morgan thought she recognized.  Could that mean—?

No.  It was best not to get her hopes up.  Morgan managed a crooked smile, gathering all the power she had to her behind it.  “Well, then, tell Danns’ that—”

A wave of darkness slammed into her, and the world went black before Morgan could say another word or unleash the magic sizzling in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Eight—“Break and Blaze,” where Baelfire remembers to tell his father that Isaac is a lying liar, August has a hangover, Robin asks David for advice, the truth about the contract comes out, and Mordred wreaks minor havoc.
> 
> (But what do you think has happened to Morgan?)


	78. Break and Blaze

Bae had run into Killian and Lily at Granny’s late that afternoon, after trying and failing to track down Emma, who _should_ have been meeting him at Dave’s Fish and Chips for an early dinner.  He’d been worried about her until she texted him that everything was fine and asking for a rain check, which still left Bae on edge for reasons he couldn’t explain.  Emma was still acting strangely, but he wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t really want a romance—even when she was kissing him from time to time—or if it was because of something else.  Part of him was determined that there was something bigger going on, but he wasn’t sure that the lovesick puppy he wanted to be wasn’t winning.  So, he’d cast about for anything else to distract himself, and ended up settling on Killian and Lily.  Somehow, seeing them together made him think about what Henry had told him about the alternate world that Isaac had created—and then that got him thinking about _Isaac._   Then he remembered what he damned well should have told his father several days earlier. _How the_ hell _could I forget this?_ Bae wanted to smack himself, but he hurried to the pawn shop instead.

“Pop, I gotta tell you something,” he said as his father looked up.  “I screwed up.”

“Is Henry all right?”

Part of Bae warmed to hear that was Rumplestiltskin’s first question, but the rest of him paid more attention as his stomach clenched up with worry.  Henry had been with him when they’d made the discovery, and there was no way to predict how much trouble Isaac could get up to.  Particularly since Bae had been an idiot and hadn’t actually _told_ anyone that their source was also a spy.  So, he shook his head quickly, answering: “He’s fine.  But Isaac isn’t.”

“Ah.  Is he playing both sides against the middle, yet?”

“How’d you know?” Bae stared at his father in confusion—had Henry told Rumplestiltskin?  He didn’t think so, but it could have happened.  Bae just didn’t know when.

“No, but I know Isaac.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was wry.  “Did you catch him in the act?”

“Nah, I kinda bullied him into admitting it.”  He shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed…but not really.  Yeah, bullying someone wasn’t very nice, but since the fate of their world was at stake, Bae felt he could give himself a little slack.  “It was a couple of days ago, though.  I meant to tell you sooner, but got distracted by that note about Jefferson.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.   “The information is still useful, assuming he hasn’t told Danns’ that he’s admitted it to you.”

“I don’t think so, but he admitted that she’d come to see him, and even the security cameras didn’t catch that.”  Bae was still trying to figure out how the Black Fairy might have gotten by the cameras they’d installed, because even if she could trick magic, cameras should have been something else entirely.

The suddenly guilty look on his father’s face, however, said otherwise.  “There are, uh, ways to spoof cameras with magic.  I’ve done it.”

“Do I want to know when?” he asked with a sinking feeling.

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “It was before.  When I was still the Dark One.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than it happening lately.”  He had to sigh.  “And I guess that explains the camera thing.  Damn.”

His father waved a hand dismissively.  “It doesn’t really matter, so long as he hasn’t told Danns’ the one piece of information we most want kept from her.”

“About Henry.”

“Yeah.”  His father was silent for a moment.  “I spoke to David earlier, and—”

The clanking of the bell on the front door cut him off, and both men turned, only to see Morgan staggering through the door, her skin sickly white and blood streaming down her face.  Her eyes were wild and unfocused, and she didn’t seem to see either of them.  Bae opened his mouth to say something just as she collapsed, her legs going out from under her like they were made of paper.  Morgan hit the floor with a crash as both he and his father rushed forward, but by the time they reached her side, she was already unconscious, and a pool of blood was growing around her midsection.

“What the hell happened?” Bae asked before he could stop himself.

“I don’t know.”   Rumplestiltskin’s voice was soft, distracted, and Bae could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his father knelt at his grandmother’s side, utterly ignoring the pool of blood.  Rumplestiltskin’s right hand waved slowly over Morgan, stopping to hover a few inches above her heart.  “She’s been hurt badly.  These injuries would be enough to kill almost anyone.”

A ball of tension rose in his gut.  “Is she going to die?”

The idea of Morgan dying was impossible to grasp.  Bae had barely gotten used to having a grandmother, had barely started to get to know her, and the idea of losing her hit him harder than he would have expected.  Learning that he was related to Morgan had thrown all of their lives into a tailspin, but it wasn’t a _bad_ tailspin.  Having Killian as a cousin was pretty cool, and even Mordred was being less of a prick these days.  He’d always dreamed of having a big family when he was a kid, and now that he’d gotten it, the mere thought of losing anyone in it… _hurt_.

“Not if I can help it.” 

His father’s eyes were grimly determined, but Bae could see the fear there, too.  Had someone asked him years ago if his dad could connect with his own mother so quickly, Bae would probably have said no.  Even when he was younger, Rumplestiltskin had been fairly closed off, probably afraid of being hurt again.  The only one he’d been close to had been Bae.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t even had _friends_ back then, but being with Belle—not to mention not being the Dark One—had really helped him open up.  And now he’d grown close to Morgan, just in time to watch her die?

“What can I do?” Bae asked quickly, watching multiple colors of magic dance out of his father’s palms.  Morgan was breathing shallowly, irregularly, and Rumplestiltskin’s expression was nearly blank with concentration.

No.  This wasn’t happening.  It couldn’t end like this.

“Lock the doors.  Flip the sign to closed. Quickly.”  His father’s words were clipped and distracted, but Bae jumped to his feet and did as he was told, hurrying to the front door, and then to the back, locking both and then hurrying back to his father.

“Now what?”

“Now we go elsewhere.”  Rumplestiltskin’s fingers twitched, and Bae felt a sharp _tug_ as dark red magic swirled around them.  Moments later, they were in Rumplestiltskin’s workroom at the Sorcerer’s House.  Morgan had been settled onto the couch—she was still bleeding on it, despite whatever his father had already done with magic—and Rumplestiltskin was seated in a chair at her side.  His left hand came up, pointing at the table he used as a workbench.  “Blue potion.  The one on the right.”

Bae burned to ask how his father had the necessary potion out and ready, but he knew this really wasn’t the time.  So, he hurried over to the table, only to find that there were _three_ blue potions on the right side of the desk.  “Which one?  Light, dark, or sparkly?”

“Sparkly.”  The scowl was evident in his father’s voice.

Ignoring Rumplestiltskin’s irritaton, Bae plucked the sparkly blue filled vial off of the table and brought it over, handing it to his father.  “What will it do?”

“She has dark magic roaring through her, something toxic and raw.  It will kill her if I can’t stop it.  This potion will slow the flow long enough for me to dismantle it.  Consider it the magical version of a paralytic.”

 “I thought squid ink did that.”  Bae remembered using squid ink quite well; it had almost been their salvation in Neverland.  _Or it would have, if I hadn’t let Pan manipulate me._   Still, that was the past, and he couldn’t afford to dwell on that now.

“Squid ink paralyzes any magical individual.  This actually paralyzes any magic working _inside_ someone.”  His father tipped Morgan’s head back and fed her the potion; she made a small, unconscious noise of discomfort, but seemed to swallow well enough. 

One moment passed, and then another.   Bae wished he knew what his father was watching so intently for, because Morgan’s condition didn’t seem to change as Rumplestiltskin gently laid her head back down on the pillow.  Still, after a minute, his father seemed to relax a little, which meant Bae didn’t feel guilty speaking up.

“So…what’s in her?”

“Good question.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a slow breath.  “If I had to guess, I would say that someone withdrew Lily’s darkness and forced it into Morgan.”

Bae jerked back in shock.  “ _Lily?_   You mean Maleficent’s daughter?  Emma’s old friend?”

“The very one.”

“Henry told me that Isaac tricked Snow and David into pulling Emma’s darkness out and putting it in her, but who would have pulled it out to put it in _Morgan_?  Maleficent?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “I doubt it.”  His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he didn’t actually voice whatever he was thinking.  Instead, his hands came up again, hovering over Morgan as Bae felt magic fill the air.  “Now let me work, Bae.  There’s still much to be done.  It’s trying to eat her from the inside out.”

“Right.  Sorry.” 

Taking a deep breath, Bae made himself step back, watching his grandmother breathe shallowly.  At least she seemed to be breathing more regularly, now; before, it had been all fits and starts and gasps, even when she was unconscious.  But whatever triage his father had done in the beginning seemed to have at least stabilized her.  Hopefully, that meant they were out of the woods, though the concerned expression on his dad’s face clearly said that there were no guarantees.  Still, he figured that Rumplestiltskin would have said if Morgan was going to die, so Bae took a little solace from that.

His next thought, however, offered no solace at all, because _someone_ had to let other members of the family know what was going on.  On one hand, he could wait for Belle to get home, but on the other…yeah.  He was screwed.  Scowling, Bae pulled out his phone and dialed the number of his oldest friend.  Fortunately, the voice on the other hand answered before he could chicken out.

“Bae?”

“Hey, Killian, I need a favor.”

“Name it, and I’ll help,” his cousin replied, which only made Bae grimace harder.

“Do you, uh, have Mordred’s number?  Morgan’s been attacked, and I think he needs to know.”  The words came in a rush, before Bae could even stop to wonder if Mordred knew what a cell phone _was._   Even if he did, it was probably Killian who had taught him how to use it, which might mean there was a disaster in the making.

There was laughter on the other end.   “I’m not sure he has a phone, mate.  I always just pay a visit in person.” 

“Oh.  Crap.  You want to take me out there, then?  I’m not sure how welcome I am at that castle by myself.”

“Of course I will.  Is Morgan all right?”

Bae glanced over at where his father was working before answering.  “I think so.  But she got beat on pretty badly.  Two guesses on who, and the first one doesn’t count.”

“Damn.”

* * *

 

The pounding on the door woke August from his hangover-induced nap, making him squint in the general direction of the front door.  He’d managed to get dressed and make it as far as the couch that morning, but whatever he’d been watching on TV was long since over and had been replaced by the Teletubbies.  Groaning, he levered himself to his feet, only to find that the pounding _wasn’t_ just in his head, because it started again.

“Hold on, will you?” he called pathetically.  “I’m coming.”

“Hurry up!” Lily’s voice came from the other side of the door as he shuffled over, glad that his father was down at Modern Clocks instead of here to see him like this.  Geppetto was always so disappointed when August went drinking with someone or another, even if he was keeping better company these days.  Kathryn and Frederick weren’t bad sorts, even if Kathryn was a lightweight and Frederick could drink August under the table. 

The light outside the apartment was even brighter when August opened the door, so he wound up squinting at his friend.  “What d’you wan’?”  He swallowed, wetting his dry mouth desperately.  “Sorry.  What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”  Even with his headache, Lily looked strangely happy, so August just stepped out of her way.

“Sure.  Sorry about the mess.”

“You’re always a mess when you drink, I know.”  She smiled so damned indulgently, and when had he ever seen that kind of expression on Lily’s face?  Usually, she’d be berating him by now—not that he wouldn’t deserve it, but she’d have said something cutting, at least.  

“Are you, uh, okay?  You seem awfully cheerful.”  This happy and tolerant Lily was seriously weirding August out.

“I’m great, actually.  And I wanted to thank you for putting up with me the way I was.”  Much to his surprise, Lily flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, leaving August to awkwardly embrace her back.

“Um, you’re welcome?”

Lily pulled back, beaming.  “I’m free of it, August.  My double dose of darkness is gone.  I’m just me, now, with my problems and _my_ darkness.  I’m still getting used to it, but I thought I should thank you for sticking by me when I was such a bitch.  You’re the first friend who stuck by me when I was like that—the first one I didn’t manage to screw over so much that they hated me, anyway.”

“Well, I’m pretty screwed up myself, so I think we’re even.”  He couldn’t think of what else to say, even if he really was happy for Lily.  She’d been so damned miserable, and somehow she’d become a real friend to him, too.  _I just hope I don’t lose her now that I’m the more screwed up person here._

“Maybe I can help you, now, instead of just being the one who drags you down.”

“I do a pretty good job of dragging myself down, you know,” he had to admit.  But then a thought occurred to him, and since August didn’t like talking about his own failings, he asked: “So, what happened to the extra darkness, anyway?  I doubt Emma took it back. Not like she is now.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”  Lily shrugged.  “The Black Fairy said she had an idea for it, and I didn’t ask.”

_At least that didn’t change._ August answered her shrug with one of his own, smiling slightly.  So long as the Black Fairy didn’t try to pop that stuff in him or anyone he cared about, he really didn’t care where it went.  Lily hadn’t deserved to get saddled with Emma’s darkness just so Emma could be a ‘hero’ someday; once he’d learned about that, August had become rather disillusioned in the heroes he’d once believed in.  He flat out didn’t care about them these days, and fortunately, they didn’t really seem to care about him, either.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had thought that digging into his power—and depending upon his own True Love for Belle—to save David had been challenging, but that had been nothing like healing Morgan turned out to be.  He had to juggle two conflicting priorities, each of which were dangerous enough to kill his mother on their own.  On one hand, Emma’s original darkness was ripping Morgan apart, trying to absorb her magic, merge with her soul, and gnawing away at both.  An infant was able to endure having someone else’s darkness shoved into her, but an adult, particularly one as old as Morgan was, could not.  Her body would tear itself to pieces before she could absorb this, and Rumplestiltskin _had_ to get Emma’s darkness out of her before that happened.

Yet the other problem was equally dangerous.  Whoever had attacked Morgan had gone to great lengths to utterly savage her; she had numerous broken bones, a cracked skull, and serious internal bleeding.  He’d managed to paralyze the darkness raging through her for the moment, but Rumplestiltskin could feel his potion weakening already.  So, he dove as deeply into his magic as he dared, laying thread after thread of magic down, buoying Morgan’s body’s ability to fight against the damage and healing it at the same time.  He worked quickly, his hands flying through the air as he alternated spells, one hand unweaving Emma’s darkness from where it had latched onto Morgan, and the other knitting her back together.  He’d never done magic on a level like this and was petrified that he’d fail, but there was no one else there. 

If Rumplestiltskin thought he’d been unprepared to become the Sorcerer, he was doubly unprepared for _this_.  He had only known his mother for a few months, yet she was his _mother_.  And he didn’t want to lose her.

Yet, a persistently detached voice echoed in the back of his mind.  _Is this another distraction?  You know who must have been responsible for this attack, who must have pulled Emma’s darkness out of Lily.  So, what is_ she _doing now?_

But that thought was cut off by Morgan’s groan, and suddenly his mother’s eyes flew open.  They were still a little unfocused—he wasn’t done healing her yet, even if the darkness was about ready to come free—but she could clearly see.

“Rumple…?”

“Stay still.”  The words snapped out, tight with worry, before Rumplestiltskin could stop them.  Then he swallowed hard.  “I’m here.”  He didn’t have to mention that he wasn’t finished.  Morgan could undoubtedly feel that.

“I’m not moving.”  Morgan’s voice was slurred, but at least she didn’t try to nod.

“Bae.”  Scowling, Rumplestiltskin glanced over his shoulder when his son did not answer, realizing that he and Morgan were alone in the room.  Where had Bae gone?  Wherever it was, he was sure Bae had a good reason for leaving, though the timing could have been better.  Carefully, he extricated his left hand from the spell it had been conducting, holding those threads in place by will alone.  “Damn.”

He held out that hand, focusing and _pulling_ from the vault under the Sorcerer’s House that he had built shortly after moving in.  Only he could summon items in and out of that vault, and he’d built it so that he’d generally have to go in person, just like his vault under the Dark Castle.  Yet he didn’t have time, now, so Rumplestiltskin poured power into the summons, and soon enough, the Sorcerer’s Hat landed in his palm.  His hand only trembled a bit; he didn’t have time to pay attention to how such magic wore on the human body.  There wasn’t time for mortal frailties, and besides, nothing he did would kill him.  He knew that.

“Hold still, Mother,” he said softly, turning to meet her eyes.  “Can you do that, or do I need to freeze you?”

“Just pull it out.”

The good thing about working with Morgan was that she knew exactly what he had to do, so Rumplestiltskin just nodded and got on with it.  When the Apprentice had pulled _the_ darkness out of him, his defenses had been down and he’d been dying; otherwise, the Apprentice would never have been able to untangle it from his soul so quickly.  But Rumplestiltskin’s soul had been all but shredded, his heart nearly consumed, so the darkness had come out easily enough.  Emma’s innate darkness, of course, was nowhere near as fierce or as powerful as the elemental darkness that formed the core of the Dark One, but it had been attached to a soul for its entire lifespan, and it was eager to consume Morgan’s now that Lily’s was unavailable.

He could not let it do that.  He _would not_ let his mother die like this. 

Or at all.

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin sealed off the healing threads and freed his right hand, slowly drawing Emma’s old darkness to his palm.  Morgan did not scream, but he could tell that was because of weakness rather than bravery.  Still, she didn’t move a muscle, and he could only imagine how much effort that took.  Thread by thread, Emma’s darkness came to his hand, and he tried to ignore the way Morgan was shaking and sweating.

_Focus,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly, using his power to shape Emma’s old darkness into a ball, forcing it to collapse in on itself until it was the size of a grapefruit.  Then and only then did he turn to the Hat, _willing_ it open.  Rumplestiltskin had never been able to do that before; as the Dark One, he’d needed the dagger, and after becoming something else, he had not dared.  Yet now he needed the Hat desperately, needed a safe place to store Emma’s darkness, and what if the Hat did not answer?  He’d inherited Merlin’s power, but what if he simply wasn’t _good_ enough to be the Sorcerer?  What if he wasn’t good enough to save his _mother_?

Several seconds passed as Rumplestiltskin’s worry grew and grew, but finally the Hat swirled open.  Letting out a relieved breath, he was able to direct Emma’s darkness inside with surprisingly steady hands.  The Hat closed up obediently afterwards, allowing Rumplestiltskin to flick it magically to a nearby table, confident that the Sorcerer’s Hat was strong enough to hold a normal human amount of darkness, even one so accustomed to being difficult.

Then he could turn back to healing his mother, who was kind enough to drift back into unconsciousness while he worked.

* * *

 

“I feel ridiculous being worried about this, but I am.”  Robin had been struggling not to fidget, but in the end, he wound up just getting up from behind the desk and pacing.  Fortunately, David didn’t laugh at him.

“What, getting married?  Everyone gets pre-wedding jitters.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, you can’t say you were nervous before marrying Snow.”  The words were out before Robin could stop them, and he immediately regretted sticking his foot down his throat like that.  Snow had only been dead for two months, and one didn’t have to be David’s friend to know that he was still suffering.

Much to his surprise, David’s smile was melancholy, but no longer broken.  “Of course I was.  I was a shepherd-turned-prince, and I often still felt like a fraud, even if Snow and I had been together for years by then.  I kept wondering if she was going to change her mind and find a proper prince.”

“But you’d already shared True Love’s Kiss!”

“And Regina’s already agreed to carry your child.  I don’t think you need more proof than that.”  David stood up to put a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re going to be fine.  You love her, and she loves you.  You’ll fight with one another and against one another, but you’ll be _together._ That’s what matters.”

“Yeah.”  Robin swallowed, and then quirked a crooked smile.  “I told you that I feel ridiculous.”

“And I told you it’s normal.”  David chuckled.  “Though I bet Regina has cold feet, too.”

Robin had to laugh.  “Is she complaining to you, too?”

“Nah, I bet she’d complain to Rumplestiltskin.  Those two are far closer than they’ll ever admit.”

“Just when I think that things can’t get weirder, I get sucked into your _very_ twisted family tree,” Robin joked.  “But I suppose I can’t say much, given everything I’ve been involved in.”

“We’re glad to have you, Robin.”

David slapped him on the shoulder, and Robin could only smile his thanks.  He’d felt very out of place with this large and disjointed family in the beginning, but he was slowly starting to belong, and it was surprisingly nice.  Even if the man who was giving his fiancée away _was_ the same man who had once tried to flay him alive.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had expected to be more exhausted when he was done.

In fact, he _should_ have been ready to drop.  Even with the Sorcerer’s power, he was human.  Unlike Merlin (and the others), Rumplestiltskin had not undergone a fundamental physical change upon gaining magic; he’d simply absorbed Merlin’s power.  Part of Merlin’s soul had come along, at least for a while, but that was gone.  Now he should have been as simply human as he had been when he was born, which meant using such deep and powerful magic should have left him ready to drop.  That worry had been why Rumplestiltskin had been cautious, _so_ cautious, about what types of magic he used since becoming the Sorcerer.  He’d known that a purely human body had far more limitations than one whom the Grail transformed into an original power.  And that was what he was, wasn’t it?

Fool that he was, he hadn’t thought it through.  The Grail may have transformed Merlin, but what kept that same power—albeit in different form—from doing the same to him?  _Nothing._   He had thought it was Merlin’s presence that kept him together after healing David when the prince had been left with Snow’s heart in lieu of his own, but apparently he had been wrong.  He had dug far deeper into the power this time, had taken the cost upon himself because there was nowhere else to place it, and yet he was still coherent.  He was breathing regularly.  Yes, he was tired, but not too badly.

On one hand, knowing that he was fully the Sorcerer, and not simply in possession of those extraordinary but dangerous powers, was a relief.  On the other—

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.  Much to his surprise, when he looked up, Belle was by his side.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  Should he keep this from her?  Did Belle think he was anything _but_ fully the Sorcerer?  They’d never discussed it.  “When did you get home?”

“Just now.  Bae called me to say Morgan had been attacked and he was on his way to see Mordred.”

“Oh.”  That explained where his son had gotten off to, at least.

Belle smiled a crooked smile as she pulled a chair over to sit by them.  “Is she going to be all right?”

“She should.  The damage was deep, but I believe I fixed it in time.”  He took a deep breath.  “Someone pushed Emma’s innate darkness into her.  It was burning her apart from the inside out.”

Belle grimaced, and then reached out to take his hand.  Her smile was glowing—and even _proud_ of him, something Rumplestiltskin once would not have thought possible.  “But you saved her.”

“I tried, anyway.”

“You did.”  Morgan’s voice was scratchy but clear, and they both turned to stare at her as her eyes flickered open.  She was still pale, but she looked worlds better than she had when she’d stumbled into the shop, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself smile a little at the sight.  Then Morgan reached for his hand, giving him an exhausted smile of her own.  “Thank you.”

“I, um…ah, you’re welcome.”  Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t used to having someone genuinely thank him for things, and he almost couldn’t figure out what to say.

“Was it my grandmother who attacked you?” Belle asked as he fumbled for words, her tone as determined as it was resigned.

“I—I can’t remember.”  Morgan blinked, and then licked her lips tentatively.  “Someone…someone forced a forgetting potion down my throat.  I can taste it.”

“Why do that if they expected you to die?”  Belle asked the question that was foremost on Rumplestiltskin’s mind, but he was too busy cataloging the different magics he’d felt on his mother to speak.

Morgan grimaced.  “I’m a half power.  I may have drained much of my own magic after what I did, but I am still hard to kill.  I suspect Danns’ didn’t want to take chances.”

“So, you do think it was her.”  Belle’s hand in his tightened, and Rumplestiltskin turned to glance at his wife’s devastated expression.

“If not her, someone doing her bidding.  I can’t…tell _who_.”  Morgan’s face twisted in frustration.  “I think I knew, but I can’t remember.”

“And using Emma’s innate darkness obliterated all traces of who attacked you,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled.  “It consumed the other markers as well as trying to consume you.”

Morgan nodded.  “But it is Danns’ type of clever.  I am sorry, Belle.”

Belle just shook her head sadly, though Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand.  “I know what she is,” she said softly.  “I had hoped she might _want_ to be better, but if she’s made her choices, I have made mine.”

“I am sorry to force you to make such a choice,” Morgan rasped, but Belle just shook her head again.

“You didn’t.  Please don’t blame yourself.  You’ve done too much for both of us for you to say that.”

“I fear right now I’m nothing but deadweight.”  His mother looked away, wincing in obvious pain.  “But there’s nothing to do be done for it, I suppose.”

Listening to his mother sound so down wrenched Rumplestiltskin’s heart painfully and finally helped him find his voice.  “You’re not deadweight.  You’re…you’re my mother.”  _You’re not the same.  You came back for me._

“So I am.”  Morgan squeezed his hand tightly, meeting his eyes.  Rumplestiltskin squeezed back, not quite knowing what to say, or even if anything had to be said.  He wasn’t _good_ at this, and she wasn’t really, either.  _At least I know where I get that awkwardness from._

Giving him a tiny nod, Morgan sat up, grimacing as she did so.  Rumplestiltskin reached out to help her, and was glad when she didn’t pull away.  His relationship with his mother was still in turns awkward and close, and he didn’t always know what to say or how to act.  He certainly wasn’t accustomed to having a parent who _cared_ about him, but he knew that Morgan did.  And he knew that Bae’s words to him, so very long ago, rang true for his mother, as well.  She had left him, yes, but she’d come back, and that made all the difference.

“Can I get you some water?” Belle asked, probably to fill the heavy silence.

“That would be lovely.”  Morgan seemed fairly coordinated as she swung her legs off of the couch, glancing at Rumplestiltskin.  “I think I need to walk around a bit.”

“Be careful.  You’re bound to be uncoordinated.”

She chuckled as Belle rose to get some water from the sink in the corner.  “I think you’re a better healer than you give yourself credit for being.”

“The damage was rather extensive, Mother.”  Rumplestiltskin was trying not to preen at the compliment, which at least his worry made it easier to do.

“And you are the Sorcerer.  Fully, now, I think.”  Morgan squeezed his hand again, and then stood.  She was a little shaky as she leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead, but the motion stunned Rumplestiltskin more than the way she finally pulled her hand from his, and he was left staring.

Morgan only smiled, taking a few uncertain steps, wobbling a little before she caught her balance.  Rumplestiltskin watched dumbly, still more than a little stunned by the casual act of affection.  Fortunately, she didn’t fall and seemed to improve the longer she was on her feet.  He knew the magic he’d used to heal her was solid, of course, but he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to deserve…that.

Again, Belle rescued him by returning with the glass of water, which she handed over.  Morgan sipped slowly, looking down at the bookshelf to her right.  Her eyes landed—of course!—on the rolled up piece of parchment that Rumplestiltskin had left on the middle shelf after bringing it back from the shop, and his stomach dropped.  Of all things for Morgan to find in his workroom, she would find evidence that he had been such a horrible father and utter fool that he’d agreed to give up his second child so many years before.  If not for the blind luck of the healer returning it, he would have even now been fighting to save his and Belle’s unborn child, and—

“You still have this?” Morgan sounded utterly unsurprised, and that made Rumplestiltskin blink.

“It’s—it’s invalid.”  Belle spoke up as he stared stupidly, belatedly remembering to clamber to his feet.  “We, um… Well, Rumple just kept it.  It’s nothing, though.  Isn’t it?”

The way Belle laid a protective hand on her stomach was enough to break through Rumplestiltskin’s fear-laden stupor.  Quickly, he crossed the room to wrap his arms around her, holding her tightly while she glanced up at him.  The trust Belle had in him was evident in her eyes, but she was rightly worried; he would have been downright terrified if his experience with contracts didn’t assure him that this particular contract was no longer usable. 

“It is now, sweetheart,” he said softly, feeling her hands close tightly on his arms.

“I should hope it is.”  Morgan looked up from the contract with a peculiar smile on her face.  “Though it is good to know that Fendrake returned it to you.”

“Fendrake?  You knew the healer?”  The words jumped out of Rumplestiltskin in a yelp as he stared at his mother.

“I did.”  Morgan gestured with the contract.  “I…I did abandon you, Rumple, but that does not mean I didn’t want to help you where I could.  Fendrake came to me, and I offered him a deal so that he would release you from the contract.”

Unable to find words, Rumplestiltskin could only gape.

“What kind of deal?” Belle asked curiously.

Morgan waved a hand.  “A new life.  A fresh start.  The Dark One of the time—Zoso—was hunting him.  I helped him escape to the Marchlands.  It seemed a small price.”

“Zoso was hunting him?” That finally made Rumplestiltskin find his voice; the idea of that contract having fallen into Zoso’s hands was worse than anything else.  His predecessor would have made use of it, he was sure.  _Or, at the very least, he would have ensured the contract never made it back into my hands._

“Or the Duke of the Frontlands.”  Morgan shrugged.  “I was never certain as to which.  Zoso was a blunt instrument at best.”

“That he was.”  His heartrate was finally slowing down; Zoso was dead, as was the Duke.  Rumplestiltskin had killed them both, though he’d never killed Fendrake, despite random urges to do so once he’d become the Dark One.  And now he was grateful for that; Fendrake _had_ done as Morgan asked, after all, and returned the contract to him.  He gestured weakly at the contract.  “You…you did this for me?”

“It seemed all I could do.  I always thought I would never know you, but I at least hoped you might find happiness.”  Morgan smiled at the way he and Belle were still holding onto one another.  “Although I admit that I never expected it to take such a form, or to take so long.”

“I never thought I would find anything like this,” Rumplestiltskin admitted quietly, and then glanced down at Belle again, who was smiling at him.  “Though I would say it was more than worth the wait.”

* * *

 

Bae was really glad that Killian was along for the ride, because otherwise he’d have found himself knocking on a castle’s door, which just seemed weird to do.  Killian, however, had no problems walking right in, and seemed to know right where to find their mutual uncle.  Interestingly enough, Mordred seemed deep in a book and utterly unaware of their presence until Killian cleared his throat.

“Killian?” Mordred looked up in surprise, but frowned when he saw Bae.  “And Baelfire. Am I to suppose this is not a social call?”

“What, you don’t think I want to visit my dear Uncle Monomaniac?”  Bae couldn’t help his response, even if it did make Mordred go a little red with anger.  Or was that embarrassment?

Mordred glared.  “I consider it an unlikely occurrence, yes.”

“Not as much as you might think,” Killian replied with a shrug, but Bae couldn’t quite stop himself from adding:

“Well, joke’s on you, then.  I came to let you know that Morgan got attacked by someone.  She made it to the shop, and my dad’s taking care of her.”

“She… _what_?” All the color drained out of Mordred’s face, and he went absolutely still.  “Is she—is she going to be all right?”

“I don’t know.  I came straight here.  Pop was working on her.”

“Then why are we waiting?”  Mordred snapped, slamming his book shut.  “Are they at the pawn shop?  We’ll go there.”

“They’re— _ack!_ ” Bae started to speak, only to cut off as a cloud of purple smoke engulfed the pair of them, _tugging_ hard. 

They landed on the street in front of the pawn shop, and Mordred lunged for the door before either he or Killian could open their mouths, tugging on the doorknob.  Of course, the door didn’t open—Bae had locked it not too long ago—and Mordred turned to look at them both with a scowl.

“Where is my mother?”

“They’re not here.  If you’d let me finish my sentence, I could have told you that.”  Bae resisted the urge to shake his uncle—judging from the furiously worried expression on Mordred’s face, that would be a bad idea.  Particularly what with how much magic his uncle had.  “And then maybe you wouldn’t have had to leave my father’s car in the damned woods.  It’s a long walk there, and—”

“ _Where_ is she?” Mordred loomed forward threateningly, but Killian got in the way.

“Easy, Uncle.  It wouldn’t do to be attacking family again, particularly when Bae didn’t _have_ to come tell you about this.  I may not be my Uncle Crocodile’s biggest fan, but you have to admit that he knows magic fairly well.  I’m sure she’s safe.”

“Safe _where_?” Mordred stopped, though doing so seemed to take an enormous effort.

Bae decided not to push things.  After all, this was the uncle who had tried to kill him, and now wasn’t the time for humor.  He could get the stupid car later, or ask his dad to do it.  “They’re at the Sorcerer’s House.  Pop was working on her when I left.”

“Any objections to my teleporting us _this_ time?” Mordred sounded a little spiteful, but Bae supposed he deserved that.

“Nope.  Poof away.”

He did brace himself, though.  Bae would never get used to being teleported, and it would always leave his stomach in funny knots.  Even if it really was a faster way to get places than any mundane route, he’d prefer to walk or drive, thank you very much.  Not that Mordred really cared; by the time he finished tensing, they were at the door to the Sorcerer’s House, and Mordred looked ready to tear the walls down with his bare hands.  Fortunately, Killian just opened the door and gestured for Bae to lead the way, throwing a crooked smile at him.

“Best get moving, cousin, or he’s going to startle Uncle Crocodile into starting another fight.”

Bae wanted to argue, but there wasn’t time.  Not with the way Mordred was barging into his father’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Nine—“Thro’ the Noises of the Night,” in which David talks to Rumplestiltskin about how strangely Emma is acting, Mordred is introduced to pizza at the Sorcerer’s, Killian tries to figure out what’s up with Lily, the Stiltskins turn the tables on Isaac, and Baelfire learns a devastating truth.
> 
> Also, if you haven’t already read [Ruins of a Contract,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6733576) it explains how Morgan got ahold of that contract in the first place.


	79. Thro’ the Noises of the Night

Emma had invited David and little Neal over for dinner the same night Morgan was attacked, an invitation David gladly accepted.  He didn’t get nearly enough time to spend with his daughter as things were, and Henry was there, too, which was an excellent bonus.  Dinner went pretty well, even, with Henry showing off some cooking skills he’d learned from Regina, but David could tell that something was off about his daughter.

“Everything okay?” he asked as Henry took Neal on a tour of the house.  Neal was too young to understand what was going on, but Henry seemed to find it fun to do, anyway.  Maybe he was practicing to have Roland as a real-life stepbrother in a few days.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  Emma turned dark-rimmed eyes on him suspiciously.  “Why would you ask?”

“Probably because you’re my daughter and I love you.”

His blunt reply made her flinch.  “I’m okay, Dad.”  Emma looked away.  “Just…I thought it would be easier to be the Dark One than it has been, all right?”

“Hey, I’m sure you’re doing it better than I could.”  Stepping forward, David put a gentle hand on Emma’s arm, but she still flinched a little.  His instincts told him not to pull away, though, so he didn’t, and Emma relaxed after a moment.  “I believe in you, Emma.  And we’re _going_ to find a way to free you from this.  We’re going to do it the right way, too, so that no one else suffers for it.”

“I know.”  But the smile she turned on him was still unbelievably sad.  “I know you’ll try, Dad.  I’m just not sure that this story is going to have a happy ending.”

“Don’t say that.  You’re the Savior.  Didn’t you tell Regina that your job was to bring back all the happy endings?”

“I’ve learned a lot about fine print since becoming the Dark One, you know.”  Emma laughed hoarsely.  “And the job description never said anything about _my_ happy ending.  Just that I’d bring back everyone else’s.  Maybe I’m the price.”

“Oh, Emma.”  David drew her into his arms, holding her tightly.  Emma didn’t cry, of course; she remained straight backed and sad even when she leaned into his embrace.  David held her for as long as he dared before pulling back to look her in the eyes.  “We’re not going to let that happen, all right?  All you’ve got to do is hold on.”

Her hazel eyes suddenly filled with tears.  “What if I do something terrible, Dad?  What if, no matter how hard I fight, it isn’t enough?”

“You’re still my daughter, and I’ll love you no matter what.  _Nothing_ will change that.  We know now that it isn’t you.  It’s the darkness, and we’ll help you through it.”  He didn’t know what else to say, and David found himself wishing—yet again!—that Snow was there.  She had been so much better at spreading hope; Emma had inherited that trait from her.  David was just bull-headed and determined to do the right thing.  Yes, he could feel Snow with him, but having her presence in his heart and soul wasn’t enough to give Emma hope.

Emma needed more than he could give, and David hated not knowing how to help his daughter.  She tried to smile at him, but it was clear that she couldn’t quite manage.

“Emma?  Is there something else?”

“No.”  Her face closed off, going blank with startling swiftness.  “Of course not.”

“You know you can tell me any—”

“I said there was nothing else wrong, Dad,” she cut him off sharply, and that was that.  David tried again to get her to talk to him, but she wouldn’t say anything else.  Still, that vague question of _‘What if I do something terrible’_ wouldn’t leave his mind, so once Henry came back down with little Neal and said that his diaper needed changing, David took advantage of the opportunity.

“Would you mind helping?  I’ll keep an eye on the cooking,” he offered, and Emma grabbed onto the escape he offered.

“Sure.”  Nodding, she took Neal into the next room, while Henry threw a calculating glance his grandfather’s way.

“You think she’s acting funny, too, don’t you?”

David sighed.  “You noticed?”

“You’re not exactly the King of Subtle, Gramps.”  Henry’s smile was crooked.  “Do you have an idea?”

“Actually, I was going to call your other grandfather.  Can you keep a lookout for your mom while I do?”  He gestured at the oven, where Henry had been cooking Regina’s favorite lasagna recipe.  “And not burn down the house while you’re at it?”

“I think I can manage.  Besides, Mom’s the Dark One.  She can put out any fires, and that’d be a _great_ distraction.”  Henry grinned, and David resisted the urge to shake his grandson.

 _Yeah, he definitely gets_ that _kind of sneaky from the other side of the family,_ he thought.  But he didn’t argue.  Henry was right, unfortunately.  “I’ll be right back,” David promised.

“Sure.  I’ll work on the salad and tell Mom that Robin called about something sheriff-y.”

Nodding, David headed out onto Emma’s front porch.  He didn’t _think_ his daughter would have put any spells out there that would let her overhear people, and besides, she was busy changing Neal.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin picked up after two rings.

“I didn’t expect you to call tonight, David,” the former Dark One said by way of greeting.

“Well, I didn’t expect to be calling.  I’m at Emma’s for dinner.”  David took a deep breath.  “She’s…acting strangely.  Talking about how maybe her not getting a happy ending is the price for everyone else’s, and what happens if she does something horrible.  I’m worried for her.”

There was a long moment of silence before Rumplestiltskin spoke.  “So you called me.”

“You’re the only one who’s been where she is.  Is she right?”  David hated to ask that question so soon after he’d reassured Emma that she _had_ to be wrong, but he needed to know.

“She’s not wrong.  Being the Dark One…well, it does tend to impact your ability to find happiness.  Every time you think you can do the right thing, you manage to screw it up.”  Rumplestiltskin’s laugh was as humorless as Emma’s had been not too much earlier.  “I believe you witnessed some of my experiences on that front.”

“Yeah, a few.”  He had to swallow.  “But this isn’t forever for her, right?  I mean, I know you spent centuries as the Dark One, but there has to be a way to free her, even with Merlin gone.  Doesn’t there?”

“There is.”  The fact that the Sorcerer’s voice was very firm reassured David.  “I believe I’ve found the answer.  The only thing left to do is work out all the details on how.”

“Then we have to tell her!  She’s starting to lose hope, Gold, and—”

“No.”

“What do you mean _no_?” David’s temper, usually under such good control, burst out of him like a bullet.  Had Rumplestiltskin been there, he probably would have been fighting the urge to punch him in the face, but as things were, he just had to be careful not to break his own phone in half.  “She needs hope!  We can’t do this to her!”

“Yes, we can, and don’t hang up on me, _Charming_ , if you want your daughter free of that darkness,” the other man snapped.  But it was the urgency in Rumplestiltskin’s voice that jerked David up short.

“Then you’d better start explaining, because it’s going to take a _hell_ of a lot of convincing for me to leave my daughter without hope,” he growled.

“She needs to be desperate.  _Hopeless._   Otherwise, she will never have the strength to let go of the darkness,” Rumplestiltskin replied—for once, not talking around the problem.  “The darkness isn’t just a presence, it isn’t just voices.  It’s an influence on your mind that you don’t always know is there.  If she thinks for so much as a moment that she’ll be able to live with it, if she has any hope of keeping that power _and_ her soul, she’s going to hold onto it.  No matter how strong she is.”

David swallowed hard, wishing that those words didn’t make sense.  “But Emma says she wants to be rid of it.”

Rumplestiltskin’s laugh was bitter.  “And I said that I wanted to be better man, but I never really managed that, did I?”

“Emma’s different.  She’s the Savior.”

“She’s still _human._   And the darkness affected her almost as strongly as it did me.  She has help, and she has the love of her family, which has kept her back from the edge.  But it’s an elemental darkness that has had a millennium to learn how to manipulate humans.  It’s going to win, unless we outplay the darkness at its own game.”

David was drowning, grasping for something to hold onto, unable to shake the image of Emma’s sad smile and heartbroken eyes.  “Then what should I do?”

“Be yourself.  Support her and love her.  You won’t change how she feels, not enough.  But _don’t_ tell her what I’ve told you.”

“I’m not sure I can do that for long,” he admitted.  “I can’t watch her suffer.”

“It shouldn’t be long,” Rumplestiltskin promised.  “A few more weeks, maybe two months at the outside.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”  He didn’t mean the words to be a growl, but they were.  At least Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem offended.

“You and my son both.  And our mutual grandson.”  This time his chuckle was lighter, but David could hear the slight strain behind it.

Once, he would have asked why he should trust Rumplestiltskin.  Once, he would have automatically assumed that the other man was a villain, through and through.  But events had taught him differently, and even if they hadn’t, Rumplestiltskin was their best chance.  _And he’s family._ He had earned their trust, and David would just have to give it.  Rumplestiltskin said he knew how to free Emma, and that would have to be enough.

* * *

 

Morgan needed to spend the night, which meant that Mordred would, too.  Killian ended up completing the trio of awkward house guests—Bae had insisted on him, probably figuring that it would smooth over the rough edges between Rumplestiltskin and Mordred.  All in all, Belle thought that was a pretty good idea; Mordred seemed to like Killian better than anyone else, which hopefully meant that Killian could stop the uncle who also happened to be her brother-in-law from doing something reckless.   _At least he didn’t bring the Greater Sapphire with him.  That could really have been a mess._

Belle had done a lot of studying magical objects lately, and she had a full appreciation of how powerful Circe’s Pendant—also known as the Greater Sapphire—was.  She’d known from the beginning that she would be even more of an academic than her husband; Rumplestiltskin may have loved studying magic, but Belle _absorbed_ knowledge.  Fortunately, the studying was something they could do together, even if Rumple was prone to wandering off and experimenting with new spells and concoctions while Belle kept reading.  Unfortunately, today was not going to be the pleasant evening of shared study they had planned.  Not with these guests.

“You know who did this,” Mordred said to Rumplestiltskin after they’d finally convinced Morgan to go to sleep in one of the guest rooms.  Now she, Mordred, and Rumple were in Rumple’s workroom while Bae and Killian dealt with ordering pizza and doing a beer run.  Apparently, Mordred had never had pizza, which—according to Belle’s stepson—just _would not do._   She was glad that Bae and Killian had resumed their friendship, though; they seemed happier as cousins than romantic rivals, and she had to admit that it was fun to watch them gang up on Mordred.

“It’s rather obvious.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t even twitch as Mordred continued bristling.   “The only question is if she meant to kill her or not.”

“How can you ask that?  That much darkness would kill even a half power—which Mother is.  And Danns’ _must_ have done that on purpose.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the type to kill in secret.  Or to use a memory potion.”  Belle could see where Rumplestiltskin was going with this, and her breath caught as she looked up from the book she’d been idly flipping through.  “The real question is what she’s trying to hide.”

Mordred snorted.  “There’s always something with her.”

“Yes, I’ve realized that.”  Rumplestiltskin frowned.  “You have more experience with her than I.  Do you have any idea?”

“Does the boy still have his heart?  Your grandson.”

“He has a name, you know,” Belle frowned.

“Yes, I know.”  Mordred grimaced.  “Henry.  My question stands.”

“He does, yes.”

“Hm.  Perhaps it’s to do with Lancelot, then.  I still can’t find him.”  Mordred’s frown turned pained, and Belle thought the expression transformed his entire face.  He suddenly didn’t look dispassionate and cold; now Mordred looked human and worried.  _This is the man Killian has gotten to know_ , she realized.  It was a pity Mordred couldn’t bear to let the rest of them see his true self.

“I asked Elaine about him, and others from Camelot.”  Belle sighed.  “None of them have seen him.”

Mordred turned to face her.  “No one?”

Belle shook her head. “I fear that he’s imprisoned again. Or worse.”

“I don’t think she’d keep him prisoner a second time.”  Mordred’s voice had gone quiet, and Belle wanted to reach out to him.  Yet she wasn’t quite certain how welcome the gesture would be.  She’d grown close to Morgan, but Mordred was another matter entirely.  Belle really wasn’t sure how to deal with him…yet at the moment, he wore a sickly empty expression that was an exact twin to how Belle felt.

“You think he’s dead.”  The words were hard to say, but Belle had to force herself to face facts.

“Yes.”  Mordred looked away.  “And if he is, I will _end_ her for it.  For that and for trying to kill my mother.”

His dark eyes cut back to her, as if Mordred was curious to how Belle would react to him threatening her grandmother.   For her part, however, she could only sigh.  She was against murder as an answer, but the last few years had taught Belle that some threats _had_ to be dealt with in a more final way than simply locking someone away.  Besides, how would they hold the Black Fairy, even if they could catch her?  Using Henry’s heart was out of the question, but that seemed to be the only way.  Belle still didn’t want to see her grandparents killed…but their deaths _were_ preferable to seeing worlds smashed into one another and thousands upon thousands slain.

“Nothing to say?” he asked when Belle didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  She also ignored the slightly mocking tone in his voice, giving him a level look.

“What do you expect me to say?”

“Anything would be preferable to nothing.”

Belle took a deep breath to calm herself, glancing Rumplestiltskin’s way and telling him with his eyes that he didn’t need to jump to her defense.  “I already told you that I’ve chosen my side.  I told my grandparents the same thing.  And I worry for Lancelot, too.”

“Right.”  Mordred looked away again.  “My apologies.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”  Belle gave him a reassuring smile.  “I understand.”

“Then you are a better person than I.”

“Better than any of us,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, and Belle snapped her head around to give her husband a hard look.  She didn’t mind the compliment, of course, but she really hated it when he put himself down like that.

She opened her mouth to tell him so, but Baelfire stuck his head in the room and interrupted first.

“Hey, Uncle Mordred, you gonna make me go get the car you left hangin’ out in the woods, or you gonna help me out?”

Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped around.  “You left my car in the _woods_?”

“Well, he was big on teleporting, but that’s not really a skill Killian and I have.”  Bae shrugged.  “I locked it?”

“Well, that makes everything better.”  Her husband glared at his son, but Belle reached out to put a hand on his arm.

“I’ll go get the car.”  She bit back a laugh as Mordred turned to stare at her with wide eyes.

“You?  But you can’t walk all that way.  Even if Danns’ won’t hurt _you_ , there are other dangers—”

“Of course not.”  Belle shook her head gently.  Mordred didn’t have to say that he was firmly on their side, now; the fact that her grandmother had attacked Morgan absolutely guaranteed that.  So, it was probably time to let him in on a not-so-well-kept secret.  “I’ll teleport.”

“You’ll _what_?”

“It’s kind of you to worry,” she said, and she meant it.  Mordred actually looked concerned, which surprised her.  “But Bae will come with me, just in case.”

“Teleportation?  _Again_?”  Bae groaned.  Then he sighed, scuffing his toe against the floor and shrugging.  “Sure.  Why not?  So long as you promise not to splinch me, Stepmom.”

Belle laughed.  “This isn’t _Harry Potter_ , Bae.  That’s not actually possible.”

“You sure?”

“It’s not,” Rumplestiltskin and Mordred replied at the same time, both looking startled that they spoke in sync.  Then Mordred added, looking towards where Killian stood behind Bae.  “Who’s _Harry Potter_?”

Everyone else burst out laughing.

 

* * *

 

One night at his Uncle Crocodile’s house was about as much as Killian could take.  Belle was, as always, welcoming and sweet, and Baelfire had become the best friend he’d ever had.  Mordred being around was awkward as hell, but somehow they’d all gotten through dinner without murder.  Breakfast the next morning had been easier with Morgan there, even if his grandmother had been more than a little worse for wear.  Rumplestiltskin and Mordred had started bickering over who got to finish healing Morgan, and Killian had left right after that.  He really didn’t care where he went after that odd night; anywhere was better than that.

Even if introducing Mordred to pizza had been hilarious.  His uncle hadn’t quite known what to do with that “cheese covered slice of bread”, which had left Killian and Bae laughing so hard that they spilled their beer.  Killian knew firsthand how _strange_ Land Without Magic food seemed when you didn’t have the curse to help you understand it, but he’d grown a certain fondness for things like pizza, chicken wings, and ice cream.  Mordred hadn’t had the latter, either, until Belle found some in the freezer—or, rather, a _lot_ of ice cream, at least six different flavors.  It seemed that his Uncle Crocodile’s hidden weakness was a monumental sweet tooth, which Killian had managed to joke that he _could_ have used against him if only he’d known.

The fact that Rumplestiltskin had laughed at that spooked the pirate enough that he had to leave the next morning.  Their strange family tree was getting _too_ easy to deal with, and he needed some air.

Somehow, that led to him walking down Main Street before most of the shops had opened, treasuring the quiet and the normality of it all.  Although he’d never expected it when he’d brought Cora to Storybrooke so long ago, somehow this strange town had become _home_.  Killian hadn’t had a real home since his mother died; he and his brother had clung to one another, but there had never really been a place to go back to.  Even during his years in the Navy, he’d never felt the fierce patriotism that his shipmates had felt, had felt little need to defend Camelot against any and all comers.  Storybrooke, however, had crept into his heart, and he rather thought he liked the feeling.

 _A good man doesn’t need a reward for doing the right thing,_ his mother had told him once, so very sadly.  _He just does it._   He was a far cry from being that sort of man, of course, but Killian thought he was getting a little closer. 

“Hey!”

Lily’s voice came from behind him and made him turn, and Killian was taken aback by the large smile on his friend’s—was she a friend?—face.  Still, he managed an answering smile of his own; smiles and roguish charm had been a defense mechanism for as long as he could remember.  “Hello, yourself.” 

“I haven’t seen you lately.”  Was Lily actually _bouncing?_   He was accustomed to dark looks and darker words from her, not light-hearted happiness.  “Where have you been?”

“Introducing my Uncle Mordred to pizza.”  Killian couldn’t help snorting with laughter; he thought he might try donuts next.  Or maybe fried chicken.  Mordred was sure to be confused by one or the other of them.

Lily cocked her head.  “What?  Why?”

“Well, it started as a lark, really.  But mainly it was a way to keep him and my Uncle Crocodile from bickering.”

“Why were you with _them_ , anyway?” Her eyes darkened, and now Killian saw the Lily he knew, even if there seemed to be a slightly smaller cloud of doom hanging around them.

He shrugged. “Someone attacked my grandmother.  She’s probably the only thing those two have in common.”  Then an uncomfortable thought occurred to Killian, because he wasn’t a blind man, and he _knew_ who Lily was consorting with: “You don’t know anything about that, do you?”

“No.”  She met his eyes brazenly.  “But she shouldn’t be working against the Black Fairy if she doesn’t want to be hurt.”

“Lass, you do know this war is bigger than either of us, and that the woman you’re devoutly following is—”

“Someone who keeps her promises,” Lily cut him off fiercely.  “I don’t care about the rest.  Why the hell should I, anyway?  Emma’s parents shoved _her_ darkness into me so that she could be some perfect little hero—which worked out _great_ for them, by the way!—and then Regina took my blood to help create a twisted little world that she then decided she didn’t want.  Unless they need something from me, no one in this town gives a damn about me.  Or my mother.  Why should we care about them?”

Killian took a deep breath, seeing the hurt beneath Lily’s anger.  _She’s so like the man I was.  She’s been hurt and abandoned, and lashing out is the only thing that makes her feel better._ “Sometimes, it’s not about what people give you.”  He managed a crooked smile.  “Being able to live with who you are is far more important than that.”

“I’m perfectly happy with who I am!”

“Aye, I don’t doubt that.”  He did, of course, but Killian knew that was a lie Lily would tell herself for a long time.  “You seemed very happy a moment ago.”

“Because the Queen _does_ keep her promises.  I’m finally rid of Emma’s darkness.  For good.”  The glowing smile was back, but Lily’s words made a lump rise in Killian’s throat.

He’d overheard what Mordred and Rumplestiltskin had talked about, after all.  And now he’d just realized that his friend’s freedom had nearly murdered his grandmother…and he didn’t quite know what to say.

* * *

 

“I’m not sure I like the idea of Henry coming along, Pop,” Bae said quietly as they climbed into the car, and Rumpelstiltskin tried not to sigh.  He knew that he wouldn’t manage to answer that before his grandson did, and sure enough, Henry cut in quickly:

“Dad, I’ve been in this from the beginning, and I helped you figure out that Isaac was going behind our backs.  You can’t leave me out now!”

“I fear he’s right, Bae.  At the very least, if he _doesn’t_ come along, anyone watching Isaac will assume something is up.”  Rumplestiltskin hesitated, hating the idea of lying to his son, but unable to avoid it.  Baelfire meant well—as did Henry—but neither would be able to keep this secret.  They loved too strongly, and were both far too direct.

“See?” Henry saved him from having to say more by giving his father a triumphant look, which in turn earned Rumplestiltskin an exasperated glare.

“I don’t trust that little snot not to try to hurt him.”

“Grandpa will protect me.”  Henry made that declaration with eyes full of hope and trust, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart skip a beat as he started the car.

Not too many months ago, an alternate version of him had tried to kill this boy, and Rumplestiltskin was utterly floored by how forgiving Henry could be.  He swallowed hard, unable to keep the gruff emotion out of his voice.  “Of course I will.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.  _Really_.” 

Bae groaned aloud and Rumplestiltskin threw a glance his son’s way over Henry’s head, trying to convey a silent promise to do exactly as he said.  Henry was his grandson, his _family_ , and Rumplestiltskin had finally learned to fight for that.  He didn’t think Isaac was a threat, but if the former Author managed to pose one—or if there were surprises lying in wait that he did not anticipate—he would do whatever it took to keep his son and grandson safe.

Fortunately, they both knew what he intended to bully Isaac into doing, so there wasn’t any danger on that front.  No, the real danger existed in the secret he was keeping from both of them—or at least the secret Rumplestiltskin _thought_ he was keeping from both of them.  Eventually, he would have to tell Baelfire, but he wasn’t sure if telling Henry that Danns’ a’Bhàis had his mother’s dagger was the best idea.  Knowing Henry, he would try to mount some daring rescue mission, and endanger many others in the process.  _And even worse, I know that I can_ use _this.  Like I told David, Emma’s desperation is useful.  She doesn’t have to have the dagger for me to get the darkness out of her—she just has to really,_ truly _, want it gone._

Still, he had no evidence that Danns’ actually had the dagger; only suspicions.  But there was a way to find out, so Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat and changed the subject, finally pulling the car out of the driveway.

“Bae, did you happen to tell Emma about Belle’s pregnancy?”

His son gulped, suddenly looking guilty.  _There’s my answer._ “Um.  Why?”

Rumplestiltskin forced himself to smile lightly.  “I thought she might want to know, given how Henry’s gaining an aunt, and all.”

“Oh.  Uh, I might have accidentally told her a while ago.  I know you wanted to keep it quiet and all, but, it just kinda came out.”  Bae was a little red.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right.”  Rumplestiltskin used all of his self-control to say that, knowing that, had he still been the Dark One, he would have screamed and ranted at his son.  _Belle is fine.  Our daughter is fine,_ he told himself firmly.  Danns’ knew, yes, but she claimed that she would not hurt those of her own blood.

Unlike many others,  Rumplestiltskin did not doubt that even the darkest of villains could love.  Danns’ appeared to love Belle—or at least the idea of Belle—and she probably would keep her promise.  Belle and their child were likely the only ones safe from Danns’, but that didn’t mean he was happy that Emma had shared a secret.  _I suppose it runs in the family,_ he thought wryly, going with it when Henry started talking about how his aunt and his uncle were _definitely_ not allowed to get together.  As it so happened, Rumplestiltskin agreed with that sentiment whole heartedly.  It was one thing to have Bae fall for the eldest Charming child; having his second child fall for _their_ second child was a little too much.  The thought left him vaguely queasy, in fact, despite his friendship with David.

Fortunately, the drive to Isaac’s home wasn’t a long one, so Henry didn’t manage to get too far in depth with his horror stories of what might happen.  Soon enough, they were knocking on the former Author’s door, and Isaac wasn’t stupid enough to try to keep them out.  _I’m his landlord, anyway.  I have a key,_ Rumplestiltskin thought without amusement.  He didn’t need said key, of course, but generally found that using a perfectly normal method to get in a house raised fewer hackles than doing magic.

Not like he wasn’t going to raise plenty of hackles with Isaac if the idiot didn’t cooperate.

“Wow, I feel special.”  Isaac rolled his eyes nervously as Rumplestiltskin followed Bae and Henry inside.  “You brought the big guns out.”

“You’re the one trying to play both sides,” Henry shot back.  “Be glad you’re not back in the asylum already.”

“Yes, I was starting to wonder about that.”  Isaac shifted nervously.  “I’m going to guess there’s a price.”

Rumplestiltskin gave him a thin smile, chuckling softly.  “Now, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Probably the fact that you’re here.”  Isaac gave him what was probably intended to be a hard look, but it didn’t work so well when the smaller man’s eyes shifted to the side.  Isaac was really good at being forceful when he held the cards, or when someone needed him, but now that the balance of power had skewed completely into Rumplestiltskin’s hands, he was clearly nervous.

_Good._

“Well, I never thought you were stupid.”  He gestured at Bae.  “My son tells me that you’ve been less than honest with us.”

“I…I didn’t lie to you.  I told the truth!”

“And nothing but the truth?” Bae snorted.  “Yeah, sell me another one.  In fact, you can try to sell me some oceanfront property in Arizona if you’re that good.  But you aren’t.”

Henry threw Bae a questioning look.  “Dad, isn’t Arizona…?”

“Landlocked, yeah.”  Bae grinned.

“Oh.  Right.”  Henry snickered.  “I get it.”

Rumplestiltskin decided it was time to take control of the conversation again, lest his son joke his way through the entire afternoon.   “At any rate, I think it’s obvious that you’ve been less than completely forthcoming.  Haven’t you?” 

Isaac swallowed.  “Look, I’m only trying to stay alive here.  It’s not like _you’ve_ done anything to keep that dark faery out of here, and she’s scary as hell.  I’m not stupid enough to go against her, even if you are.”

“Stupid?” Rumplestiltskin cocked his head.

“Very true.”  Slowly, he stepped forward, and a dark part of his heart sang with joy as Isaac flinched.  “So, I’m not going to ask you to go against Danns’.  I am, however, going to insist that you drink this.”

Rumplestiltskin produced a vial from his pocket, and walked over to the bar against the far wall, pouring the amber colored liquid into a glass.  It almost looked like scotch, though wouldn’t taste nearly so wonderful.  Targeted memory potions simply didn’t.  He extended the glass to Isaac, who looked at it suspiciously.

“And what is _that_?”

“I think we’ve moved beyond the point where you’re going to get an answer to that question, dearie.”  He smiled coldly, and watched Isaac flinch.  But the former Author’s fear was a little too gratifying, so he pulled himself back from that edge of darkness.  “This potion won’t harm you.  It’ll even protect you—and keep you from telling Danns’ a’Bhàis things none of us want her to know.”

Isaac swallowed noisily.  “You’re sure it’s not poison?”

“Poisoning you would take far more effort than you’re worth.  I’d simply kill you.”

“Fair enough.”  Shrugging, Isaac took the glass, and then studied it for a moment before downing the contents.  Rumplestiltskin watched the magic take hold, counted to ten, and then waited another view moments for Isaac’s eyes to clear.

“Now that you’re ready, you’ll pass some information on to the Black Fairy.  I’m sure she’ll be asking.”

“Misinformation, you mean.”  Isaac scowled.  The potion hadn’t done anything to him, and there wasn’t a way to cure his acidic personality flaws, anyway.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Call it what you will.  Either way, you’re going to tell her who the Truest Believer is, assuming she asks you for something useful.  Or asks for that, in particular.”

“Why would you want me to tell her that?  Everyone knows what the Heart can do—or, unless you already have the Heart.  Or you want the Truest Believer dead.  Which is kind of un-heroic of you.”

“As you said, I’m no Merlin.”  And the fact that Isaac _hadn’t_ looked at Henry told Rumplestiltskin that the potion had worked; Isaac had known who Henry was, but now his memory was wiped.  Aside from Isaac, no one who hadn’t been in Neverland with them actually knew what Henry was.  _And the Blue Fairy.  Somehow,_ she _knows, and I’m not terribly happy about that._ Reul Ghorm had told his brother, of course, and Rumplestiltskin had told Morgan.  But still, that left very few outside the family that knew—except Tink.

_I need to have a talk with her, and soon.  Or perhaps Regina should._

“Are you telling me that you _do_ have the Heart?” Isaac asked curiously.

“I’m telling you nothing.  But I will tell you who it is.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t lie often; in fact, he generally preferred to tie people in knots using the actual truth.  But this time, he felt the lie was well worth the effort—particularly if it kept his grandson safe.

That got him a suspicious look.  “Why do you want me to tell her that?  Isn’t that giving away an advantage?”

“My reasons are my own.  But you’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll find yourself in the asylum and victim of a permanent silencing.”

Isaac snorted.  “Like that’ll keep me safe.  Any magic you do, she can undo.”

“Not if I take your tongue.”

“ _What_?” Isaac clearly hadn’t read his own writing; Rumplestiltskin knew he’d done that back in the Enchanted Forest—more than once, too.  This time, however, his motives were a bit better than they had been back then.  _Except when I was frightening Nottingham off of drooling over Belle.  That was about as noble as I got back then._   Of the many things Rumplestiltskin had done as the Dark One, that was not one he regretted.

“Papa…” Bae trailed off, right on cue.  His son really could act pretty well when he put his mind to it, because he looked more than a little disturbed.

Rumplestiltskin hoped that was acting. “Needs must, Baelfire.”

“You can give it back later, right?” Henry asked.

“If I decide to.”  He met Isaac’s eyes levelly, and the former Author took a step back.

“Okay, I like my tongue where it is, thank you very much.”  Isaac tried to scowl, but the look came off a little watery.  “Fine.  Just tell me who it is, and I’ll stop asking questions.  You’d just better hope that she doesn’t ask me _how_ I know who it is, because if she does, I am absolutely not stupid enough to lie to her.”

“I didn’t think you were.”  Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a small smile; Isaac wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.  He was also damned easy to manipulate.  “David Nolan.  Or, known to you as Prince Charming.”

“That self-righteous prick?” Isaac’s face split into a smug smile.  “Of course it is.  He’s insufferable, and always manages to get what he wants.  Why do guys like _him_ always win while us normal people suffer?”

“I’m not sure I’d call you normal,” Henry snapped, clearly offended on David’s behalf.

“No, I’m just smarter than I am handsome, which makes me a loser in the books of people like your grandfather.”  Isaac rolled his eyes, and then seemed to remember that Henry had a grandfather in the room.  “Not you,” he added hurriedly.  “Even now, you’re hardly a hero type.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, dearie.”  Rumplestiltskin bit back the urge to laugh; manipulating fools like Isaac—particularly ones who thought they were so damned _smart_ —was really more enjoyable than it should be.  The fact that he had a working conscience these days meant that he tried not to have so much fun with this, but at least Isaac really was reprehensible.

“Is that it?  Or are you going to throw me back into the asylum, anyway?”

“I always keep my deals.  You know that.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward again, and Isaac flinched.  “But you also know what will happen if you try to double-cross me.  Your usefulness to Danns’ is at an end.  Oh, you can answer her questions—you’re no use to any of us dead—but you’ll tell me or my son everything that you tell her.  No exceptions.”

“You oughtn’t call her that,” Isaac interjected, suddenly looking shaky.  “She abhors nicknames, and tends to kill people who speak of her with such disrespect.”

“Really?” he drawled.  “I didn’t know that.  Nor do I care.”  Rumplestiltskin spread his hands, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat in instinctive fear.  _I am not that man any longer.  I will not fear someone simply because they have power._ “But as for you, if you try to deceive me, I _will_ know, and you will not like the consequences. Do you understand?”

Isaac just stared at him with wide eyes.  After a moment, he nodded, and Rumplestiltskin knew that his job here was done.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell his son that the woman he loved was under the Black Faery’s control.  _Without Bae tipping Emma off that we know or letting Henry tell half the town,_ he thought heavily.  There certainly had been advantages to the days when he’d played his cards close and convinced himself that his loved ones would understand eventually.  Unfortunately, knowing better didn’t make the truth easier to swallow, and he knew that it would break Bae’s heart to do nothing while Emma suffered.  _As it would mine in his place._

* * *

 

“You could help him, you know.”

Mordred twisted to look at his mother and tried not to say something he’d regret.  Morgan was still more delicate than usual, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to everything she said without argument.  He already knew that she wanted him to get closer to his brother; Morgan had only told him that a thousand times.  But Mordred wasn’t too sure that was what he wanted.  Yes, he’d made peace with Rumplestiltskin and had promised not to go after his brother’s family.  They were even on the same side, now, united in their desire to destroy the fairy who had gone after their mother.  Yet he wasn’t certain that he wanted to make a true alliance with the former Dark One—the thought of acting like a _brother_ to a man who had once been steeped in so much darkness went against everything he’d ever believed.

“I am helping, Mother.  I’m working on finding that Hatter.”

Morgan rolled her eyes.  “We all know where he is.  Spells will only confirm that, and we don’t need confirmation.”  He could tell there was something she wasn’t saying, but before he could ask, she added:  “And besides, your brother has a plan for that.”

“He has a plan for _everything_ , doesn’t he?” Mordred didn’t care if he sounded petulant; his plotting and planning brother was a nuisance.  _A nuisance with the Sorcerer’s power._   Mordred tried not to be jealous, but Rumplestiltskin had gotten everything he’d ever wanted.  He was even married to Arthur’s damnably legitimate granddaughter, which meant he’d usurped Mordred’s claim to Camelot, as well.

“Whining is beneath you.”

He sighed.  “Yes, it is.  But there are times when it is cathartic.”

“My point, when you choose to listen, is that amongst your many talents lies forging metal.  Weapons, in particular.”  His mother gave him a hard look, and Mordred forced his anger back.  He wouldn’t upset Morgan, not today.  Not after what had happened to her yesterday.

“So?  What’s that have to do with any of our problems?”

“Rumplestiltskin lacks that skill, yet _he_ can enchant a weapon into a secondary power.  Together, you could—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mordred, you’re being stubborn for no reason again.”

“No, Mother, I’m not.”  He squared his shoulders.  “I’m not merging my magic with his.  Not with what he _was_.  You didn’t meet him back then, but I _did_.  Rumplestiltskin may be the Sorcerer now, but there’s no avoiding the fact that he was tainted by the darkness.  Try to be better though he may”—Mordred wasn’t sure that Rumplestiltskin always was trying, but he thought he’d be kind—“that cannot be undone.  If I open up my magic so much, he could very well transfer some of that darkness to me, and I will not allow that.”

“You’ve already done that with the Sapphire, my son,” his mother said quietly, and the hand she put on his arm made him wince.  Not because it hurt, but because she spoke truths he’d prefer to forget.  _My foolishness was not equal to one who would take the darkness on, but I’ve corrupted myself aplenty, haven’t I?_   “And you’d not need to use magic.  Rumplestiltskin would have to—only an original power can make a secondary power.”

He swallowed.  “I don’t know how to forge a sword without magic.”

“I think you could learn.” Her smile did nothing to quash his doubts, particularly since Mordred was better at self-honesty than he was at telling others uncomfortable truths about himself.  _I let him in before,_ he didn’t want to say, _and he saved me.  I don’t want to have to need that again._

Mordred knew he was too proud, but after this many years, it was a little too late to change, wasn’t it?  Even when his mother was looking at him like that, with her knowing eyes and gentle smile that said she wouldn’t judge him.  Morgan rarely did, after all, even if she never hesitated to jerk him up short if he was wrong.

“If we can’t find Galatine, this might be our only chance,” she reminded him quietly.

Mordred scowled.  “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 

“Can I ask you a question, Pop?” Bae asked after they dropped Henry off at Regina’s.  Regina was deep into last-minute wedding prep, and Bae was definitely determined to stay well clear of _that_ disaster. There were only two days to go, and from what David had told him the day before, Robin and Regina were all but going crazy.  Not that they didn’t want to get married, of course, but their house was apparently home to a catastrophe at the moment.

No _way_ was he getting mixed up in that one.  Bae was happy to be just in the audience for this one.

“Of course you can.”  His father glanced at him as he navigated Storybrooke’s mostly empty streets, and for a moment, Bae considered how _weird_ it was to be riding in a car with Rumplestiltskin.  They hadn’t even been able to afford a cart when he’d been little, yet here they were, in a classic freaking Caddy.  The fact that his dad looked completely at home in it only broke his brain more.

“Why did you tense up so much when you asked if I’d told Emma about Belle being pregnant?  I mean, I know that you didn’t want to share it, and I’m sorry for letting it slip, but Emma wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Rumplestiltskin went very still for a split second, and Bae’s internal radar started lighting off.  He knew his dad was a lot better at sharing things these days, but he still knew that look—it was the ‘ _I’m not telling him something for his own good’_ look, one he’d gotten a zillion times as a kid.  But he wasn’t a kid these days; he’d been dead and been brought back, and Bae figured that he was old enough to know whatever it was that his father didn’t want to share.  So, he sat on his hands and waited, hoping that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t try to change the subject.  Or come up with some clever answer that was ninety percent true while being one hundred percent useless.

“Belle’s grandmother knows,” his father said slowly.  “Someone told her.”

“Why the hell would Emma do that?  I mean, I mean, I know she’s the Dark One and her decision making is sometimes questionable, but being the Dark One made you _more_ secretive, not less.  Same with her.”

His father let out a quiet breath.  “That it did.”

“Then why the long face?  There’s something you’re not saying.”  And why was he suddenly so worried?  Bae trusted Emma with his life; even if he wasn’t going to press her, he _loved_ her.  Dark One or not, she would always be the woman he loved, and he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t exactly betray him.

“Someone told her, and…well, I worry.”

That was an evasion if he’d ever heard one, but there was another important question to ask before he dug in deeper.  “How do you know she knows?”

“She told Belle as much.  And before you ask, no, she couldn’t detect it with magic.  Not without Belle noticing.  Belle’s actually quite sensitive in that regard.”

“Then who else knew?  Henry hasn’t known very long, but he might have let something slip—”

“Danns’ found out before we told Henry,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off, and then, much to Bae’s surprise, pulled the car off to the side of the road.  “The only people that knew at that point were the three of us and Whale.”

“You think Whale told her?” 

“No.  He actually takes doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously.”

“Could have fooled me.  He’s got a big mouth on him at the best of times.”  But Bae’s heart was hammering in his chest, because he knew that it wasn’t Whale.  He knew the jerk doctor well enough to know that Whale would have at least admitted it, and his father was certain to have asked.

“It wasn’t him, Bae.”  Brown eyes met his, and Bae wanted to punch something.

“You really think it was Emma?  How the hell can you think that?” he demanded before he could stop himself.  “I thought you knew what it was like to be the Dark One—how can you automatically assume it was her because of _that_?  You two talk about it in the shop, and someone could have overheard you.  Don’t blame Emma for your carelessness!”

“I’m not.” 

“The hell you aren’t—”

“Baelfire.”  The hard tone of his father’s voice jerked him up short, and a distant corner of Bae was very glad Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been able to sound like that when he was a child.  “I’m not blaming her because she’s the Dark One.  In fact, I’m not blaming her at all.  I believe that Danns’ a’Bhàis has the dagger.”

“ _What_?”

The word had burst out of him, but Bae was certain that he must have misheard.  He _remembered_ what it felt like for a Dark One to be controlled, remembered the feeling of chains and despair, the howling voices of the darkness screaming for release, yet mocking the Dark One for every weakness and fear.  He’d felt that at a distance after his father had pulled his soul in to save him, but Bae knew how bad it had to be.  Just looking at the lines on Rumplestiltskin’s face, the sadness and the memories, told him that it had been even worse than he could know—because his father had tried to protect him from the worst of it, even then.  _Papa’s always tried to protect me_ , he knew.  Yet Rumplestiltskin was telling him this, telling him that _Emma_ had been enslaved just like he had, and—

“You’ve got to be wrong.  _Please_ tell me you’re wrong.”  He swallowed hard.  “Did you ask her?”

“Yes.  She said she has the dagger.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was flat, almost defeated.

“Then she does.  She wouldn’t lie.” Bae clung to those words like a lifeline.  “Unless…”

“Unless she was forced to.”

He dropped his head into his hands, his mind whirling.  _I knew that she was acting strangely.  Distant but needy, like a broken bird of prey._ How had he not known?  Bae knew Emma better than most, probably better than anyone except maybe Henry…and he hadn’t figured it out.  His father had.

“What do we do?” he whispered.  Rumplestiltskin would know what to do.  He always had a plan.

“We get that darkness out of her as soon as we can.  I don’t need the dagger for that, but I _do_ need her cooperation.  She has to want it, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  “And we need time.  That means that we can’t spread this around.”

“Because if the Black Fairy knows we know, she might be more reckless.  She might… _force_ Emma to do terrible things.”  Just saying it made Bae feel sick; he remembered what Zelena had done to his father.  _At least we can guess that the Black Fairy is more interested in Arthur than Emma, at least in that regard_.  _I hope._

“Yes.  And the longer she thinks she has the upper hand, the more confident she’ll be.”

A terrible thought occurred to Bae, but he forced the next words out, anyway.  “Do you…do you think Emma attacked Morgan?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “I don’t know.  But it would make sense. Otherwise, why bother to give her a memory potion on top of almost killing her?”

“We can’t leave her like that, Papa.  Emma deserves better than to be that fairy’s slave.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and then put a hand on his shoulder.  “I know what she means to you.  And I promise that I will do everything I can to save her as _soon_ as I can…but I need your trust.  I need you not to tell anyone, and to help me buy time.”

Bae swallowed hard.  He hated the idea of inaction, burned to go talk to Emma and at the very least give her someone who could understand.  Yet…he knew that his father was right.  They had one chance to save Emma, didn’t they?  And it wasn’t by running in like some idiot hero waving a sword.

“Okay.”  He nodded.  “I trust you.  Always have, you know.”

The years of doubt and fear were behind them, and Bae had always trusted his _father_.  He just hadn’t been sure how much of his father was left beneath the darkness, and it had been a nice surprise to find out that he’d been wrong when he thought he’d lost Rumplestiltskin forever.  Then he’d died, and he’d lived for nearly a year in his father’s mind.  If Bae couldn’t trust him, there was no one else in the world that he could.

They’d find a way to save Emma.  He knew they would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty—“Hold Thee With My Life…”, in which Regina gets an attack of pre-wedding nerves, Henry and Little John conspire, Morgan makes a friend, Rumplestiltskin gets stuck calming Regina down, and a wedding finally happens.
> 
> I apologize for the one update week this week – I’m covering two shifts at work while we’re short a supervisor, and my writing time is severely limited. Next week will probably be a one update week as well.


	80. Hold Thee With My Life…

Regina wanted to kill someone.  Or she wanted to cry.  She wasn’t sure, but either her hormones or her emotions were going crazy, and _nothing_ was going right.  It was all she could do not to light the entire room on fire.  In fact, she’d already tried to do that to her dress when Kathryn accidentally pinched her with the zipper, and only Maleficent’s quick spell had saved Regina’s wedding dress from a fiery fate.  By the time she realized what a disaster she’d almost caused, Regina was too angry to cry, and all she could do was yell at her bridesmaids to leave her alone.  When they refused to leave, she stormed into the next room, not caring if her hair wasn’t done or they thought she was crazy.

She _was_ crazy.

Regina didn’t doubt Robin’s love.  Not for a moment.  No, that wasn’t why she was crazy.  She was crazy to think that she might be happy, that she might deserve a second chance at love after everything she’d done.  She was crazy to think that she was in any way redeemed, or that her world wasn’t going to crash down around her at any moment.  The fact that she was dragging Robin into this mess with her was utterly insane, and she wanted to call him and apologize, to tell him to find someone better and forget about her.  _I should do that.  It’ll be for the best, because then he won’t be hurt because of me,_ she decided none-too-rationally, whirling around.

“Where the hell is my phone?”  Regina could have sworn she’d left it in here, but the charger was sitting by the window without a phone attached.

“Henry took it so that you couldn’t do something stupid,” Emma replied as she walked in, looking about as concerned as a dead tree.  Given that she was wearing Lincoln green, the tree effect was pretty damn strong, too.  For a moment, Regina regretted dressing her bridesmaids in green—it made her think of her damned sister—but _Robin_ loved dark green, and this was for him.  Not Zelena.

“Stupid?  What the hell did he _think_ I was going to do?”

Emma didn’t even blink.  “Try to cancel the wedding an hour before it happens.”

“I’m not—well, _fine_!  He was right.”  Regina felt her lips curling up in a sneer.  Damn their son for being intelligent _and_ sneaky.  “But I’m the damned bride, and I can cancel my own wedding if I want to.  Give me your phone.  I can still kill this travesty before it’s too late.”

“No.”

“I can just teleport myself there,” she growled, hating that flat-eyed stare Emma was giving her.  Emma thought she was being stupid, clearly, and Regina wanted to rip her face off.

She might have done it, if that wouldn’t have gotten blood on her dress.

“Letting the groom see you before the wedding is back luck!” Kathryn argued, having walked in on Emma’s heels.  Maleficent followed, of course, because Regina’s little flock of bridesmaids were all conspiring to make her life miserable.

“Bad luck?” Regina laughed bitterly.  “What the hell do I care about bad luck?  I’m cancelling the wedding—I don’t care if he _sees_ me!  But if you want bad luck, let’s break a mirror, why don’t we?”

The sweep of one arm tore an ornate golden mirror off the wall, the one with the eagle on top that Regina had broken at least a dozen times.  Her gesture sent it crashing towards the floor, pinwheeling through the air like a thing possessed.  Kathryn stared in horror as Regina smirked in triumph, until Maleficent and Emma both managed to use magic to cushion the mirror before it could hit the ground.  It impacted with a disappointingly dull thud, and didn’t even have the good grace to break.

“What the hell is your problem?” Emma demanded, and as far as Regina concerned, that just made her the best target.

“ _You’re_ my problem, Miss Swan!  All of you are!  You’re standing there like fake flowers in pretty dresses, pretending like this _wedding_ isn’t a disaster waiting to happen.  What the hell kind of idiot am I, thinking that I could have a happy ending?  I don’t deserve that.  I never have!”  She was going to start crying in fury soon if she didn’t hurt someone.

“Is _that_ what this is about?” Emma rolled her eyes.  “Because if this is about what happened to—”

Magic erupted out of Regina, slamming Emma into the far wall and almost taking Kathryn out along the way.  “Don’t you _dare_ say his name,” she whispered.

Thinking of Daniel on a day like this wasn’t a betrayal of Robin, was it?  Her love for Daniel didn’t mean she loved Robin any less.  Her new love was only made stronger by the old one, just as Robin’s love for Marian didn’t negate how he felt about her.  But there was still a young girl buried deep inside Regina, one who had burned to marry her stable boy and have a simple life.  She still mourned for that, and today, she couldn’t bear to hear Snow White’s daughter talk about the love she had lost.  Regina might have forgiven Snow long ago—and earned forgiveness in turn for her own horrible actions—but today, she couldn’t hear Emma say that name.  She just couldn’t.

“Don’t test me, Regina.”  And now the Dark Swan was out on display, her eyes burning with unrestrained fury.  Emma strode away from the wall, her hands coming up—until Maleficent stepped right in the middle of the brewing fight.

“I will turn into a dragon and burn you to smithereens, Little Miss Dark One,” Regina’s old friend said pleasantly.  “You’ll survive it, but I promise that it won’t be pleasant.  We spent hours getting that dress _just_ right, and you are _not_ going to ruin it now.”

“Then talk some sense into her!”

Regina barked out a laugh.  “That’s rich, coming from you, Ms-I-Run-Away-From-Commitment.  Maybe I’m just following your example!”

Maleficent whirled to face her.   “Regina, you are not helping!”

“Who said I want to?”

“You don’t want to start a fight before your wedding.”  Kathryn stepped forward rather fearlessly for the one woman in the room without magic. 

“I already told you, I’m not getting married!”

Kathryn reached out and put a hand on her arm.  “Don’t be silly.  Of course you are.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to marry me?”  The words came out in a sudden whisper as Regina slumped into a nearby chair.  “I can’t drag him down with me.  I can’t.”

 “What?”  Poor Kathryn sounded so confused, but then, she was the only one in the room who didn’t know the story of Regina’s first love, or how Regina’s love had gotten Daniel killed.

Closing her eyes tightly, Regina just refused to answer.  That, of course, meant that she didn’t hear Maleficent ordered a very disgruntled Emma to find Rumplestiltskin.  _Now._

* * *

 

“So, um, what do I call you, now?  I mean, after you and Mom get married.”

Robin turned to face Henry, who was standing right next to him on the makeshift dais that John and the others had erected in the forest.  The Merry Men really had gone all out, building a canopy out of crossed branches, braiding them together with flowers of all colors.  There wasn’t too much white—Regina wasn’t necessarily someone who wanted to be drenched in that color—but the end result was stunning all the same.  They’d even created a walkway of flower petals in red, pink, and yellow for Regina to walk down.  All that was missing was the bride….though they still had some time yet before Regina was due to appear.

That, of course, brought him back to the question from his soon-to-be stepson, and Robin shrugged.  “I thought you’d keep calling me by my name.”

“Is that okay?” Henry smiled awkwardly.  “I’ve never had a stepdad before, so I just kinda wanted to check.”

“It’s more than okay.  You already have a father, Henry, and I have no intention of displacing him.  I’ll be honored to be your friend.”

“You’re already that.”  The frank way the teen spoke meant the world to Robin, as did what Henry said next: “Besides, you make Mom happy, so I’d like you for that even if I hated you.”

Robin laughed.  “Is that your way of saying you hate me?” he teased.

“Nah.”

“Is Henry going to be my brother today, Papa?” a new voice intruded, and Robin turned to face his five-year-old son. 

They’d explained what Robin and Regina marrying meant to Roland quite a few times, which meant that Robin’s boy understood what was going on.  They’d talked about his unborn sister, too, but they all knew that Roland was far more excited to be getting a fun older brother than he was a sleepy little sister.  In fact, Roland had spent the last couple of days asking _when_ Henry was going to be his brother, and if it was today.  So, Robin was happy to finally be able to answer this one the way his son wanted.

“Yes, he is, my little man.  Today.”

“Really?” Roland’s eyes lit up.

“Really.”  Henry leaned close to Roland, speaking in a stage whisper:  “And you and I are going to have an adventure tonight.  We’re going to stay at my Dad’s, and I can show you _all_ kinds of magical items that my Grandpa Gold has.”

“Cool!”

Robin wagged a finger in the air dramatically, even though he and Baelfire had already talked about this one.  “Just not _too_ much magic, all right?  I want my boy back in the same condition he left in.”

Of course, Roland immediately jumped to his almost-stepbrother’s defense.  “Henry will take care of me!”

“He’d better, or I’ll hide all his favorite comic books in the woods.”  Robin grinned.

Henry just shrugged.  “Mom’ll help me find them.  Locator spells are great like that.”

“Oh, no she won’t.”  Robin wouldn’t really do it, of course, but threat was all in good fun.

“Then _Mom_ will help.  And even if you somehow talk her out of it, Belle would hate to see any type of books get ruined.”  Henry grinned triumphantly. 

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t get her help hiding them.” Robin snorted.  “Just to make sure they were well-cared for, of course.”

“Okay, then, fine.  I’ll bribe Little John with cheesecake.  You can buy Cheesecake Factory cheesecake online, you know, but I’m like one of four people in this town who can use the internet.”  Henry looked thoughtful.  “Maybe five now that my dad’s back.  Either way, he needs me.”

Robin knew what cheesecake was, and he could gather from the smirk on Henry’s face—and the way John had perked up from Henry’s left—that, whatever the ‘Cheesecake Factory’ was, it was the best of the best.

“Sorry, Rob,” his old friend said with a grin.  “I’d help him.  Their peanut butter chocolate cheesecake is _divine._   It’s seriously the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Traitor.”  But he had to laugh, even when John got Henry to promise to help him order more and let Roland try a slice.

* * *

 

Emma wasn’t sure what the hell Maleficent thought Rumplestiltskin could do that she couldn’t, but going to find the Sorcerer was definitely a better idea than continuing her fight with Regina.  She felt like there were needles under her skin these days, and as much as Emma _knew_ that she was on a hair trigger, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.  Every time she twitched, she felt like the Black Fairy was wiggling the dagger, and Emma wanted to scream in frustration.  She couldn’t, though, and she’d almost taken her anger out on her best friend.

_She’s not your friend,_ the darkness whispered.  _None of them are.  They’d all control you, too, given half the chance._

_Shut up._ No.  Emma was not going to do this today.  She was going to do her damnedest to be happy for Regina, to smile and be the kind of friend Regina needed.  Today wasn’t about her, and Emma was damned well going to find some happiness in the mess that had become her life.  That was one of the best ways to defeat the darkness, wasn’t it?  Happiness and joy were the opposite of what it wanted; it wanted her to be ruthless and lonely, cold and hard.  Even the Black Fairy wanted that from her, as much as she wanted her perfect little puppet.  Emma supposed that she should be grateful for the freedom she was offered, but it grated _so_ much… _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly.  That was a problem for another day.  Today she wanted to be Emma.

Unfortunately, that meant finding her predecessor, who had apparently just dropped Baelfire and Belle off with the growing crowd in the woods.  Emma teleported a few inches away from him, gratified to watch him flinch ever so slightly away from her.  _Take advantage_ _of that,_ the darkness started to say, but Emma quashed it hard.

“Maleficent says you’re needed now.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyebrows went up.  “And what did our dear dragon want me for?”

“Regina’s being stupid.”  Emma really didn’t want to offer more, not with people turning to listen to them, so she reached out and grabbed Rumplestiltskin by the elbow, teleporting them both to Regina’s foyer. 

“A little warning would be nice next time, _dearie_ ,” he snapped, and Emma couldn’t help but smile.  Being able to discomfit Rumplestiltskin was always a bit of a treat.

 “So sorry.”  She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster as Regina’s voice rang out from the next room.

“Get out!  Both of you, _out!_   I don’t want to hear it!”

“Ah.  I see what you mean.”  Rumplestiltskin started to say more, until Maleficent walked out, half dragging a concerned-looking Kathryn by the arm.  “How bad is it, Mal?”

“I find myself wishing Snow White was here, and _that’s_ not something I ever intended to say.”  Maleficent sniffed.  “Get in there, you old bastard.  You’re the closest thing she has to a father, and gods knows that she needs _someone_ parental to set her straight.”

“How in the world did I volunteer for this?” Rumplestiltskin muttered.  But he did head for the door—not that it spared him Maleficent’s parting shot:

“Oh, I don’t know,” the blonde drawled.  “Maybe the fact that you slept with her mother often enough to make many of us doubt her paternity.”

Rumplestiltskin somehow managed to ignore that, though it did make Emma turn to look at Maleficent once he was gone.  She’d always wanted to ask, and now might be the only chance she really had.  Maleficent, after all, had known Regina longer than any of them.

“Is he?  Her father, I mean.” 

“No.”  Maleficent studied the door that had closed behind Rumplestiltskin.  “It might have been better if he was, though.  He was content to let Cora abuse her own daughter, but he would have filleted that bitch in seventeen different ways if Regina had been his and she’d tried that.”

* * *

 

Morgan had never been good at standing still, much though her nursemaids had tried to teach her that.  _Fidgeting is unbecoming of royalty,_ one had lectured her.  _Queens must be stately and still,_ another tried.  _The ceremonies will get easier with practice,_ her own father had said, yet they never had.  Morgan had simply discovered ways to combat the boredom: namely, by talking to people.  And now that she’d spotted her favorite young fairy on the arm of a _dwarf_ , she simply couldn’t resist heading over for a chat.

“Astrid, isn’t it?” she asked, strolling up on Accolon’s arm.

“My Lady Morgan!” Astrid jumped, startling her companion badly enough that he almost spilled their drinks.  “Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’?”

“Morgan is fine.”  She found Astrid’s earnest nervousness so very endearing, and the young fairy had caught her eye when she’d visited Reul Ghorm weeks earlier.  Morgan had always meant to cultivate that liking into friendship, but until now, the chance had not presented itself.

“Of course.  And yes, it’s Astrid.”  The young woman gestured at the dwarf at her side. “This is Leroy.  But he also answers to Grumpy.”

Morgan glanced at the smiling dwarf.  “You don’t appear terribly grumpy.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m not when she’s around.”

Those words jerked Morgan up short.  _Oh, my._ For a moment, she couldn’t stop her eyes from widening, not after she saw the glance the dwarf and fairy shared, the way the smiles took over their faces.  She had never seen such a thing, had never even imagined it was possible.  Dwarves weren’t supposed to love—they were the creation of the fairies, destined to be nothing but an intelligent and utterly loyal labor force—and fairies were absolutely forbidden from doing so.  Yet these two…oh, it was beautiful.   Morgan’s smile turned more genuine than she expected; she’d expected a conversation, not to see something so utterly divisive and heartwarming.

“I can see that,” Morgan breathed.  “Forgive me for my surprise—I did not… _expect_ the two of you.  Not like this.”

“Yeah, well, neither did Blue, but we’re dealing.”  Leroy sounded wary, like he was used to people telling him that their love wasn’t good enough.

Morgan knew the feeling, so she simply nodded.  “I can see that, and I think it’s beautiful.”

“Really?” Astrid’s worried frown became a huge grin before Morgan could even blink.  “Most people think that a dwarf and a fairy can’t be in love.  Blue already kicked me out over it once, and most of the fairies won’t even talk to me.”

“Well, I am only half fae, but I certainly have no problem with it,” Morgan reassured her.  _Fool that you are, Reul Ghorm.  You could have a_ True Love _couple in the palm of your hand, and you’re busy telling them how_ wrong _they are.  Don’t you know that only makes their love stronger?_

Leroy snorted.  “You might be the first.”

“Don’t say that.”  Astrid smacked his arm so lightly that it wouldn’t have killed a fly.  “Tink was really supportive.  She even helped me move my stuff to move in with you.”

“Yeah, and she hasn’t been by since. How much you wanna bet that Blue’s sat on her and told her to never talk to us again?” The dwarf’s voice was a growl, but Morgan could hear the hurt under the pain.

“Tink?” she asked, not knowing the name.

“Tinker Bell.  She’s the Green Fairy, but she wanted a real name.  Kind of like me, though she didn’t get it from the curse.”  Astrid laughed nervously.  “Blue says she hasn’t seen her, either, but I’m kind of worried.  _No one_ has seen her.  It’s just like Violet.  No one has seen her, either.  Blue says we shouldn’t worry, but…”

Coldness washed over Morgan, and she felt her smile go slack.  _Fairies going missing._   That was always how it started, wasn’t it?  Danns’ might not have her full pack of fae back, but she was following the same old moves, wasn’t she?  And, as usual, Reul Ghorm was determined to do things her own way, damn the consequences.  She always thought she could beat Danns’ without help, or that the more minor fairies were a worthwhile sacrifice.  _Just like humanity._ Guided by instinct, Morgan’s eyes found Henry, but her great-grandson was safe up on the dais, laughing and smiling with his new stepfather.  He was fine, which meant Reul Ghorm hadn’t found a way to steal his heart.

But that didn’t mean that her former ally didn’t intend to.  Morgan just had to make sure no one helped her take the Heart this time around.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin could count the number of times he had seen Regina cry on one hand, but here she was, with mascara running down her cheeks, sniffling like the world had just ended.  Usually, even in the worst pain, Regina was stoic and closed-off, but for her to be crying… _Well, I suppose it isn’t that bad,_ he thought wryly.  For Regina to let herself cry meant that she knew things weren’t as bad as they could be.  Even if Mal really hadn’t wanted to deal with this, Rumplestiltskin didn’t count it as a disaster.

Still, she didn’t react as he approached, which meant that he should proceed with a little bit of caution. 

“Mal indicated that you tried to light our dear Emma on fire.”  He spoke casually, leaning against the wall near the ottoman Regina had collapsed on.

His former student turned to give him a droll glare.  “She deserved it.”

“Probably.  Miss Swan has always had the most _unique_ ability to get under your skin.  Though I’m not sure what you did to Princess Abigail.”

“I just yelled at her.”  Regina sniffled.  “Though she probably hates me, now.”

“I doubt it. I have it on reliable authority that she tried to shove a duke’s daughter out the window the day she and Frederick got married.”

That finally made Regina perk up.  “No.”

“Oh, yes.”  He chuckled, the laugh a little reminiscent of the old imp’s giggle.  After all, Rumplestiltskin had been called upon by a desperate Midas to smooth that mess over, which he had.  For a price.  “The silly little twit had been convinced that Frederick loved _her_ , and they got in quite the spat.  Abigail won, of course, but not before her dress was ruined and she was bawling.”

“She said something like that, but I didn’t listen.”  Regina let out a deep breath.  “I look like a mess, don’t I?”

“That you do.”

“And you think I’m stupid for freaking out.”  Another glare.  “I bet _Belle_ didn’t freak out.”

“Belle and I purposefully had a tiny wedding and invited none of you people.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged, lowering his voice.  “She also didn’t have your history.”

The sigh Regina heaved made her shoulders shake.  “I don’t know what I’m worried about.  It’s not like my mother is here to ruin things.”

“No, she isn’t.”  _Thankfully, for all of our sakes._ Rumplestiltskin let out a breath of his own, stepping forward to kneel next to the woman who should have been his daughter.  He wasn’t terribly good at offering reassurance, even when he _wasn’t_ the Dark One, but Regina meant enough to him that he would try.  “You’re worried that you’ll screw things up, and that Robin will be hurt because of your love.”

“I am that obvious?” She bit her lip, smearing more makeup, but that didn’t matter.

“I have known you for a while, you know,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me it won’t happen?  That _someone_ won’t decide that _Robin_ will suffer because of me?”  Suddenly afire, Regina jumped to her feet, almost knocking him down in the process. Rumplestiltskin scrambled up after her, but she was already pacing wildly.  “Of course you can’t!  You know how the game is played, just like I do.  We were monsters, and that means we’ll never be safe.  No matter how much good we do.”

“No one is safe.  You know that.  Not in this world.”

“That’s not the point!  Other people didn’t bring it down upon themselves!”  She gestured wildly, ripping a golden mirror off the floor with magic and then slamming it down once again.  It shattered with a crash, but none of the shards got particularly near either of them, though a few did tear at Regina’s skirt as she paced.  “I can’t even blame my mother.  It was karma.  Just a little early.”

“Karma doesn’t—”

“The hell it doesn’t!  My life is proof of that!”  Regina sounded like she wanted to sob again as she whirled away from him, and Rumplestiltskin could feel the magic building in the room.  She was almost ready to let go, almost ready to unleash an emotional storm of epic proportions.  On another day, he would have just let her do it and hoped she’d come out better on the other side, but today Regina didn’t have time to mope.

“Oh, stop it,” Rumplestiltskin finally snapped, stepping forward to grab her by the shoulders and twirl her around to face him.  “You know that’s a lie.  Karma, fate, _destiny—_ they are what we make of them.  Will you stop loving Robin if you don’t marry him?”

She looked ready to kill him.  “Of course not!”

“Then what’s the point of running away?  If someone’s going to use him against you, they’ll do it regardless.  Your sister proved that already.”

“Don’t remind me.”  Regina looked down at her stomach, and Rumplestiltskin followed her eyes.

“Do you regret carrying Robin’s child?” he asked softly.

“Don’t be stupid.  Of course I don’t.”  If looks could kill, Rumplestiltskin had no doubt he’d have been a melted puddle on the floor, but he didn’t let go of her.

“Then marry the man you love.  No one knows better than you and I how precious love is.”  Releasing one shoulder, Rumplestiltskin reached up to cup Regina’s left cheek in his palm.  “You’re too strong to run away from this.  You’ve fought for what you are—don’t quit now.”

“But I’m so damned _tired_ of fighting.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “So am I.”

Regina gave him a withering look.  “You got your darkness sucked out by a magical vacuum cleaner.”

“ _The_ darkness, yes.  But that doesn’t change learned habits, or who I thought I liked being.  I fight the impulses every time, mostly by remembering that they’re _me._ ”  He shrugged.  “Just like your darkness, exhausting though it might be, is you.   You can’t change your past, so you may as well embrace it.What would the Evil Queen do if she had someone to love?”

“She’d hold on and never let go.”  Regina’s eyes went hard.  “And she’d destroy _anyone_ who tried to hurt her family.”

“Then why are we even having this discussion?”

* * *

 

Regina had never really imagined that she’d actually get married.  Not for real.  Not happily, not to a man she loved so much that her heart _burned_ for him.  Her marriage to King Leopold had been horribly formal and stilted, full of notables who she hadn’t cared about.  It had been a carefully-scripted ceremony, one that no one dared deviate from.  She’d been tense and miserable, with her mother watching and critiquing her every move—Regina had even snapped that _Cora_ should marry Leopold herself if she was so set on the idea, but that hadn’t gone over well at all.  The only good part was that Cora hadn’t dared leave bruises when the king was certain to sleep with Regina that evening.

As it so happened, Leopold had not.  He’d merely wanted to put her on a pedestal and have a mother for Snow, and he hadn’t even _bothered_ to consummate their marriage.  He’d been too obsessed/mourning for Eva to care about her, or to even think of her as a wife.  Regina had been both insulted and relieved by that, though she certainly hadn’t objected to the idea.  Still, she’d never considered that marriage worth anything at all, which made today all the more meaningful.

The butterflies in her stomach had been far too wild for Regina to trust her own magic, so Rumplestiltskin had teleported them to the top of the aisle in a swirl of red smoke—smoke that just so happened to match the flowers in her hair perfectly…and Rumplestiltskin’s suit.

“Color-coordinating much?” she grumbled out of the corner of her mouth.

He just smirked.  “Smile, dear.  You have an outlaw waiting for you.”

“Yeah.”  Taking a deep breath, Regina tried without success to get her voice to stop squeaking.  “I do.”

Catching Robin’s eye made her heart skip a beat, but her voice also grew stronger.  Her soulmate was standing between Henry and David, wearing a gorgeous tuxedo with a matching red flower on his lapel.  He was grinning like a madman, too, obviously experiencing none of her nerves, though he did look a little bit stunned.  An answering smile spread across her face before Regina could talk herself out of feeling joy, and she felt her cheeks heating up a little.  Pregnant or not, she knew she looked good—particularly after Rumple had fixed the damage that she’d petulantly done to her own dress.

Heavens knew, the malevolent little imp had always been better at making fancy dresses than she had.  Regina had hired dressmakers; Rumplestiltskin had twirled his nasty little claws.

“Ready?” Rumplestiltskin asked her quietly, and Regina brought her head up proudly.  She might have had doubts, but there was no way in hell that she was not going to show them to the surprisingly large crowd.

“Let’s do this.”

“Regina,” a voice hissed from behind her just as she was about to step off, and Regina twisted to see Emma holding her bouquet of flowers out to her.  “Your flowers.”

“Oh.  Damn.”  Regina shrugged what she hoped was an apology to her friend.  “Thanks.”

“Any time.  Now try not to break any more mirrors, okay?”

“I think I can manage that.”  Regina glanced at Rumplestiltskin, more glad than she wanted to admit when he gave her another reassuring nod.  She tightened her grip on his arm, took one last deep breath, and found Robin’s eyes once more.

Taking one more deep breath, Regina nodded, and then Rumplestiltskin gestured the bridesmaids forward.  Emma, Mal, and Kathryn led the way, but Regina was barely aware of their presence.  Robin was waiting for her, and she was getting _married_.  She didn’t feel like she was floating, or any of that ridiculous crap, but Regina did feel more alive than maybe ever before.  She’d done terrible things, yes.  Nothing would erase that.  But she could move on, and she _could_ be happy.  Resolute, she headed down the aisle on Rumplestiltskin’s arm.  Regina hadn’t wanted music—particularly not organs, not after her last wedding—so the only sound was the swishing noise her dress made as she walked through the carpet of flowers. 

So, when Rumplestiltskin handed her over to Robin at the end of the aisle, Regina felt no regrets.  She squeezed her love’s hands after Emma relieved her of her bouquet, looking in his eyes and _knowing_ that this was exactly where she wanted to be.  Robin smiled back, the twinkle in his eye promising long years of mischief and happiness, and Regina almost laughed out loud until David cleared his throat.  Storybrooke’s sheriff had to do it twice before Regina could make herself turn away from Robin enough to acknowledge him, but at least David was smiling, too.

She’d never seen her stepson-in-law in a tux, but he looked pretty damned good.  And he looked happy to be here, which would have been utterly unbelievable just a few years earlier.  _I interrupted his wedding with death threats.  Now David has agreed to marry me to the man I love._   Had someone told Regina that she’d be here back then, she would have called them crazy and ripped their heart out.  But now it felt right.  David gave her a nod before beginning.

“Welcome, everyone.  We are here today to witness a very special moment between Regina Mills and Robin of Locksley.  Together, we will share in the joys of their wedding, and I am honored that they have asked me to officiate.”  David turned his eyes on both of them.  “Regina and Robin, you two have the opportunity to build an amazing life together.  You have both loved and lost in the past, but your experiences have only made you stronger, and they have made the love you share just that much more precious.  Regina, would you like to begin with your vows?”

Her earlier nervousness was gone, even though Regina hadn’t been certain that she wanted to bare her heart so thoroughly in front of an audience, the words came with surprising ease:

“Robin.”  She found her smile growing, and for once, Regina didn’t mind at all if people saw the happy tears in her eyes.  “Since I have found you, I’ve found a new life.  I thought I was cursed never to love again—or that no one could see my darkness and still love me.  But you know me like no one else ever has.  And because of you, I laugh.  I smile…and I have hope again.

“Today I promise to do more than love you.  I will stand by you, and I will fight for you.  I will fight _with_ you, and together, we will face whatever the future may bring.”  Regina let out a little laugh that was half a happy sob.  “I love you.”

“Regina.”  Robin’s smile was as watery as her own, and it was all Regina could do to stop herself from laughing again out of sheer joy.  “Like you, I thought my chances of love were long behind me.  But you’ve taught me that loving again doesn’t diminish the loves we once had.  When we first met, the thought of us together was crazy, and I always wondered what you could see in a simple outlaw like me.  Yet something just _clicked._

“With you, I have found my best friend, my confidant, my lover, my inspiration, and my soul mate.  I want to be nowhere if it is not by your side.  My promise to you is simple: I will endure until the end.  I will be here, no matter what.”  His hands squeezed hers.  “By your side.”

They stared at one another, and for the first time in her life, Regina really felt like she could drown in someone else’s eyes.  Finally, David’s voice broke the spell:

“Regina, do you take Robin to be your husband?”

She nodded firmly.  “I do.”

“Robin, do you take Regina to be your wife?”

“I do.”  His rough hands squeezed hers, and Regina’s heart skipped happily.

“Then it is time for the exchange of rings.   You should wear these rings proudly, and let them remind you each day of your love for one another.”  David turned to Robin’s son, beckoning him forward.  “Roland?”

Wide-eyed, Roland needed a small nudge from Henry before he approached, and Regina caught her son’s wink with a smile.  Roland raised the pillow to both of them, and Regina retrieved the wedding band she had chosen for Robin just as he did the same for her.  After a nod from David, Regina first slipped the wedding band onto Robin’s left hand, and then she felt Robin do the same for her.  Both rings personified who they were; Robin’s was simple and gold, and Regina’s decorated with rubies and onyx.  They smiled together as they slid the rings on, and Regina felt her heart beating faster and faster.  _This is real.  It’s really,_ really _, real._ Robin reached down to ruffle Roland’s hair with one hand before Henry stepped forward to retrieve his new stepbrother.

“It is my great honor to pronounce you husband and wife,” David announced.  “Please seal your union with a kiss.”

“I’ve been waiting all day to hear that,” Robin murmured, and Regina let him draw her close.

Magic surged quietly within her as their lips met, pure and true, and Regina let herself be lost in that kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty-One—“Against the World”, where Zelena tries to ruin the wedding reception, Belle has words with her grandfather, Henry tries to play matchmaker, Tink faces down Nuckelavee, and Danns’ and Rumplestiltskin differ on the future of the world. 
> 
> We should be back to our regular schedule of updates next week—work’s still busy, but I think I have a handle on things. As a note, I added a bit to ROC79 concerning Isaac’s knowledge of the Truest Believer, as not to contradict thins said in ROC61.


	81. Against the World

The Merry Men’s camp had been turned into an outdoor venue for the wedding, complete with catering from Granny’s and _thousands_ of flowers.  Even if she’d been fully herself, Emma would probably have found it overwhelming, but dealing with this much happiness left the voices inside her uneasy.  Every nasty whisper put her on edge, and when someone bumped into her, Nimue tried to force Emma’s hand into turning that person into a newt.  She hadn’t done it—she wasn’t that far gone!—but she’d _wanted_ to, which made Emma seek Henry out.  Dancing with her son had helped quiet the voices, even if they started in on her again once she stepped away.  She almost headed back for Henry, until she saw him dancing with a girl from Camelot…one who happened to share the name of the fairy who she’d watched die a week earlier.

Stomach churning with guilt, Emma turned away from that sight, only to accidentally meet the eyes of the Black Fairy.  Danns’ simply gave her a polite nod, but it took everything Emma had not to recoil.  Of course, she actually couldn’t, even if she felt like running away as fast as she could; the old command not to let slip _any_ indication that she was being controlled was still very strong.  But being in the same social space as the Black Fairy was more than a little terrifying.  _Someday, she’s going to decide to parade me around like Zelena did Gold, and then my shame will be on display for everyone to see_ , she thought darkly, grabbing a mug of beer from the bar.  Two gulps swallowed most of it, but Emma didn’t feel any better.

“You know, if you try the ‘Dark Ones can’t get drunk’ line on me, I’ll know you’re lying,” a voice said from behind her, making Emma jump.

“Don’t do that.”  But her glare wasn’t very hard; Baelfire was one of the few people who seemed able to cope with what she was one hundred percent of the time.  He didn’t press, and didn’t ask a thousand questions she couldn’t answer.  He just made light of everything, and the way Emma felt at the moment, she could really use that.

Particularly when she was still trying to avoid Killian, who at least seemed to be doing the same with her.  Though the fact that he was talking to Lily was really weird.

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to startle you.  You’re kind of jumpy.”

“You’re kind of sneaky,” she shot back, but Bae only grinned.

“Runs in the family.”  He nodded towards Henry.  “Even the munchkin got it.”

_I wish I did._   If she had, Emma wouldn’t be so desperate to find _some_ hint that would let people know she was being controlled.  She knew that acting out would get someone she loved killed, but she couldn’t just not fight.  She had to do something to help—but everything she’d tried, even writing that note about Jefferson, had failed.  Because Jefferson was still in Danns’ hands, and Emma was absolutely helpless.

“Yeah.”  Her eyes skittered away from their son, finding Morgan.  And the man that Bae’s grandmother was dancing with.  “You know, speaking of family…has Accolon ever struck you as weird?”

“I dunno.”  Bae shrugged.  “I’ve barely met the guy.  He’s kind of Morgan’s boy-toy, really.  Sounds awful, but she doesn’t seem to trust him much, or at least not his intelligence level.”

“Maybe she doesn’t trust him because he’s not trustworthy.”  _Or because he’s working for the damned Black Fairy!_ Emma thought as loudly as she could, but the hint seemed to sail right over Bae’s stubborn head.  Frustrated, she drained what was left of her beer and left the mug on the empty table to her right.

“Hell if I know.  She must see something in him, though, right?”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “I guess so.”  _So much for that idea._   Then she noticed the fact that Lily was now dancing with her ex-boyfriend, and something strange stirred in her.  _I’m not jealous._ I _ended things, and it was the right thing to do._   But that didn’t mean she liked being lonely, which _must_ have been why the words tumbled out: “You want to dance?”

“Sure, if you want to.  Though I’ll have you note for the record that _you_ asked me, and I’m not trying to romance you.”

“Shut up and dance with me, Neal,” Emma growled, dragging him out onto the dance floor.  “Or Baelfire.  Sorry.”

“I keep telling you that I don’t care what you call me, so long as you don’t mix me up with your little brother.”  His grin was lopsided, and damn it if that didn’t remind her of the times they’d shared so many years ago.  _I’m not that girl any more._

_You still have feelings for him, fool,_ Nimue’s caustic voice reminded her.  _He’ll abuse that.  He’s dangerous. He knows too much!_

Quashing those words were surprisingly easy.  Emma knew Neal Cassidy—or Baelfire, these days—too well to think that he’d use his knowledge of the Dark One against her.  He’d have done it by now if he’d wanted to, and she’d have had to be blind not to notice that he still had feelings for her, too.  The worst part was that Emma _wanted_ to act on those feelings, wanted to kiss him a second time…but she didn’t trust herself.  Not with the darkness inside her.  It would only make her hurt him, and Emma was _not_ going to do that.

No matter what.

* * *

 

Of course, Zelena couldn’t just leave things alone, could she?  Robin supposed they were lucky that she’d actually stayed quiet during the actual ceremony, but three dances into the evening, she just _had_ to cut in. 

“Aren’t you going to dance with your new sister-in-law, Robin?” she cooed, physically pulling him away from Regina. 

Stumbling, Robin tried to wrench away from her, but he was already off-balance, and Zelena’s grip was too tight.  She turned to face him expectantly, smiling playfully, and suddenly all he could see was that smile on Marian’s face.  He froze.

“My, _this_ is rude.”  Zelena filled the silence with another caustic smirk.  For a long moment, all Robin could do was stare at her, not wanting her to touch him, not wanting to be _near_ her.  He’d shot her once, and he’d do it again, but he didn’t have a gun on with his tux, and—

“Get the hell away from him.”  Regina’s snarl finally broke through his paralysis, and Robin managed to pull away.  Meanwhile, Zelena turned to face Regina, completely—thankfully!—forgetting about him.

“Tut tut.  Do you really want to ruin your wedding with a— _ahhh!_ ”

A swirl of golden smoke ate the rest of Zelena’s howl, and suddenly she was _gone_.  And Robin could breathe again.  Without even meaning to, he reached for Regina’s hand, noticing her confused look.  _If this wasn’t her, who did it?_

“What the hell just happened?” Robin asked, noticing the way people had cleared a bubble on the dance floor around them.  _They probably thought Zelena was going to start launching fireballs._  

_They probably weren’t wrong._

“Consider it a wedding present.”  Rumplestiltskin and Belle were now the closest couple to them, and the former Dark One looked absurdly pleased with himself.  

“Where did she _go_?” Regina asked.

“Into the lake.”  A casual shrug, and then suddenly brown eyes met Robin’s.  There was understanding there, too much understanding, and Robin fought not to shiver.  _I wasn’t her only victim,_ he reminded himself as Rumplestiltskin gave them both a crooked smile.  “She may try to return and find herself unable to come within a mile of the two of you.”

“How long will that last?” Robin couldn’t resist asking.  He managed a laugh.  “Is forever too much to ask?”

Regina shook her head.  “A quick and dirty spell won’t last that long.”

“No, but it should give you a few days.”  Rumplestiltskin gave them a half bow.  “Enjoy the freedom.”

“Thank you.”  Robin had to swallow the urge to say any more, but somehow, he thought the other man understood.

* * *

 

Belle hadn’t meant to dance until her feet were sore, but there was something magical about being able to dance with her _husband._ The only time she and Rumplestiltskin had ever danced before had been on their honeymoon, in the ballroom of the house they now called their own.  She’d been so happy then, before everything went wrong, and for a long time Belle had not thought she’d ever be happy again.  Except now…now things had changed.

Now she could dance in Rumplestiltskin’s arms with a light heart, knowing that her husband was doing his best to be a better man.  He’d falter sometimes, and so would she, but they were fighting _together_ , and that was what mattered. They’d finally figured out how to talk to one another, how to share their pains and their worries, and they had come out stronger on the other side.  Oh, there were moments that were harder than others, but so long as Rumplestiltskin reminded himself to open up and Belle remembered to listen, they managed not to trip over any landmines.  Even with the war brewing and the schemes of her frighteningly amoral maternal relatives, Belle was happier than she could ever remember being.  _I don’t think I have felt like this since before the ogres came to Avonlea._

Unfortunately, certain people seemed determined to ruin her happiness—though Belle felt bad the moment that thought crossed her mind.  Yet there was no way to deny the fact that Arthur was heading her way, just when Rumplestiltskin had stepped away to fetch drinks.  So, she forced herself to turn towards Arthur with a welcoming smile as he approached.

“Hello, Grandfather.”

Arthur’s smile was far more relaxed than Belle felt.  She hadn’t talked to her grandparents since that disastrous dinner at their home, and her stomach was a mess of butterflies.  “Belle.  How are you?”

“Well.  And you?”

“Better once I can reunite our family.”  His expression turned serious as Belle bristled, but Arthur held up a hand to forestall her objections.  “I am not trying to take away your right to make your own choices, but I hope to find a middle ground.  You are our _heir_ , Belle, and it hurts your grandmother to see you opposed to us.”

Belle drew herself up stoically.  “Then tell me that you’ll stop with this madness about merging all of the worlds into one, and butchering _tens_ of thousands—if not more!—while you do so.  Then we might find a middle ground.”

“The worlds will be better off once the proper balance is restored—”

“I don’t believe that.  Not if the cost in lives is so high.”

Arthur shook his head.  “Everything comes at a price.  This is no different.”

“It’s not a price I’m willing to pay.  I can’t support that.”  Belle looked her grandfather in the eye.  “Not ever.”

“Even for your family?  If you would only trust us, we could—”

“I _have_ a family,” she cut him off.  “I have a husband, a stepson, and a step-grandson.  As well as others.  And my true family does not force me to choose between humanity and them.”

Arthur looked taken aback, and Belle had to swallow the urge to say something to lighten the blow.  She had made her choices, and the fact that her grandparents wanted to make her feel guilty for that was not going to change her mind.  Opposing them was the right thing to do, and Belle would not shrink away from her duty.

* * *

 

Morgan knew exactly why her eldest son was scowling without asking.  After all, she’d heard Arthur call Belle his heir, just like Mordred must have; Arthur was neither subtle nor cautious, and Mordred’s ambition had always been strong.  He had called himself King of Camelot after the War of the Dragons, and even though he had made a hash of that, Morgan knew that Mordred still considered himself the rightful king by right of conquest.  She had tried to let him down gently more than once, but he’d always ignored her efforts.  Perhaps it was time to be less than gentle.

Leaving Accolon over by the buffet, Morgan stepped over to slip her arm through Mordred’s.  “You look terribly upset.  Are you still pining after Queen Regina?”

“Mother.”  Her joking comment earned her a glare, but Morgan only shrugged.  Mordred’s scowl deepened.  “It has nothing to do with her.  I wish her every happiness.”

“Ah, then it is your father making you glower so.”

“Of course it is.  When is it not?”  He all but spat on the floor.  “I have never been good enough for him, have I?  Not for his precious Camelot.”

“Given the company he keeps, I wouldn’t be insulted.”  Morgan studied her son.  She knew that Mordred had worked desperately to impress Arthur in his youth, but she’d thought he was past that.  _That has always been the root of his ambition, hasn’t it?  He has always wanted to be worthy of Camelot, to impress Arthur enough to be his heir…but Arthur only toyed with him._   Maybe Mordred was finally beginning to realize that Camelot was never going to be his, no matter what he did.

“And now they want _her_.”  The growl was surprisingly protective.

“Danns’ wants her.  Arthur simply follows her lead.”

“She’s too nice for them.  She’s even nice to _me_.”  Mordred sounded petulant, but more surprised than anything else.

“She has a good heart, just like Colette did.  I suspect both inherited it from their aunt.”

Mordred turned to look at her incredulously.  “Not Reul Ghorm.  She’s insufferably self-satisfied about being ‘good’, but we both know she isn’t.”  She could see his mind working behind dark eyes.  “You mean Fionna Rèitear.”

“I do.”

“Your prophecy…?”  Mordred trailed off, eyes wide.

Morgan merely nodded.  “It is time for you to put your ambitions aside, my son,” she said softly.  “Your ego has gotten you in enough trouble as it is.  It’s time to let go and find a new purpose.”

Her son turned to look at where Belle was walking away from Arthur, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  He was silent for a long moment, but Morgan could see the change in his expression the moment Mordred’s decision was made.  Finally, he nodded sharply. “She is my niece.  And my sister-in-law, convoluted though that may be.”

“She is.”  Morgan watched him intently; Mordred had made his decision, but which way would he go? 

“That’s more important than who inherits a land that no longer exists.”  Mordred turned to look at her, and Morgan felt her breath catch.  “You were right, Mother.  As usual.”

Her smile grew soft.  “I’m proud of you, Mordred,” she said quietly.

His answering grin was crooked.  “I’ll help with that sword, of course.”  He grimaced.  “Assuming it does any good.  Without the Sapphire—”

“You cannot afford to use the Pendant.”  Her voice was sharper than Morgan intended, but she could not afford to let Mordred think like that.  “It will kill you.”

“I know.”  Mordred sighed.  “Perhaps it’s time, though.  I’ve hardly done great deeds since the war.  Perhaps I am…out of my age.”

“Many of us are.”  Chest tight, Morgan reached out and laid a hand on his arm.  She had come close enough to her own death recently; Morgan was not prepared to lose another child.  _Not now.  Not ever._ Speaking calmly took a herculean effort.  “I am not ready to lose you, Mordred.”

“Well, then I suppose I shall simply have to live.”  He shrugged, and gave her a small smile.  “But if I’m to do that, I expect I shall have to rebuild some of the bridges I torched.”

Mordred’s eyes shifted right, and Morgan smiled once she spied who he was looking at.

* * *

 

“You gonna dance with Mom again, Dad?”

Turning, Bae tried to ignore the shit-eating grin on his teenaged son’s face.  And then he did his best not to sigh.  “Maybe.  It’s up to her.”  Shoving his hands in his pocket, Baelfire resolutely did not watch Emma dance with her father.  “We can’t push her, kiddo.”

“She still loves you.”  Henry crossed his arms, looking at him like he was crazy.  “It’s pretty obvious.  And you still love her.  I don’t see what the hang up is.”

“Because real life isn’t a fairy tale most of the time.”  Bae let out a breath, turning to face Henry fully.  “I hurt her pretty badly, you know.”

“But she forgave you for that.”

“Yeah, I know.  Even if I can’t always understand why.  But she’s still the Dark One, and that darkness—along with all her predecessors—is messing with her mind.  It’s not fair to push her now.  I can wait until we fix this mess.”

“Can we really?”  Suddenly, Henry looked so very young and afraid.  “I know Grandpa says he can do something, but…but what if he can’t?  What if Mom’s going to be the Dark One forever?”

“She’s not.”   For a moment, Bae considered throwing his father’s cautionary words to the wind and telling Henry the truth, but he knew he couldn’t.  Not yet.  Eventually, they’d have to tell Henry that the Black Fairy had the dagger and that Rumplestiltskin was almost certain how to free Emma, but if they told Henry now, he’d want to give his mother hope.  Hell, _Bae_ wanted to do just that, but he knew his father was right.  Still, that didn’t mean he had to say nothing.  “It’s only been three months, you know.”

“Yeah, and Grandpa was the Dark One for three hundred years.  What if it takes that long to free Mom?”

“It won’t.”  He took a deep breath.  “She’s doing a lot better than my dad did, you know.  And a lot of that is because of you.  You’re not afraid of her, not like I was.  You _understand_ things I didn’t, and you’ve been here for her all along.  Because of that, Emma still wants to be free, and that matters a lot.”

Henry shrugged, staring at his shoes self-consciously.  “I don’t know if I’m doing that much.”

“You are.  Really.”

“I don’t feel like I am.”

Reaching out, Bae put a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “Hey.”  After a moment, Henry looked up at him.  “You don’t have to save the day by yourself.  That’s why we help each other—and we’re all in this with you, okay?”

“Okay.”  Henry’s voice was small, but Bae knew that his son wasn’t beaten.  He was just a little down, and that happened to all of them from time to time. 

“Now, go dance with your other mom.  She’s waiting for you.” 

A nudge, and Henry was off, smiling at Regina.  The former Evil Queen really did look radiant, too, and he knew that Henry wouldn’t do anything to ruin her special day.  Bae caught Robin’s eye and gave his old friend a grin as Robin relinquished his new wife to their shared son, then he grabbed a beer from the bar and handed it over as Robin came over to join him.

* * *

 

“You think you’re scary?” She scoffed.  “I survived _Neverland._ ”

The fairy was scrappy; Nuckelavee had to give her that.  He was actually rather impressed.  Usually, fairies begged and pleaded, crying and moaning about the pain.  But Tinker Bell was no wilting flower.  She was bold and brassy, and rather cute, too.  But she had also refused to give him the answers he sought.  Answers his Lady _needed_.  That did tend to temper his amusement a little.

“That little pocket world was nothing terribly frightening.”  He cocked his head, studying her.  Tink was secured against the wall, of course, and the right side of her face was stained with blood, as were patches of her clothing.  He’d mostly made her bleed for the effect, but clearly he’d have to do more than scare her.

Tink snorted.  “Clearly, you never met Pan.”

“Who?”

“A little rat bastard you would have gotten along with all too well.”  She scowled.  “But he’s dead, so no use asking me for an introduction.”

“Pity.”  Whomever this ‘Pan’ was, he sounded fascinating, particularly judging from the leftover vibes of fear he could sense from this formerly-fallen fairy.  Yet that was neither here nor there, and he ought not let Tink distract him so.  Even if she _was_ terribly interesting.

Waving a hand, Nuckelavee flicked magic at his captive, relishing the way her head snapped back and her teeth gritted against the pain.  He watched her for a few moments, counting to thirty and then waiting a bit longer, just for good measure.  Then he pulled the spell away, allowing Tink to slump in her chains, panting.  _Tough little fairy.  It’s a pity that she’s not one of us; she’d fit better amongst the fae than with Reul Ghorm’s little sycophants._ Alas, he’d not exactly made a good recruiting pitch, so he would have to stick with hurting her.

“Now.”  He stepped forward, letting out a breath to quell his impatience.  “I have questions that you will answer.”

“Fat chance.”  She rolled her eyes.  “You might as well kill me like you killed the others.”

“Others?” he asked innocently.  “What others?”

“Oh, come on.  I’d have to be an absolute idiot not to guess that you killed Violet and Plum, given where I am,” Tink shot back. 

Nuckelavee shrugged.  “Then preserve your life and tell me what I want to know.”

“You’re likely to kill me anyway, only _after_ I’ve betrayed my friends.”

“No, I think not.”  She might make an excellent pet, after all, and Nuckelavee did not believe in wasting pretty little fairies.  “I will even give you my word not to kill you.”

Tink shook her head.  “I know what you people do.  Not killing me only means you have a worse fate in mind.  No thanks—I’ll take the quicker death, even if it is excruciating.”

Well, she _was_ smart.  Still, he couldn’t let that kind of comment go, so magic slammed into Tink once more as Nuckelavee raised his hand, and this time he got to listen to her scream.  It was gratifying, even if he preferred to get answers for his hard work.  When he finally stopped—after allowing her to catch her breath, because he did need Tink to use that clever little mind of hers—Nuckelavee asked directly:

“Who is the Truest Believer?”

“The what?” She looked confused enough that he almost believed her.  Almost.

“I know you are close to Reul Ghorm.”  He smiled, enjoying her expression.  Maleficent hadn’t wanted to give up Tinker Bell’s name, but she’d been far too worried for her daughter’s safety to disobey, and that meant he finally did have the right fairy.  If Reul Ghorm had told anyone, Maleficent had known it would be Tink.

“Close?”  Tink laughed drunkenly.  “You must have missed how I was exiled to Neverland for ages.  Blue doesn’t even _like_ me.  I’m a troublemaker.  She doesn’t tell me anything.”

Those words were so brutally honest that Nuckelavee felt his confidence waver.  For him, that was a unique feeling; he wasn’t accustomed to being played.  Had Maleficent fooled him, or was Tink being clever?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 

In the end, Emma had to ask.  She’d never stop mourning her mother, but over two months had passed since Snow’s death, and they were surviving.  Things would never be the way they were, but even as the Dark One, she could focus on the better days.  _Happy times never last,_ Nimue hissed in her mind.  _Love is a lie, and family always dies._   With an effort, she pushed that voice away, having grown used to the fact that Nimue couldn’t wrap her mind around the kind of family Emma had.

“So, was yours and Mom’s wedding anything like this?” 

David almost missed a step in the dance.  “A little.  A lot of the same people were there, though Regina came in a _slightly_ different capacity.”  His smile was crooked.  “But it was beautiful.”

“I miss her.”  Emma bit her lip; she hadn’t meant the words to come out, but there they were.

“I do, too.”  She could hear the catch in her father’s voice, could feel the way David held her a little closer as they danced.  “But I know she’s proud of you for fighting the way you are, Emma.”

Emma took a deep breath, finally managing a nod.  “I hope so.”

“I know she is.”  David moved her left hand, the one he held in his right, and Emma soon found her palm flat against her father’s chest, over the heart that had once been her mother’s.  “She’s still with me, and I can feel her love for you, just like mine.  Don’t ever think that Snow isn’t proud of you, because she _always_ is.  And I am, too.”

A long moment passed before Emma could find words; her chest was tight and her throat wanted to close off.  Finally, she just pressed close, letting her head rest on her father’s shoulder as they danced, feeling like a lost little girl who just wanted someone to make things better.  _I didn’t have parents for so long that I don’t always know how to be a daughter…but right now, I think it’s okay to just hold on tight._

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Hands squeezed her own.  “Any time.”

* * *

 

Regina couldn’t remember ever having been this happy.  Even in her youth, when she’d thought she and Daniel could run away together, things hadn’t been this good.  Then, she’d been afraid of her mother, worried for Snow, and terrified of what might happen to her father if she left.  Today, however…today was different.  Today she was truly happy, at peace with herself in a way that Regina had feared she would never be.  She’d said more than once that perhaps she wasn’t made for happiness, but today turned that into a lie.  Even having the Black Fairy offer her cool congratulations couldn’t put a dent in her joy.

Mordred, on the other hand, seemed determined to do just that.  Regina and Henry had just finished their second dance when Henry’s bastard of a great-uncle stepped over to them, and Regina contemplated flinging a curse or two his way before deciding that she really shouldn’t ruin her _own_ wedding like that.  It was bad enough that Camelot’s usurper had failed at romancing her; he’d also kidnapped her son, and then tried to kill her best friend _and_ her son’s father.  None of that made Regina exactly charitable towards him; in fact, it meant that she wanted to throttle him more often than not.  She didn’t care that Mordred’s mother had proven surprisingly helpful in regards to transferring Robin’s child from Zelena to her—Mordred was a prat, and she really didn’t want to talk to him.

“If your goal is to ruin my wedding, you can just get lost.”

“Mom!” Henry sounded a little scandalized, but Regina didn’t care.  This was her wedding, and she was absolutely not going to let this over-indulged princeling ruin it.  Zelena had already tried, and Regina was sick of it.

Interestingly enough, Mordred actually had the grace to cringe.  “No, I…I intend to do nothing of the sort.”

“Then just understand you’re here because—as a former villain myself—I know better than to leave anyone off the invitation list.  That doesn’t mean I intend to socialize with you, and if you’re here to hurt my son—”

“I’m not.  I actually want to apologize to him.”  Had Mordred not looked so vividly uncomfortable, Regina might have told him to get lost, but she knew that expression.  She’d worn it often enough, herself.

She managed not to snort.  Barely.  “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

“Henry.”  Mordred grimaced, but Regina was glad that he at least seemed to know her son’s name.  That was an improvement.

“Yeah?”  Henry arched an eyebrow, and while the mother in Regina wanted to tell him to be nice, she supposed he was allowed to be snarky towards a man who had tried to kill his mother using him.  _Not to mention the rest of it._ Regina bit back a smile.  Yeah, maybe Henry’s sass was justified.  This time.

“I…I wanted to apologize to you.  I tried to use you against your, uh, _other_ mother.  And I endangered you.  I ought never have done that.”  Mordred looked like he was trying too hard not to fidget, and if Regina had been her old self, she would have laughed at him.  “I am sorry.”

Henry, on the other hand, looked perfectly comfortable as he asked bluntly: “Are you going to do it again?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you.  Provisionally.”  Her son shrugged pointedly.  “I’m still not sure we can trust you, but this town kind of has a tradition of giving people second chances.”

Mordred swallowed.  “I have heard that, yes.”

“Then don’t mess it up.  Killian thinks you’re not that bad, and my dad says you’re being nicer.  And Great-Grandma Morgan is pretty cool.  But you kind of have to try, you know?”

“I will take that under advisement.”  Mordred spoke slowly, and Regina was pretty sure that he didn’t know what to do with this too-wise teenager giving him advice so determinedly, but at least he was smart enough not to argue.  He gave them one last awkward nod, and then headed away, leaving Regina to look down at her son—or her eldest son, anyway, now that she’d gained a stepson.

“Good job.”  She smiled, and she didn’t care if Mordred overheard.  Regina didn’t care if the entire universe knew how proud she was of Henry.

“You don’t think I was too harsh?”

Regina snorted.  “He deserved harsh.  Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin walked up just in time to hear Danns’ say: “You upset your grandfather deeply, my dear.”

“I am sorry that he’s upset, but I’m not going to apologize for what I said.”  Belle crossed her arms, looking utterly unrepentant and rather fed up.  The tension in her shoulders made Rumplestiltskin burn to reach out to her, but his hands were full, so he could simply offer her the glass of iced tea that he’d fetched her.

Danns’ frown was thin, and Rumplestiltskin watched her eyes narrow.  “Arthur was only trying to—”

“Convince me that being family means that I should follow you blindly,” Belle cut her off.  “I believe I already made it clear that I’m not doing that.”  She turned to Rumplestiltskin with a smile.  “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”  With his right hand now free, Rumplestiltskin could place his hand gently in the small of his wife’s back, offering her support through his touch.  Then he turned his attention to Danns’.  “I believe Belle has made her position clear.  Is there something you don’t understand about it?”

“There is.  I fail to understand how her family’s legacy can be so unimportant to her—and to you.”  Danns’ met his eyes, and he could feel her power swirling in the air between them.  If Rumplestiltskin looked hard enough, he would have been able to see it, to see the thick tendrils of power just _waiting_ to be called upon.  Danns’ was frustrated but not yet angry, and her magic was likewise still contained.

“And I fail to understand how you can _do nothing_ to eliminate something like the Dark One when you have the power to make a difference,” Belle shot back.

“I may have the power, but it is naive to believe that power alone can solve that difficulty.”  Danns’ folded her hands calmly.  “Merlin tried for many years, but in the end, we all simply had to endure the darkness’ presence in the world.  I understand that you are young, and the fact that you wish to solve such a problem does you credit, but believe me, it has been tried.”

“What if there was a way?” Rumplestiltskin spoke up curiously as Belle bristled.

“There is not.”  Danns’ eyes narrowed, and he could feel the way she studied his magic.  She didn’t really think of him as an equal, he knew.  Not like she’d thought of Merlin.  To her, he was probably just some young pretender, someone who had power he did not understand.  “Even Merlin could not find a way.”

“I am not Merlin.”  His smile was tiny.  “And my mind does not work like his.”

Danns’ laughed.  “And the darkness at the core of the Dark One is—as you should well know—an elemental darkness born out of the dawn of magic.  It was manipulated and enhanced by foolish humans, but the darkness itself cannot be destroyed.  Merlin was right: containing it in a human host remains the safest method.”

“So, that’s a no.”  Belle looked ready to jump out of her skin with frustration, and Rumplestiltskin let his hand rest a little more heavily on her back.  The last thing they needed was Belle saying too much—he loved his wife dearly, but her impulsiveness had gotten them in trouble before, and they could not afford to let Danns’ know of their plans if she would not help.

“I simply cannot help you overcome the impossible.”

But she was testing, prodding, _reaching_.  Rumplestiltskin could feel it, and he was pretty sure that Danns’ knew he could…and didn’t care.  What was she looking for?  He wasn’t sure, but not knowing left him on edge.  He knew that he was the only human in Storybrooke who had a hope of standing up to Danns’ a’Bhàis, but the thought of doing so was still terrifying, particularly when he looked into the giant maw of power surrounding her.  The only thing that kept him brave was knowing that his power, _Merlin’s_ power, was like hers—yet he was not Merlin.  He was not the straightforward and honorable man she had tricked into becoming the Dark One.  He was Rumplestiltskin, tricky and clever by nature.  He could stand up to her, even if he didn’t want to.

“And I can’t help you with something that will get people killed.”  Belle met her grandmother’s eyes brazenly.  “Is that so hard to understand?”

Danns’ shook her head.  “You _won’t_ help me right the very nature of our world.  There is a difference.”  Her eyes flicked to Rumplestiltskin again.  “Even though we would welcome you _both_ with open arms.”

“You need my power.” _Is Emma’s not enough?_ Rumplestiltskin could not ask the second question, much though he wanted to.  But letting that particular cat out of the bag right now would have been disastrous.

“I will do what is necessary, with or without your help.”  That was a yes, of course, even if she didn’t come out and say it.

And that meant the world was safe while Danns’ did not possess the power to merge the worlds together—unless the walls began collapsing on their own again, like they had with Camelot.  Of course, the portal Henry and Killian had used between the two worlds had accelerated that merger, and that was not a circumstance that was likely to repeat itself.  So, as long as they prevented such a thing from happening again, they would be safe…unless Danns’ found another way to gain power.  _Like using the Peace Amulet on Emma to let her access her Savior magic as well as the Dark One’s magic,_ he realized with a cold chill.  Of course, he hadn’t finished the Peace Amulet, but if Danns’ was able to, and Emma cooperated enough…

Freeing Emma had to be their first priority.

* * *

 

“He is no Merlin,” Danns’ muttered in annoyance as she and Arthur headed onto the dance floor.  Belle and Rumplestiltskin had refused her—again!—and she was more displeased than she wanted to let on.  For a moment, Danns’ considered throwing a small spell out, forcing the guests to dance and dance, but she stopped herself.  The so-called heroes of Storybrooke clearly knew who she was, yet they hadn’t acted against her.  Judging from their past conduct, they _wouldn’t_ act against her until they could prove she was their enemy; their habit of handing out second chances would be their doom in that regard.

So she would not push matters.  Not yet.

“That’s a good thing, no?” Arthur looked like he couldn’t understand her frustration.  “Merlin was almost unbeatable—he was your equal in terms of power and knowledge.  Rumplestiltskin is not even half that.”

She sighed.  “He also lacks Merlin’s foresight.” 

“I thought Merlin also refused you.  Isn’t that why you chose the path you did?”

“Do not remind me.”  Her magic wanted to escape, wanted to rend and tear and _hurt_ , but Danns’ would not harm Merlin’s successor.  Not unless Rumplestiltskin gave her no choice.  The man was her granddaughter’s True Love, and Belle would come around, eventually.  _Or she will simply live with the world I have created once we have won, and we will slowly bring her to our side once she recognizes the inevitability of my victory.  Either way, she is our family._

“Do you think he’s influencing Belle?” Arthur asked curiously, and she almost laughed.

“No.  I believe it is rather the other way around.”  Danns’ stole a glance at her granddaughter, who was dancing with young Henry Mills (or was it Swan?).  “Belle has a very determined heart.  If I did not know better, I would think she might be the Truest Believer.”

That jerked Arthur up short.  “Could she not be?”

“No.  She’s too old.”  Danns’ was glad of that; she would not have her sister going after he granddaughter, nor would she allow any harm at all to happen to Belle—particularly when Belle was with child.  “Whomever it is must have been born on the very eve of the curse or within it.”

She was not certain when the old Truest Believer had died, after all, which did tend to complicate things.  Danns’ had allowed herself to be swept up with the first curse, knowing that wherever they went, she would be in closer proximity to the Truest Believer than she would have been in exile.  Yet that meant she’d been stuck within the persona of Widow Morton, and she only knew that the Truest Believer had been dead soon after the curse broke.  Then she had been awake, of course, and in full possession of her powers, but it was in Danns’ nature to wait and observe before acting.  So, she had watched the new world, hoping that she could find the new Truest Believer before Reul.  But no one seemed to have.

“Of course.”  Arthur nodded like he understood, which of course he did not.  Danns’ did not expect him to, though; he had a better than average fundamental understanding of magic, but its finer points often eluded him.  “I am glad, though.  I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“I will _not_ allow it.” 

She knew her voice grew hard, but Danns’ did not care.  Belle was almost the daughter she had hoped to have with Merlin, both powerful and strong-willed, with a heart that did painfully remind her of Fionna.  Belle was becoming everything she had hoped Colette might be, and although that did not lessen the loss of her daughter, it did make Danns’ very proud.

In the end, Belle could come around.  Danns’ would make sure of _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty-Two—“Be Content with the Small Spark”, in which Killian stops Mordred from doing something stupid, Lily and Maleficent deal with the consequences of their choices, Henry talks to Emma about love, Morgan and Danns’ disagree over family, Zelena contemplates striking out on her own, Emma finds a loophole, and Rumplestiltskin conspires with his grandson.
> 
> In other news, I think I’m back on the writing bus, which means we’ll have two updates this week and we should also see a new chapter of A Different Battle soon!


	82. Be Content with the Small Spark

Mordred had meant to go by during the wedding, but he’d found himself…socializing, instead.  So, he headed over to his father’s home in the middle of the next afternoon, after he’d seen Arthur out with Zelena (a match made in heaven, as far as he was concerned, though he’d thought Arthur saner than that), and after he’d been told that Danns’ had departed as well.  He knew that he didn’t have long to look at the house’s wards, but he had promised his mother that he’d help…and Mordred did still want to show his brother up.  Just a little.

_I can work with him even when I do this—and besides, it is not like Rumplestiltskin is acting to save his so-called friend.  Perhaps my helping here will prove to the town that I am not their enemy_.  Squaring his shoulders, Mordred stretched his magic out, investigating the wards, looking for weak points and potholes that he could exploit.  The magic surrounding the house resisted, and suddenly gave way, and Mordred felt himself smiling. 

She’d grown careless.  The Black Fairy was so used to being _the_ power present—and in hiding, no less!—that her wards allowed him to slip inside their framework.  Squinting, Mordred tried to visualize the threads connecting the varying protections to one another, bringing his hands up to pull three different spells apart.  If he could just work his way in, even the tiniest bit, he could be in and out of the house before anyone had any idea the wards had been breached.  Then he could find that Hatter, and prove to everyone that he was a force to be reckoned with, as well as being on their side.  Just one more inch, and—

The blowback nearly knocked him off his feet.  Staggering, Mordred flailed for balance, eventually stumbling back and finding a streetlight to cling to.  The wards hammered him even there, and he barely managed to blunt the blows with his own magic.  Several moments passed before the spells retreated, leaving Mordred’s head spinning.

“Damn you to Hell,” he breathed at the house, wishing that his infernal stepmother was there to be damned, too. 

She was ten steps ahead of him _again_ , just like she had been even once they’d gotten Gwaine’s heart inside her.

“Everything all right there, Uncle?”

Spinning to face Killian nearly made him land in an undignified heap, and Mordred found himself clutching at the lamppost again for balance.  “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Looking for you.  Grandmother said you were probably up to something foolish.”

The straightforward response made him scowl.  “I’m trying to _help_.”

“There are more effective ways to get yourself killed than antagonizing the Black Fairy, you know.”  His nephew shrugged off Mordred’s glare.  “Particularly since she isn’t here.”  Killian snorted.  “Though her magic does seem willing to do the job without her.”

“Very funny.”  Of course his mother had sent Killian.  She knew that, with Lancelot still missing—and dead; he had to face the fact that his oldest friend was dead—Killian was the one Mordred was most likely to listen to.  _Aside from Mother, but I’d rather she stay away from anything Danns’ has enchanted after what happened._

“Wasn’t trying for funny.”  Killian gestured at the house.  “Now, are you finished being stupid, or should I hold your coat whilst you waste more time having magic slap you down?”

“I’m finished.”  Mordred wanted to snap at him, but he supposed that his idea really had been foolish.  He was accustomed to the Black Fairy in Camelot, when she’d been playing at Guinevere and being ‘weak’.  They would have noticed years earlier if she hadn’t been so careful to project a far less impenetrable defense…which meant he really had no idea what she was capable of.

“Good.”  His nephew gave him a wicked grin.  “Because it’s lunch time, I’m hungry, and you’ve never had Jell-O.”

“What in the _world_ is that?”

* * *

 

“Do you have anything against pirates, Mom?”

The question made Maleficent’s head snap around.  She had noticed Lily dancing with Miss Swan’s former lover at the wedding, of course, but she hadn’t really paid it any mind.  Lily had also danced with August—another particularly pretty face—and several other men.  She hadn’t thought it meant anything, but the fact that Lily was asking now certainly indicated otherwise.  So, Maleficent settled back in her chair on the porch and forced herself to take a sip of her drink before answering.

“Nothing in particular, no.  I assume you are speaking of the rather-delectable Captain Jones?”

Lily shrugged, but Maleficent could tell what she was thinking from the way her daughter’s eyes slid off to the right.  “Maybe.”

“Chase him if you wish, dear.”  She shrugged.  “He seems to have a thing for powerful women, so you won’t intimidate him.  And if you do decide to roast him, he certainly doesn’t have the magic to send it back in your face.”

A non-magical lover was much safer than a magical one, after all.  Mal had been certain to keep to that sort herself, with two notable exceptions.  One, of course, had been the magnificent green dragon who had fathered Lily.  The other remained one of her best friends…even when they were furious with one another.  Mostly, however, she’d always been careful to choose someone she could overpower.  Particularly after that incident with the noxious King Stefan.

“I’m not sure if it’s that serious.”  Lily shrugged again.  “I just kind of like him.  He’s—what are _you_ doing here?”

The sudden distaste in her daughter’s voice made Maleficent turn again, this time to find that Nuckelavee had teleported himself onto her front steps.  She and Lily _had_ been sharing a pleasant lunch outside, but the fae’s sudden appearance certainly ruined her enjoyment.  Particularly given the dangerously smug smile he was wearing.

“Cannot a man visit his allies?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to rise.  “You’re not a man.”

“And you’re not an entirely loyal ally, either, are you?  Despite the way our Lady freed your daughter from her extra darkness, you’re holding out on me.”  Nuckelavee’s eyes flashed, and he strode forward to loom over her.

Maleficent tried very hard not to swallow, squaring her shoulders and looking up at him.  “And what exactly am I holding out?”

“Your recommended fairy claims to know nothing.  Moreover, she says that she’s an outcast.  That Reul Ghorm _dislikes_ her.”  He leaned closer, and Maleficent fought back the urge to lean away from him.

“I can only tell you what I have seen.”  She shrugged as casually as she could, ignoring how her heart was pounding and refusing to think about what was probably happening to the woman whose name she had provided.  “Tinker Bell appears to be the leader of the younger set of fairies, but I have hardly been in Storybrooke long enough to give you definitive information.  I did warn you.”

“So you did, but is that you covering yourself, or are you being honest?”

“I have no reason to lie.”  Now she did swallow; Maleficent wasn’t a fool, and she knew who Nuckelavee would threaten.  She also knew that, for all of her power, she couldn’t beat him.  Even if she and Lily _both_ turned to dragons, all he had to do was teleport to the Black Fairy, and then their only option would be to flee.

To flee into other realms that would shortly be merged with this one.  No, turning on her allies was not an option, particularly not so soon after Danns’ a’Bhàis had kept her promises. 

“Quit being a jerk,” Lily cut in abruptly.  “We’re on your side.”

Nuckelavee turned languidly to face her.  “Are you?”

“Yeah, we are.  And we didn’t have any reason to be anywhere else until you started flinging accusations around, either.”  Her daughter crossed her arms, on her feet and staring back at Nuckelavee challengingly.  The fae, however, merely prowled forward, his body taut like a bow string, quivering with anticipation.

“Lily.”  Maleficent kept her voice soft as she rose; she wanted to warn her daughter off without starting a fight, because there was no way to know what Nuckelavee might do.  _I’ve heard of his reputation before, and he’s nothing if not unpredictably dangerous.  The last thing either of us can afford is for him to be_ drawn _to my daughter._

“He knows I’m right.”  Lily stuck her chin out stubbornly.  “We’re loyal, because the Black Fairy kept her promise.  She took that darkness out of me, and I don’t give a damn where she put it.  I’m free of it, and that’s that.  If Mom knew anything else, she’d tell you.”

“Would you?” Nuckelavee turned back to face Maleficent after staring at Lily for a moment longer than necessary, and he didn’t have to voice the threat for her to hear it.

“Yes.  Acquit me of being a fool.  If you want to look for someone who is wishy-washy enough to abandon our cause, try Zelena.  I keep my promises once given.”  _Provided that your Lady keeps hers to us._

“Very well.”  Nuckelavee shrugged, and suddenly he was gone.

Maleficent slumped, trying not to show how worried she’d been—but it was Lily’s caustic remark that tore a laugh out of her.

“He really is a jackass, isn’t he?” Lily snorted.  “Pretty, but a jackass.  Too bad Mordred didn’t burn him to a cinder.”

“Too bad, indeed.”

Maleficent sat back down slowly, but she’d lost her appetite.  Perhaps she would find a few new spells to teach her daughter instead; if the worst happened, Lily would need to be able to protect herself.  _I will buy her time to flee if I must, but I would prefer we survive together._  

* * *

 

“Are you okay, Mom?” 

Emma turned to look at him in surprise.  “Of course I am.”  But she was trying very hard not to grimace.  “Or as okay as I can be, anyway.  Don’t you like the movie?”

“Yeah.  It’s good.”  He paused it, anyway, though.  “I missed this.  Being just us.”

“Me, too.”  Her smile finally felt genuine, even if Emma felt like she was drowning in darkness and loneliness.  If not for the fact that she was the Dark One, this would almost have reminded Emma of their days in New York, back when she’d told herself every day about how happy she was…and yet she’d known in her heart something was missing.  Still, she wasn’t expecting Henry to blurt out:

“Dad’s still in love with you, you know.”

Emma’s breath caught.  She didn’t want to think about this.  She didn’t _dare_ think about this.  “Henry…”

“He told me not to bother you, so don’t blame him.”  Her budding manipulator looked her straight in the eye, and he didn’t seem to be lying, at least.  “But I know you have feelings for him, and I know you’re lonely.  Why don’t you do something about it?  I mean, it’s not like Grandpa and Belle didn’t fall in love when _he_ was the Dark One, and Dad gets it.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”  Henry squirmed around to face her.  “I know it’s hard, Mom, but you told me yourself that love _helps_ you fight the darkness.  You said that being with Killian helped—”

“I was wrong about that.”  Emma looked away, trying not to think about how she’d tried to use lust and seduction to keep the darkness in check.  It hadn’t worked very well, but Nimue _still_ tried to taunt her into doing the same thing with Neal.  _And Zoso.  The suggestions that old creep makes are enough to turn my hair red._   “It was…it was a bad idea.  All of it.”

“But Dad’s not Killian.  He understands better than anyone other than Grandpa.  And if love can help you fight back the darkness, why are you ignoring it?”

“Henry, what your dad and I had was a long time ago.”  Emma knew the words were a lie even as she said them; after all, _she’d_ kissed Neal—Baelfire!—and not the other way around.  And she wanted to do it again and again.  But she _had_ to say them.  She couldn’t get in too deep.  Not now.  “We’re friends, now, and he’s said that’s good enough.”

“It’s good enough for Dad ‘cause he’ll wait forever if you ask him to.”  Henry peered at her curiously.  “Don’t you still love him?  I’ve seen how you look at him when you don’t think anyone is watching.”

Dark Ones did not _blush_ , but Emma came damn close, swallowing hard and forcing herself to meet her son’s eyes.  Henry was too old to push aside with platitudes, and he wanted to matchmake them so badly that she _had_ to tell him something to get him to quit.  _Neal could probably get him to quit, but I don’t want to put him in the middle of this.  Even if he already_ is _smack in the middle._   Sighing quietly, Emma tried to find words that would make Henry understand.

“I can’t drag someone else down with me,” she whispered.  “I saw what happened to Belle.  I _know_ how much your grandfather loved her back when he was the Dark One, but he still hurt her.  A lot.  And I won’t do that to someone else.”

Henry nodded thoughtfully.  “I think Dad’s okay with taking that risk.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

“No.  I’m not going to do that to him.  Not ever.”  Closing her eyes, Emma tried not to think about what Danns’ would do if she dared to fall in love with someone openly.  Would Danns’ threaten Neal?  Probably.  Hell, _undoubtedly_.  She already had threatened him, and he was just Emma’s friend as far as the Black Fairy knew.  Knowing that she couldn’t afford to get into a relationship was simple.  The problem was that she _wanted_ to get in one, wanted to throw caution to the wind and give in to a love that she’d always known would never leave her.  Once, a lifetime ago, Emma had admitted heartbrokenly that she’d never stop loving Neal Cassidy.  Now, the thought wasn’t so horrible, or at least it wouldn’t have been if her love didn’t endanger him like this.

There was nothing else to it.  She had to get free—and Emma was done waiting for someone to rescue her.  The commands wrapped around her made sure that she couldn’t take the dagger back, but she didn’t _need_ the dagger to act, did she?  She’d found one loophole, and there was another one waiting in her basement…wasn’t there?

* * *

 

This week, Belle’s craving had been ice cream, which was at least easy to indulge.  In fact, she really hoped that craving _stayed_ ; the ice cream shop wasn’t too far from the library, so she could get there quickly, and Rumplestiltskin’s sweet tooth made even her current cravings look tame.  He was always happy to get a sundae (the more chocolate, the better!), and Belle often felt like her teeth were going to rot out trying to keep up.  But her hormones had control of her better sense these days, so ice cream was a fantastic idea.

“I’ve been thinking about what my grandmother said last night,” Belle admitted as she and her husband walked back towards the library, shoulders bumping together.  

Rumplestiltskin smiled teasingly around the spoon in his mouth.  “Are you going to share those thoughts with me?”

“I’m worried she’s going to try to force my hand somehow.  Or both of us.  She seems to want both of us on her side.”  Belle let out a breath, certain she would have lost her appetite if not for her hormones demanding ice cream.  “I think she was being truthful when she said that she won’t threaten my family…but I’m not sure, anymore.”

“I think she needs more power than she has at her disposal, yes.”  As usual, her husband was playing his cards close, but since Belle knew what most of those cards were at the moment, she didn’t mind.  Rumplestiltskin would tell her the rest when he was ready—the last two months had taught them a lot about trust, and they were far smarter together.

“Do you think what happened to Morgan might have been a warning?”  She hadn’t wanted to form those thoughts into words, but she’d been wondering ever since her mother-in-law had been attacked.  Danns’ _couldn’t_ like how close Belle was coming to Morgan; her grandmother struck her as the jealous type.

“No.  I think she meant to kill her, but planned for plausible deniability in case it failed.”

Belle swallowed.  “Death can be a warning.”

“True.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes focused on something in the far distance.  “Though I think she would have mentioned it if she wanted us to feel properly threatened.”

“You don’t disagree that she might try to twist our arms, though.”  Belle wished that he would; Rumplestiltskin’s instincts were always good on matters like this.

He shook his head.  “If only I could.”

“What are we going to do?”

“The only thing we can do.  We’ll wait and we’ll watch, and we’ll try to beat her at her own game.”

Nodding, Belle forced herself to be patient.  She was impulsive by nature, and she _knew_ it, but this was a time to listen to her head over her heart.  Confronting her grandmother and demanding the truth would do no good, and her grandparents were clearly not interested in _helping_ people. All she could do was fight them as best she could, and not let them force her into anything.  No matter how hard that proved to be.

* * *

 

The last person Morgan had expected to run into outside the flower shop was Danns’ a’Bhàis, but she supposed that a love of flowers was the one thing they had in common.  _Either that, or she’s trying to influence her son-in-law again_ , she thought irritably, striding up from behind her old rival.  She was reasonably confident that Danns’ wouldn’t start anything in public, but there always was a possibility that the Black Faery would simply try to kill her.  _It is a chance worth taking.  Belle deserves better than to be manipulated via her father.  Again._

“I recognized the flavor of that memory wiping potion right away, you know.”

Her blunt words made Danns’ turn, and her stepsister-in-law smiled.   “Morgan.  How lovely to see you.”

“The real question I have is why you bothered to wipe my memory.”  Morgan returned the smile coldly, and then shrugged.  “If I died, there was certainly no reason to wipe my memory of my killer.  If I didn’t…well, we both know the only sorceress who would actually turn another person’s darkness into a _weapon_.  You’re not exactly hiding much on that front.”

“Who says it was me?”  Green eyes widened all too innocently, and Morgan snorted.

“If even my pirate grandson can figure it out, you’re slipping.  Or you’re playing another game entirely.”

“I do so _love_ my games.”  The words were a purr, and Danns’ stepped close.  Anyone else would have backed away, but Morgan really did have nothing to lose.

That, and she wanted to know.  She _needed_ to know.

“You and your sick little follower.  How _is_ your quest to free your other fae going, anyway?  Not well, I take it.”  Morgan let herself smirk as Danns’ smile almost dipped into a scowl.

“That is my concern.  You should be more worried about where we will strike next.”

“Oh, I know where you’re going.  You’ve been killing fairies.  It’s not very original.”  Morgan laughed, even if she found the topic rather nauseating.  _No one deserves to die how Nuckelavee will kill them, even if they are Reul Ghorm’s cronies._ “You’re looking for the Truest Believer, of course.”

Another smile.  “You could always just tell me and save them pain.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

“Have we grown so emotionless in our old age, Morgan?” Danns’ laughed lightly.  “The great defender of humanity has lost her spark!  She no longer cares for who I hurt.  Oh, the day is beautiful.”

“No, I haven’t.  I just don’t make the mistake of blaming myself for your actions.”  Morgan rolled her eyes.  “Try intimidating someone else to get your answers—you know you won’t get them from me.”

Green eyes narrowed.  “I could force you.  And you know you don’t want that, not with your newfound family there to mourn you.  Your dear prodigal son, the Sorcerer, and his many relatives would be quite grieved by your loss, I’m sure.”

The urge to throw a curse or two Danns’ way for bringing Rumplestiltskin into this was almost overwhelming, and Morgan found it harder than usual to push her instincts down.  Her magic proved even more insistent, bubbling up darkly and angrily—and jerking Morgan up short.  _Of course!  What a fool I am._   She’d had another’s darkness, along with the potential magic of an anti-Savior, shoved into her.  Some of that magic had lingered even when Rumplestiltskin had pulled the darkness out…and it had awakened her own dormant power.  Revitalized it.

Morgan’s heart pounded in excitement, and for a moment, she _wanted_ to take Danns’ on.  Yet she stopped herself.  A half power though she might be, she knew that she could not go toe-to-toe with her old rival.  She wouldn’t survive that, even if she could hurt Danns’ badly enough to make the faery regret picking a fight.  Morgan, however, could be killed by conventional magical means.  Unlike her rival, whom could only be killed by a secondary power that Morgan did not currently possess.  So, she forced herself to match Danns’ dangerous smile.

“My sons would certainly mourn my loss more than your granddaughter would mourn yours.”

“Don’t even _think_ about getting between us,” Danns’ hissed, vicious magic filling the air between them.  “I will kill you if you try.”

She snorted.  “I don’t have to.  You’ve alienated her quite well without my help.”

“Stay out of this, Morgan.  Belle is _my_ granddaughter.”

“And my daughter-in-law.  Strangely enough, the one thing we agree upon is the necessity of keeping her, and her child, safe.”  Morgan forced herself to shrug, to back down just enough to keep this from turning into a fight.  She had always been caustic and impulsive, but Morgan was not stupid.  “They’re in no danger from me.”

“They had best not be.” The words were a whisper, but no less frightening for all of that.

“Do give Arthur my regards.”  Morgan couldn’t resist changing the subject. “Is he sleeping with that nasty little redhead yet?”

Danns’ laughed, her fury suddenly gone.  “What would I care?”

“No, you never would.  Speaking of your former lovers, answer me this—did you kill Lancelot?”

“Of course not.  I would never.” 

The words weren’t a lie, either, but they didn’t hide the truth as well as Danns’ probably thought they did.  Morgan knew her too well, though, and she knew that Danns’ had the dagger.  And that meant the Dark One had done the killing.

_That poor girl,_ Morgan thought as she turned away with a half-smile.  Had Emma Swan attacked her as well?  Was that what Danns’ was trying to hide?  Probably.

It didn’t matter, though.  Not yet.  But she did have to tell Mordred that Lancelot was dead, and he would take it poorly.

* * *

 

Sleeping with Arthur was useful—and even pleasant—but one could hardly ask him about his wife.  Even if he wasn’t a believer in sexual fidelity, Arthur seemed loyal in all other ways, which meant Zelena was left looking for someone else to ask for answers.  But she certainly wasn’t going to Maleficent or her obnoxious little daughter.  Both were entirely too full of themselves, and Zelena didn’t have patience for people like that.  So, she was left with Nuckelavee, who had at least proven to be an entertaining ally.  She’d enjoyed their little forays, and Zelena liked to think that Nuckelavee had, too.  Surely that left him kindly disposed towards her.

“I’m growing bored.”  She sighed out the words, but that really was the problem.  Zelena was used to being the prime mover, to making the decisions and _doing_ things.  Now, however, she was stuck.  She was merely a lackey, and Zelena didn’t like that feeling at all.

Why, she hadn’t even managed to make Regina pay for her stupidly happy wedding, and that just wouldn’t do.

“So find someone to torment.” Nuckelavee shrugged.  “I suppose I could help.  Our Lady would be pleased if we caused another dance, I think.  It would distract the fools.” 

“That’s not the point.  And she’s not _my_ —”

“She is.”

Zelena rolled her eyes, not appreciating the interruption.  “I signed on to be an ally, not a blind follower.”  She sniffed.  “I terrorized this town by myself, you know.  I don’t _need_ her.”

Nuckelavee laughed softly.  “Need or not, you’re one of us, now.” 

“I am my own person!”

“Oh, certainly.  But you’re also hers.”  He looked so supremely satisfied that Zelena burned to wipe the smug look off of his face. _Yet another man—even if he’s not actually human—telling me what I can and cannot do with myself,_ she thought angrily.  _All my life, I’ve listened to people tell me that I’m not good enough.  I’m done!_  

“She doesn’t _own_ me.  And I can walk away if I choose.”  Zelena drew herself up proudly.  “Why, even the nauseating little heroes would take me in a heartbeat if I gave them information they could use—”

The hand that snaked out to grab her by the throat caught her by surprise, making Zelena gasp.

“One does not turn one’s back on the Black Fairy,” Nuckelavee said softly.  Conversationally.  “Not and live.”

Eyes wide, she stared at the fae, angrier than she was afraid.  He _dared_ touch her like this?  Zelena’s hands snapped up, green magic boiling out of her fingers and striking Nuckelavee in the chest hard enough to force him to stumble back.  “Don’t touch me.”

“Forgive me.”  His smile was utterly insincere, and Zelena wondered if complaining to Arthur might be worthwhile.  Surely, he’d tell Danns’, who would… _She’ll take his side, of course.  He’s blindly loyal, and she knows it.  Bastard._

“I was only joking, anyway,” she said after a moment of glaring at Nuckelavee.  Zelena was too smart to let him know that she’d made a decision.  “Of course I won’t betray her.  I’m not _stupid_.”

She really wasn’t a fool, which meant that going to the heroes—not that she’d ever really wanted to—was out.  They wouldn’t protect her, and she knew that she need power, or at least leverage, to protect herself from the Black Fairy.  But there was one way to get that, because Danns’ had foolishly let all and sundry know that she had a _granddaughter_.  One who wasn’t particularly loyal to her, and whose independence irked Arthur to no end, but one whom both Arthur and his all-too-powerful wife would give a great deal to protect.  Yes, Belle made the perfect leverage, didn’t she?

And if Zelena could get a bit of overdue revenge of her own at the same time, well, that was just a bonus.

* * *

 

“You really still use _Betamax_ in here?” Bae gaped.  “I knew Storybrooke was backwards in the technology department, but _really_?”

“Hey, it still works.”  David didn’t look too concerned, even if he’d been the one who asked Baelfire to help upgrade the sheriff station’s security equipment. 

“Yeah, in crap quality.  And, according to my dad, it’s really easy to spoof with magic, too.”

That made David sit up straight.   “It is?”

“Yep.  Don’t ask—I don’t think you want details any more than I did.” Dropping down to the floor, Bae crawled into the mess of the electronics setup.  It was all crammed into a back room that looked like it had started life as a closet—or maybe the room was big, but the ridiculously big televisions just made it look small.  “Anyway, I think we can replace all of this with some good HD cameras—they can be wireless, too, so you can access it remotely.  If we get you guys new phones, you can even tap into it there.  We can put the asylum on the same system, too, and as long as we buy a decent computer, it can handle everything, easy.  A few flat screens can replace these CRT nightmares, and you’ll be set.”

“I’m…going to pretend that was all in English.”  David laughed, at least, which meant Bae didn’t feel too guilty.  “That’s not going to cost a fortune, is it?  Regina’ll kill me if I spend her entire budget on electronics.”

“Nah, it’ll probably be cheaper than maintaining this group of dinosaurs.  I’m surprised this crap didn’t break the moment the curse did.”

“Does Storybrooke even have the stuff you’re talking about?”

“Um.”  That was a good question.  “Probably not.  But I can do a quick run to Boston, assuming someone gives me that scroll thingum.”

“I’d ask if you want company, but it’s probably a bad time for me to leave town.”  David looked disappointed.

“Dude, it’s a short ride.  Less than a day, round trip, particularly if I pre-order everything.  I’m sure Regina can hold down the fort without you, and I can talk my dad into helping out.  We’ll bring Henry and let him see Boston when he _isn’t_ running away.  It’ll be fun.”

David chuckled.  “All right, you twisted my arm.” He glanced at the mess of electronic equipment.  “You’re sure you can replace all this without breaking the bank?”

“Sure.  Worst case, I’ll get my dad to donate some funds.  He’ll refuse, and then I’ll get Belle to ask him, and it’ll be over in five minutes flat.”  Bae grinned.

“I am _so_ not getting in the middle of that.”

“You and me both!”

* * *

 

Maybe this was her other loophole.

Standing in her locked basement, Emma stared at the legendary sword, studying it and hoping there were some answers.  Galatine was a surprisingly simple sword, with a hilt and blade that flowed together like water, smooth until the hilt rippled up to become the cross guard and the grip.  It had felt like light magic, had seemed almost feather-light in her hands, although something had also been _off_ that she couldn’t quite recall.  Maybe that had been because she’d been so deep under Danns’ control at the time, with the command of _Find the Sword_ echoing through her mind over and over again.  This time would be better.  It had to be.

Emma was sick and tired of waiting for someone to rescue her, sick of hoping that someone would figure her predicament out and get the dagger back.  She knew that she couldn’t take the dagger back—even thinking too hard about trying _burned_ —but she had to do something.  Emma wasn’t the type of princess who could sit in a tower and wait for a hero, so she was damned well going to save herself.  Yes, she’d been forbidden from telling anyone about her situation, or even writing a note on that front.  _Not that a note did Jefferson any good,_ she thought angrily.  _The bitch still has him.  What the hell game is Gold playing at?_   She didn’t need to listen to her internal voices to know that her predecessor had some sort of plan, was working in his own damned diagonal fashion to do whatever it was he thought he needed to do.  The curse hadn’t made her much trickier, which meant that was his own nature, and Emma wasn’t going to wait for the old bastard to get off his ass.

No, she was going to kill her captor and be done with it.  Then she’d be free, and she could finally be _herself_ without endangering those she loved.  She should have known better than to put her trust in anyone else.  The Dark One _always_ did best alone.

Interestingly enough, there was nothing in the commands she had been given that would forbid her from killing the Black Fairy.  No, instead Danns’ insisted on obedience, punishing her when Emma didn’t appear properly subservient.  She’d been forbidden from acting against Danns’ _interests_ …but technically, Danns’ hadn’t said that it was in her best interests to stay alive.  And that was enough for Emma’s curse.

Even better, the fool had given Emma the _one_ weapon that could kill her.  Galatine could do the job—even Nimue admitted to that.  In fact, Nimue was downright _gleeful_ at the idea, and for once, Emma couldn’t disagree with her.  Despite knowing that anything Nimue wanted was generally a very bad idea, she couldn’t find the fault in this plan.  Not if it worked, anyway.  _And if it doesn’t, it’s not like I can be much worse off than I am right now.  What’s she going to do, torture me?_ Trying to kill her technically wasn’t being disobedient, which meant that Danns’ probably couldn’t twist it as a way to kill her family.  That thought was only a little reassuring, but it _was_ accurate.  Oddly enough, one could always trust the Black Fairy to keep her promises exactly as they were given.

 Taking a deep breath, Emma picked Galatine up from where the sword leaned against her basement wall.  Yet again, the sword felt _off_ in her hands, but maybe that was just its unique nature.  She really didn’t care what it felt like, anyway.  She just needed it to kill someone.  _And if I kill her, I can save_ everyone _, not just me.  Maybe I can be the Savior again._  

Where would Danns’ be?  At this time of day, she’d probably be at home, undoubtedly finding one way or another to make Jefferson miserable.  So, Emma teleported herself there, Galatine held firmly in hand.  Much to her surprise, she found Danns’ sitting across from a pale and wan Jefferson.  The pair seemed to be eating lunch, but Emma didn’t care.  Jefferson noticed her, but said nothing, looking away as she approached.  She didn’t even hesitate.  Two strides took her across the room, the sword coming up and thrusting forward—

Only to find Galatine clattering from her hand as Danns’ laughed.

“I’m sorry, did you think I would leave you with a weapon that could kill me?”  The Black Fairy turned slowly to look at Emma, mirth making her appear so very young.

“What the hell?” The words were out before she could stop them, even as Jefferson gave his head a quick shake in warning.  He looked almost as terrified as he did miserable, but it was too late for Emma to back down.

“You have the wrong blood, Emma dear.  Only Viviane’s blood can wield _that_ blade.”

“Who?” 

Laughter echoed in her mind, but Emma pushed it aside.  _Don’t bother to pick it up, fool,_ Zoso cawed.  _There’s no point._

“No one you’d know.”  Rising slowly, Danns’ bent to pick up the blade.  “Go return Galatine to its hiding spot and _leave_ it there until otherwise commanded by me.  And then return for your punishment.”

Emma’s stomach twisted into knots as she took the sword back, but her magic had taken over, and suddenly she found herself back in her basement, putting the sword back.  She’d failed, utterly failed, and now she was going to pay the price.  Emma felt sick, and she wanted to do anything but return to Danns’ home…but she had no choice.  She was out of choices, wasn’t she?

So much for saving herself.

* * *

 

“Can you do me a favor, Henry?” Rumplestiltskin asked his grandson later that same day.  Henry and Roland were still staying with them, a situation that he would have found strange if Emma wasn’t the Dark One.  Henry, of course, was welcome anytime, but having Regina’s new stepson at home took some getting used to.

“Sure, Grandpa.  Or at least not if it isn’t something _too_ shady.”  Henry grinned, though. 

Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling in return.  “I know you’re worried about your mother—about Emma.  And I think you’re right to be.”

He had to be careful how much he said; his grandson was clever, and was likely to catch on to what had happened if Rumplestiltskin said too much.  Of course, they had to be equally careful not to leave Henry in the dark for too long; if Henry found out on his own, he was likely to try something sneaky to save his mother, and that would be bad in every conceivable way.  But for now, the more people who knew only put Emma in more danger, and Rumplestiltskin had promised Baelfire that he’d do everything he could for Emma.

“You have an idea?” Henry perked up immediately.

“I think we need to investigate further.   Unfortunately, Emma is the Dark One, which means she has a plan of some sort.  We need to figure out what that is.”  _Or what Danns’ has her up to, because there has to be_ something _going on_. 

“But how do we do that?  No one ever knew what you were up to until it was too late.”

“I think we need to start by figuring out what she might have hidden around herself,” he said honestly.  Morgan was still looking for Galatine, and she’d tried a localized spell or two in hopes that she’d detect it near Danns’ home, but nothing had come of that.  Those results, however, had made Rumplestiltskin wonder if someone else entirely had the sword.  It was only an instinct, but…Rumplestiltskin had a feeling.

“Mom keeps her basement locked,” Henry said unexpectedly, which made Rumplestiltskin blink.

“She does?” He hadn’t expected it to be that straightforward.

Henry grinned.  “Yeah.   I bet I can get down there.  Mom taught me how to pick locks back in New York, and she won’t do anything other than yell at me if she catches me.”

“Be careful, Henry.  Your mother isn’t the worst person who can catch you, you know.”

“I know.”  Henry shrugged, still grinning.  “But I want to help, and it’s not really like things are going anywhere with Isaac.  I know you and Gramps put me up to that to keep me safe, but I can do things.  Especially this.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t like putting Henry in the middle of this, but the lad was too old to leave out.  And it was best to have him snoop around Emma, because Emma would never hurt him.  _At least this will keep him out of most of the danger._

Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Three—“Unbind My Heart that I May Weep,” in which a ruse is played out, Nuckelavee makes a mistake, Henry gets sneaky, Rumplestiltskin picks a fight, and someone goes into the Sorcerer’s Hat.
> 
> Also, look for an update to A Different Battle later today!


	83. Unbind My Heart that I May Weep

Danns’ had always believed in giving happy couples time to celebrate, so she waited until a week after the wedding to make her next move.  Besides which, she had a Dark One to punish—and commands to said Dark One that clearly required redefining.  She would not let Emma know how overconfident she’d grown, but Danns’ was capable of recognizing that in herself.  She also knew that she had to move her timeline forward.  She had enjoyed playing too many games and had allowed herself to become distracted by the problem that was her granddaughter.    _Belle will understand in the end,_ she told herself, teleporting into the front hall of the former Author’s home.  _I will simply have to be patient…and rig the dice._

Isaac came around the corner and stopped cold, his face going white.  “What—what are you doing here?”

“I came to ask you a question.”  Danns’ felt no need to come further into the house; she could intimidate Isaac from here.  If necessary. 

“Of course.  I just…well, I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.  Am I being too forward by asking if you’ve already, uh, nullified the cameras?”

Danns’ resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  “Of course I did.”  She took two strides forward, studying his face.  Isaac looked nervous, but he _always_ looked nervous.  For a man who claimed to manipulate lives, he really had no courage.  He was a flea, albeit a useful flea.  “But I do not intend to stay for long.”

“So, I take it that you don’t want me to offer you a drink.”

“I’m not interested in that.”  Humans were really such silly creatures; did Isaac think he could win her favor like this?  He’d always wanted nothing more than to save his own neck, and his ambitions were ridiculously small.  Danns’ had no desire to even pretend to befriend him.  “I am interested in the identity of the Truest Believer.”

Isaac swallowed, glancing off to the side.  “Why would you think I’d know that?”

“Come now.  You were once the Author.  You understand what that signifies, and somehow I doubt you would be in Storybrooke for so long without making it your _business_ to find out who such an important person was.  So, tell me who it is.”  Danns’ stepped forward, and he met her eyes, tensing like a frightened prey animal.  “Now.”

“If they find out I told you—”

Danns’ smiled.  “They only will if you tell them.”

Isaac swallowed noisily, sounding like a sick frog.  “It’s David Nolan.”  He sneered, contempt seemingly helping him forget his fear.  “You know.  The so-called Prince ‘Charming’.”

“Is that so?”  Her eyebrows rose on their own; of all the people Danns’ had expected, he was not on the top of her list.  Her greatest fear, of course, had been that the Truest Believer would be Belle—whom she would not see hurt for any amount of power in all the realms—but she had wondered if it might just be the pirate who had turned out to be Gwaine’s son.  That would have been ideal; the Heart of a Truest Believer born of a Truest Believer would be doubly powerful.   Or, she had expected the outlaw, the one who tales claimed had a heart of gold.  Yet the prince…well, that was useful.

Taking his heart would be a delicious way to further punish her Dark One as well, and Danns’ felt a delightful shiver run through her body as she studied Isaac.  The former Author clearly hated the prince—or king, she supposed, for all that his wife was dead at Arthur’s hand—but she couldn’t detect a lie.

“So far as I know.”  Isaac shrugged.  “But, no, I haven’t seen the jerk in a ‘I’m the Truest Believer’ t-shirt, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Your impertinence is only so amusing.  Watch yourself.”

That made him flinch.  “My apologies.”

“Accepted.” 

Danns’ studied the small man for another moment, but he didn’t seem nervous enough to be lying to her.  He was nervous, yes; she’d made it clear to him what betrayal would mean.  And Isaac Heller was nothing if not a self-serving man.  He wouldn’t endanger himself, not for anyone, which meant he was telling her the truth.  So, she inclined her head to him regally, and teleported herself away, her mind whirling with possibilities.

* * *

 

Isaac waited a very tense fifteen minutes after the Black Fairy left before pouring himself a glass of cheap whiskey and chugging it.  Only then did he let himself collapse onto his couch, willing his hands not to shake as he slammed the bottle of whiskey down next to his glass.

“I am such an idiot,” he breathed, pouring himself a second drink.  His head wasn’t nearly fuzzy enough to deal with this.

He hadn’t lied to her, not as far as he knew, but even an _idiot_ knew that trying to screw the Black Fairy over was dumber than playing with fire.  But what was he supposed to do?  He was just a writer, had lost all of his power—what little of it had been worthwhile at all, damn that Apprentice for sucking him into this world!—and was stuck between two original powers.  Even worse, he was smart enough to understand just what either one of them could do to him, and he was pretty damn sure that Rumplestiltskin’s moral compass hadn’t really been repaired by the Apprentice (that jerk again!) pulling the darkness out of him.  The former Dark One was still a tricky bastard, and he would probably enjoy screwing Isaac over for the way he’d used him in the alternate world.

_He should have been more specific if he hadn’t wanted me manipulating him there_ , Isaac thought, taking another deep drink of whiskey that made him cough.  _Or he should have made sure to scare me more and appear less weak.  Then I might have been a little more careful._

Yet his ploy had failed, and his best-selling book hadn’t existed in this world.  The damned heroes had made sure of that, so what did he care if some too-good prince got caught up in the crossfire between the Black Fairy and Merlin’s successor?  _Better him than me!_  

* * *

 

He rather liked his new fairy pet, but Nuckelavee was beginning to think that she wasn’t actually as useless as he’d hoped.  Tinker Bell was _supposed_ to have the answers he sought, yet she seemed not to know what he wanted.  Still, that didn’t make her useless.  She was a lovely woman, after all, and she fought him like the devil, which he enjoyed…but that meant he had to go elsewhere for answers.  His Lady was off talking to the coward of an Author, so he’d covered the other end of the spectrum and fetched a heart from where she’d had it hidden.

Much like his Lady, Nuckelavee was more than competent when it came to disabling electronics with magic; in general, he didn’t particularly care if he was seen, but Danns’ wished to keep the fact that they had the cricket’s heart a secret.  Technically, what she really wanted was to keep the heroes from having _confirmation_ that she could control Archie Hopper, so he disabled the cameras with the flick of a finger and slipped inside the apartment, watching its occupant jump to his feet with a comically frightened expression.  _They all look like that when they see their heart in someone else’s hands,_ Nuckelavee thought with a smile.  _Though the glasses this one wears do set off the fear in his eyes nicely._

He was going to enjoy this.

“What…what do you want?”  At least Archie was smart enough not to ask him why he was there. 

“I have questions for you.   If you answer me without becoming a _problem_ , you’ll experience no pain.” 

Archie flinched, and Nuckelavee smiled.  The cricket couldn’t lie to him, not while he held his heart, but that didn’t mean that Nuckelavee wouldn’t enjoy hurting him if Archie proved stubborn.  Still, Danns’ wanted answers now, which meant he ought not play too much.

“I can’t lie to you.”  Archie gulped.  “So why don’t you just get it over with and ask?”

“Wise of you.”  Nuckelavee squeezed the heart, just a little, just as a warning, and Archie gasped, clutching ineffectually at his chest.  He waited until the cricket straightened before asking: “Who is the Truest Believer?”

Archie’s forehead creased in confusion.  “The what?”

“The Truest Believer.  Who has the Heart?” He enunciated the words carefully, knowing that one had to answer exactly what was asked when someone else held their heart.  For the moment, he needed this little man thinking, not hurting.

 “You have my heart.”  Had Archie not looked so pitifully perplexed, he might have hurt him on principle.  But this was getting frustrating.

“Not your heart.  _The_ Heart.  The Heart of the Truest Believer.”  The words only got him another blank look, and Nuckelavee let out an exasperated hiss.   “Do you know what that is?”

“No?”  Archie looked near panic, but this interrogation had turned out to be less fun than he’d hoped.

“You don’t know what the Truest Believer is.  Or _who_ it is?”

“No.  I don’t.  I can’t help you.”  Archie’s smile was shaky.  “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”  He trailed off meaningfully, and it was all Nuckelavee could do not to crush his heart then and there.

But no.  His Lady had forbidden that, and he would not disobey her.  Even if he was too angry to think straight.  _I promised her I would find the Truest Believer, and I am_ failing! _I am not accustomed to failure.  This is unacceptable._   Almost shaking in fury, Nuckelavee turned on his heel and strode out of the apartment, stalking down the stairs with Archie’s heart still in hand.  Two out of two people who were _supposed_ to know the Truest Believer’s identity had proven useless.  Now who was he supposed to ask?

* * *

 

His dad had been willing to help get his mom out of the house, and even if Emma said that she wasn’t interested in romance, she sure seemed willing to go out for lunch when Baelfire asked her to.  She’d asked Henry if he wanted to come along, of course, but he’d made up a story about having to work in the shop with his grandfather to get out of it.  Under other circumstances, Henry would have thought that going to lunch with both of his biological parents was great, but today he had another mission.

He was _finally_ going to get to do more than sit on the sidelines and try to weasel information out of a weasel, and Henry wasn’t going to hesitate.  So, he left the pawnshop in a hurry, heading to Emma’s big blue house and slipping inside.  He had a key, of course, and Emma wasn’t so paranoid that she wouldn’t let him come and go as he pleased, but that didn’t mean he wanted her there when he was snooping around.  His grandfather had tasked him with helping figure out what Emma was up to, and Henry knew that whatever it was had to do with her basement.  Otherwise, why would she lock it at all?

“You ready?” Robin asked him as they stood outside the back door.  Once Henry had thought about the heavy door leading to the basement, he’d realized that he might need a little help breaking in.  He’d asked Robin for advice about locks, but his stepfather had offered to come along, instead, and Henry was too smart to turn down the help of a master thief.

“Yeah.  Let’s see if my key works, or if she put wards up.”

“If she did, maybe I should—”

Henry shook his head. “They won’t hurt me.  They might hurt you, though, depending on how paranoid Mom was feeling earlier.”

Robin sighed.  “Your _other_ mother is going to kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“It won’t.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“It’ll be fine.”  Henry turned his key, and the back door popped open.  He turned to Robin with a grin.  “See?”

“You know this is the easy part, right?”  But Robin followed him inside with a smile, and soon enough, they were facing the basement door.  Which was, of course, locked.

“I think this is where you come in.”  Henry studied the lock.  “Something tells me that my lock picking skills aren’t going to work on this one.”

Both his parents had taught him a thing or two about locks, but they’d shown him with _modern_ locks.  This one looked like it had come right out of some medieval dungeon or another; it was big and complicated, and looked like it would take a chainsaw to break through.  _Or burning the door down_ , he thought, looking at the door in dismay.  The lock would _definitely_ laugh at bolt cutters, too, even if they’d been willing to leave evidence behind of who had done the breaking in.

Henry didn’t _think_ Emma would do anything bad, even if she found out…but it wasn’t worth taking chances.  He trusted his mom.  He just didn’t always trust the Dark One to let Emma be Emma.

Robin chuckled, pulling a pair of gloves on..  “Ah, this one’s easy.  I used to break into locks like this all the time.”

“Really?”

“They didn’t call me the Prince of Thieves for nothing, you know.” His stepfather smirked as he withdrew some tools from his coat pocket.  “And it wasn’t because I was royally born, because that I am definitely _not_.”

“Maybe they were just planning ahead?”  Robin shot him a look as he started working on the lock, and Henry shrugged innocently.  “You did marry a queen.  That makes you some kind of royalty, now.”

 “I try not to think too hard about that one.”

“Why?  Isn’t it cool?”

“Sure.  I mean, the little boy in me always wanted to rescue a princess and marry her, though reality tempered that dream a little bit.”  Robin twisted his tools just so, and the lock clicked open.  “There we go.  Now I’m more concerned with _who_ someone is.  What they are doesn’t matter so much to me.”

Excited, Henry pulled the door open.  “C’mon.  Let’s go!”

“Careful.  We don’t know if she left magical traps or alarms.”

“Right.”  Sighing, Henry forced himself to walk down the stairs slowly, keeping an eye on his surroundings.  The basement was a little dark, but there were definitely lights down there—though what he could see of the floor seemed to be dirt rather than any kind of flooring.  

“We can’t afford to take long,” Robin cautioned him from Henry’s back.  “If Emma _does_ have some sort of alarm, we’ve probably got no more than a few minutes.  Baelfire can only keep her distracted for so long.”

“I just need a look.  That’s all it should—oh, _crap_.”

Henry stopped cold and stared.

* * *

 

It had been a long time since Regina had managed to get quite so thoroughly in Rumplestiltskin’s way, but apparently she was polishing old skills today.  She’d stepped right in front of him as he crossed the street, heading from the library towards his own shop, and if Rumplestiltskin had still had a limp, he might have tripped off the curb and fallen.

Fortunately, he was not so encumbered these days.  Merlin had permanently fixed his old problem in the time he’d possessed Rumplestiltskin’s body, and though that memory was hardly a pleasant one, Rumplestiltskin was often glad that Merlin had done what he’d never been able to do.  He was also glad that his relationship with Regina wasn’t nearly as antagonistic as it had been, even if the storm clouds in her express told him that she wanted to strangle someone.  _Judging from the glare she’s directing my way, that someone is me.  Joy._

“Whale came to see me again.”  She crossed her arms.  “He said that you pretty much told him to quit looking for Jefferson because it’s not worth the war it would ignite.”

“Those were hardly my exact words.”  Though he had wondered when this mess was going to rear its ugly head again.  Rumplestiltskin had spoken to his mother again about their plans to take Arthur’s heart and trade it for Jefferson, but Arthur had yet to show up in public without Danns’ or Zelena by his side.  And while Rumplestiltskin would hardly weep over Zelena’s grave if he happened to kill her again, they needed to do this in secret if they were going to do it.

He also hadn’t yet scraped up the courage to tell Belle that they planned to use her grandfather’s heart as a bargaining chip, which was not exactly a minor concern.  His conscience, however, was starting to make noises about leaving Jefferson in hands he knew were neither kind nor loving, and as novel as that feeling was, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t exactly fond of it.

“Well, that was _exactly_ what he heard.  And now he’s complaining to me.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “Can’t you, I don’t know, mollify him _somehow_?”

Not rolling his eyes in return—or offering to lock her and Whale in a room together—took a surprisingly large effort.  “Believe it or not, dear, I’m actually working on something, but it’s hardly something I’m going to discuss in public.”

“Well, then let’s go somewhere that isn’t public.”  She snorted.  “And let’s not make it your damn shop.  People barge in there far too often for my tastes.”

Rumplestiltskin had to chuckle.  “You’re telling me.”

“If I’d known that your work place would become such a hub for trouble, I would have made you the garbage man.”

“My, we’re feeling clever today.”

“Unlike you, I’m clever _every_ day.”

Rumplestiltskin only snorted, falling into step beside his student-turned-friend.  “Not nearly so clever as you think.  After all, can you imagine how _easy_ it would have been to dispose of bodies as the garbage man?  Sure, the work would have been filthy, but I’ve never been above getting my hands a little dirty if the situation warrants it.”

“You’re still a diabolical fiend, you know that?”  Regina didn’t sound particularly upset, even if she was eying him with feigned distaste as they passed Splash Toy Store.  “In fact—”

They both slammed to a stop as a door burst open a few feet away, revealing a brooding Nuckelavee.  There was a heart in his hand, one glowing brightly and beautifully, and Rumplestiltskin’s mind quickly whirled through the math.  The doorway led to stairs, which led to second floor offices and apartments—one of which belonged to Archie Hopper.  Even as eyes snapped to the heart, Nuckelavee’s head came up, and he could feel magic whipping in the air, from Regina and the fae both.  Yet for Rumplestiltskin, events seemed to move in slow motion the moment he dug into his well of magic, reaching more deeply than he’d ever dared before, and doing so quickly enough to almost make himself dizzy.

_It’s not a well,_ he reminded himself.  This power was a vast and bottomless ocean, one capable of drowning him if he wasn’t wise in its use.  He had been so careful thus far, terrified of using too much and turning himself into a new type of monster.  Yet Nuckelavee had always been the most powerful of the fae, so there was no time for half measures.  Power boiled out of his hands as both came up, slamming into Nuckelavee before the fae could even begin to react.  He could feel the tendrils of magic forming Nuckelavee’s defenses, yet Rumplestiltskin simply reached out with his right hand and _pulled_ , yanking them away as the fae snarled in shock and disbelief.

Time finally sped up, but the power that filled Rumplestiltskin did not fade; he could feel it rushing through him, light and dark magic both, boiling and ready.  It was the best high he’d ever felt, yet there were no voices here.  Nothing egging him on, nothing forcing him to do evil.  _I can actually fight for what is right…and that is a surprisingly addictive idea._

“Get the heart!” he snapped at Regina, batting an attack aside that would have lit them both on fire—and then stopping it in midair and forcing it to explode like a massive red-gold firework before it could catch Pieces Gifts on fire.

Regina wasn’t the type to argue in a battle; she just nodded brusquely.  “Right.” 

Rumplestiltskin twitched his right hand as Nuckelavee flung another spell at him, struggling to get away from the door he was pinned to.  But Rumplestiltskin ripped the second attack apart by sheer force of will, slamming an invisible fist into the fae and smashing him back against the door hard enough to make every nerve tingle and his hands go numb.  Just as Rumplestiltskin had hoped, in the depths of a fight Nuckelavee was not concerned with holding onto an unimportant heart, and Archie’s heart bounced free—only to leap right into Regina’s outstretched hands.

Nuckelavee saw it, but too late, and he disappeared in a swirl of silver smoke, clearly deciding that this was a fight for another day.  Yet Rumplestiltskin’s magic was already on him, and he found himself _reaching_ , driven by instinct, and rotating along the path that he knew Nuckelavee had followed.  Threads of magic raced outwards, and Rumplestiltskin _tugged_.

Nuckelavee slammed into the ground in the middle of Main Street, spitting and snarling.

“How the hell did you do that?” Regina gasped.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged, turning to face his opponent as he threw up a few blocks to keep the fae from teleporting away again.  _I have no idea._ “I’m the Sorcerer, remember?” 

“There’s no way you knew you could do that.”  She gave him a hard look.  “I can see the surprise on your face.”

“No, I didn’t.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward onto the street, finding himself oddly unafraid.  _Is this what courage feels like, or is it merely power making me feel safe?_   He knew it had to be the later, but it was nice to pretend.  “But it is a useful little trick.”

“Not useful enough, _Sorcerer,_ ” Nuckelavee spat, on his feet and gathering magic to himself.  “You’re a child compared to me.”

“Child I may be, but I’m done letting you turn humans into your toys.”  The words tumbled out on their own, and with them anger Rumplestiltskin hadn’t known he felt so fiercely. 

Yet that was the crux of this war, wasn’t it?  The fae would turn humanity into their playthings, would hurt people like his mother because they _could_ , would enslave people like Jefferson simply because they were pretty, and would force a good woman like Emma Swan closer and closer to darkness because it was amusing.  Rumplestiltskin had done terrible things in his time, had incurred debts he could never repay, yet he’d always acted with a _purpose_.  He had never seen anyone as a plaything.  He had manipulated and used people, yet he’d never done it for _fun_.

Nuckelavee laughed.  “Better men than you have tried to stop me.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled coldly.  “That’s probably why they failed.”

* * *

 

“Henry put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Emma had put off asking that question all through lunch, determined not to ruin one of the _few_ good times she had by bringing their matchmaking son into this mess.  Somehow, despite her bone-deep fear of Danns’ killing someone she loved, Emma had found herself laughing and enjoying herself.  They’d only gone to Granny’s, and they hadn’t eaten anything more interesting than onion rings, but Emma had almost felt like herself.

And she’d almost been able to forget that she’d failed to kill the Black Fairy a week earlier.  She had suffered for it—Emma would have nightmares about _that_ for the rest of her life—but she wasn’t entirely sure that Danns’ wouldn’t kill someone for her effort.  On one hand, Danns’ had seemed intensely amused by her efforts, particularly by the fact that Galatine had rejected her so absolutely.  On the other hand, though, Danns’ had promised further punishment…and the mere thought of what the Black Fairy could do terrified Emma.  Yet being with Bae had let her forget that, just for a little while, and she was grateful for that.

“Kind of.”  Her ex-boyfriend shrugged.  “I mean, he’s crazy about the idea of us together, if that’s what you’re getting at.  But I do like hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends.  I think you need someone who’s willing to ignore all the voices in your head and just talk to Emma.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”  Emma tried to force a smile, but the effort failed miserably.

“You okay?”

“I’m great, yeah.”  She knew that her acting skills weren’t really up to fulfilling Danns’ command to appear _normal_ , but at least by now the darkness wouldn’t claw at her for it.  Everyone assumed that it was just being the Dark One that depressed her, even if Emma was really starting to wish they wouldn’t.

“I can tell.”  His cheeky grin took the sting out of the words, though, and Emma managed a small smile in return.

They continued walking down the street in silence, heading towards her house, and a thought flashed through Emma’s mind.  _I can’t,_ she thought desperately, thinking of the night of pain she had suffered for trying to kill Danns’.  And yet…pain was only pain.  She was the Dark One, and nothing except the dagger really left a mark that lasted.  Emma didn’t really give a damn how much Danns’ hurt her; oh, she didn’t _like_ being tortured within an inch of losing her sanity, but she wasn’t the type to curl up in a ball and cry about it, either.  Really, all it did was make her angrier—a feeling all of her fellow Dark Ones one hundred percent agreed with.

_You want revenge?  Be subtle._ Nimue spoke up so unexpectedly that she almost made Emma jump.  _You’re no longer some hero, so stop trying to do stupidly heroic things like stabbing the Big Bad and saving everyone._

_Undermine her.  Hit her where she least expects it,_ Zoso added.  _If you can’t get the dagger back, use others to piss her off.  Then she’ll pay less attention to you._

She’d already tried that, hadn’t she?  Emma had tried to save Jefferson, but nothing had happened.  Maybe she’d started too big, though.  Maybe she should start smaller, should start by doing what Zoso said.  While Emma wasn’t the type to throw anyone else into the line of fire—unless it was someone who _really_ deserved it, anyway—she could start small.  That, of course, brought her earlier thought back to mind, so she hung a right and headed towards a different neighborhood than her own.

Of course, Bae didn’t miss the turn.  “Isn’t your house off to the left?”

“Yeah, but I want to walk this way.  That okay?”

He shrugged.  “Sure.”

They walked onwards in silence, heading towards the house Emma hated more than any other in Storybrooke.  She might have failed to kill Danns’, but she could undermine her in other ways—if they had a little bit of luck.  After all, spending so much time at Danns’ home meant that Emma knew who generally stopped by right _before_ she was summoned, and that was the traitorous bastard who she’d tried to rat out at Regina’s wedding.  Bae hadn’t taken the hint then, but if he saw Accolon now….

For once in her life, Emma got lucky.  They were across the street when Accolon walked out of Danns’ house, stopping on the doorstep to talk to Arthur and Zelena.  Emma couldn’t do anything to draw Bae’s attention to that, of course, but she didn’t need to.  Hearing their voices did the trick, and Bae’s eyes went wide right away.  To his credit, he didn’t even stop to ask why she’d come this way, or if she was trying to give him a hint.

“Get us out of here before they notice us, okay?”

Emma lifted a hand, and suddenly they were gone, arriving in her living room in a swirl of gray smoke.  Bae was watching her now, with an intensity that almost took Emma’s breath away.  “You saw that?”

“Yeah, I saw it.  He’s working for her, isn’t he?”

Suddenly, a roaring headache almost made her stagger.  Emma gritted her teeth.  “I can’t say.”

“Sorry.  Forget I asked.”

“It’s fine.”  Blinking a few times helped clear her head once she no longer had to worry about questions she couldn’t answer, and Emma took a deep breath.

“No, it’s not.”  Bae looked unexpectedly angry, and that made Emma do a double take.  “I know you’re trying to help—and I’ll tell Morgan about Accolon—but you’ve got to stop doing this, okay?  We _know_.  At least Pop does, and he told me, which—”

“Stop!”

He reached for her hand, shaking his head.  “Emma, you don’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

“No, I do.  Really.  _Stop_.”  Emma found herself clinging to Bae’s hand, trying not to imagine what Danns’ would do to him if she realized he knew that she had the dagger.  Emma didn’t know why the damned fairy wanted it kept a secret, other than to play her sick little games, but Emma knew she’d hurt Bae.  _I can’t let that happen,_ she thought in panic.  _I can’t._ “Don’t say it.  If you say it, I know you know.”

 “And you might tell…someone.”  Realization dawned on his face, and for a moment, Baelfire looked as miserable as Emma felt.  “I get it.  I really just meant to say that Pop knows how you feel, and he explained it to me.”

That was a lie, but Emma wouldn’t have to volunteer that little insight, would she?  His quick thinking meant she could breathe easier, meant that the truth could sink in.  _Bae knows._   Emma felt weak from relief.  _He knows Danns’ has the dagger, and so does Rumplestiltskin._ She burned to demand how long they’d known, if they were going to help her, or for _some_ sort of hope, but Emma knew she couldn’t.

Even amidst her tormented relief, the irony didn’t escape her.  She’d always been the one to save people; she’d been destined to be the Savior.  But now she was depending upon the former Dark One, the man who had once been the most dangerous villain of all, to save _her_.  Emma didn’t like that feeling, didn’t like not being able to save herself, but she could live with it.  Particularly if it kept her family safe.

Trying to pretend that her eyes didn’t flick over to Rumplestiltskin’s son with that thought, however, was a lot harder.

* * *

 

Generally, Regina hated sitting on the sidelines of _any_ fight…but today she was willing to make an exception.  She could tell herself that it was because she’d been more concerned with grabbing Archie’s heart than getting into a magical battle, which was important in and of itself, but the truth was a little more embarrassing.  For all her skills and all her power, Regina stayed out of the way because the magic was flying far too quickly for her to find any way to insert herself.  The fact that Rumplestiltskin was doing just fine on his own didn’t hurt, either.  In fact, he was using power that made a cold chill run down Regina’s spine, made her breath just a little short.  _I’m the Sorcerer, remember?_ he’d said, and damn did she remember.

Still, she couldn’t help but whistle in surprise when Nuckelavee slammed into the ground once more, cracking pavement and sending chips of asphalt flying.  He struggled to his feet, throwing a ring of fire at Rumplestiltskin, but it disintegrated in thin air as a wall of water met it.  Nuckelavee tried to dodge, but then a second wave of water reared out of the street, twisting into a watery tornado around the fae, who cursed loudly enough to make Regina’s ears ring.

Rumplestiltskin’s hands came down, and he watched with interest as Nuckelavee struggled against the water, his head cocked and his eyes intent.  Regina, however, wasn’t nearly so blasé; she knew she was missing something, and she hated that feeling.

“Water?” she asked incredulously.  “Really?”

“I’ve studied the legends about this charming fellow, and it seems that he’s hardly a full fae.  He’s part sea demon, which means that _fresh_ water is his antithesis.”  Her old teacher smiled thinly.  “That should hold him for some time.”

“You know, as mayor I should point out that putting obstructions like that in the middle of the road _really_ isn’t considered a public service.”  But she could live with it if it got this sick son of a bitch out of their hair.  People could just drive around him—at least in the short term.  There was no way to know how long that little water tornado would last.

“And there I was thinking that he’d make a lovely decoration.”

“ _Rumple._ ”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, looking highly amused by her annoyance.  “Relax, dear.  Have you ever known me not to have a plan in mind?”

“No, but I’ve known some of those plans to be downright stupid,” she shot back.  Then Regina gave him a sweet smile.  “Though I have to admit that it’s nice to see you doing the heavy lifting for once.”

“Very funny.”  Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, and Regina just grinned.  Meanwhile, Nuckelavee managed to reduce the watery tornado in height, so that it was only as tall as his waist—yet for some reason, the fae did not step free.

Instead, he glared at Rumplestiltskin.  “You’re going to regret this when I deliver you to my Lady.”

“I doubt that.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Both parts, that is.”

Regina felt a _twitch_ of magic, and suddenly a familiar round box appeared in Rumplestiltskin’s hand.   _Nothing good comes of that damned thing!_   She stared at the Hat box in dismay, remembering her own experiences fighting to free the fairies from its confines.  She’d needed the dagger, though, and Emma—and her favorite little knife—were nowhere in sight.  So what was Rumplestiltskin up to?

“What the hell did you bring out _that_ for?” she demanded.

“Fae are notoriously hard to kill, and I’m not quite as murder-happy as I was.  But this one needs to be taken out of the game.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, you and Emma dealt with the Chernabog, so he’ll have little company in there.”

Regina scowled; Nuckelavee barked out a laugh. 

“You wouldn’t dare.  My Lady will—”

“Will _what_ , exactly?”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, his left hand passing over the box.  Magic swirled in the air, and the Sorcerer’s Hat appeared, leaving Regina to blink in surprise.  “Will she be angry?  Certainly.  But will she admit that you were doing her bidding here, with Doctor Hopper’s heart in hand?  I think not.”  His smile was cold.  “Nor do I believe she will claim responsibility for those you killed in your sick little dances, _particularly_ the teens you danced to death in the park two and a half weeks ago.”

Nuckelavee just snarled and struggled harder to escape the tornado, which continued to decrease in size as Rumplestiltskin approached.  Regina started wondering why he didn’t simply step out of it, and then caught herself.  She laughed aloud.

“You can’t get out of that, can you?  You’re part sea demon, and you can’t cross fresh water.”

That made his uncanny eyes zero in on her.  “You will look _lovely_ screaming in pain.”

“Get in line.”

“I will— _no!_ ”

Another wave of Rumplestiltskin’s hand had opened the Sorcerer’s Hat, and Regina watched in satisfaction as the Hat reached out just as the watery tornado collapsed.  Nuckelavee fought, but nothing he did helped.  Within moments, he vanished into the Hat, which then shut with a white flash of magic.  Shivering, Regina stepped forward to stand next to her old mentor.  She studied his satisfied expression, trying to read whatever was on his mind.

“You’re not charging that thing up for something, are you?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Not this time.”

“You sure about that?” Regina wanted to trust him, and he wasn’t the Dark One, which meant she _did_ believe him…but the last time he’d tried to suck power into that damned Hat really hadn’t turned out very well.

“Quite.  Unless you’d like me to let this one out?  I could, but I think we’d all agree that he’s a public menace that the asylum isn’t exactly up to holding.”

“Oh, he’s definitely a menace.  And he can stay in there forever as far as I’m concerned.  You just need to keep that thing away from Emma so that she doesn’t get suckered into becoming all Uber Dark One or whatever would happen.”

“Believe me, I know.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was haunted, and for Regina, that sealed the deal.  She knew him better than most, after all, and he really had changed.  Sometimes it paid to be careful, but she was going to trust him.

Besides, he _had_ promised to take care of Nuckelavee, and she knew that the old imp always kept his deals.  She just hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy.

* * *

 

Far away, in another land, the ground began to shake ominously.  Actually, it had started several weeks earlier, following the giant earthquake that had taken place almost three months ago, but now the rumbling became impossible to ignore, even for people who tended to burst out into song at the slightest provocation.  Good tidings and bad both brought forth catchy tunes, even after the ‘real life happily ever afters’ that most of the land’s residents were currently experiencing.  Still, the quaking and trembling ground was difficult to ignore—for one, not knowing if you were going to fall down or not made singing difficult. 

But all was not lost!  Legends spoke of an epicenter for the pulsating and groaning ground, of a place where the problems were the worst, and—as any follower of tales knew—some heroic effort would undoubtedly resolve the issue of their suddenly unstable world.  Unfortunately, being a rather small world, the Land of Music was rather short of heroes at the moment.  In fact, since, since his favorite hero had run off to a seaside cottage, the king headed out to investigate on his own.

Well.  He didn’t quite go _alone_ , of course.  While he left his queen to rule in his stead (because no one crossed her, even if they were quite content to cross the king), he did bring his best friend along.  Or, more properly, his best friend brought _him._

Dragons were useful buddies, after all.  For realises.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin’s phone rang just as he slid the Hat back into its hiding place; after he had stored Emma’s old darkness inside it, he had created a new place to store the Sorcerer’s Hat, sealed underneath the floor to his workroom, surrounded by wards that even a fae like Nuckelavee could not break.  Now that Nuckelavee was in the Hat, it was doubly imperative to keep it away from anyone who might seek to use the power stored inside, but he was fairly confident that his wards were up to the task.  That didn’t mean he didn’t plan to ask Belle to add some of her own flavor of magic to keeping the Hat secure; she was the only one he trusted to access this hidey hole, and her own magic was different enough from his that it filled in any gaps he might have inadvertently left.  But Belle was still at the library, unless she was the one calling.

One glance at his phone, however, revealed that his grandson was on the other end, not Belle.  “Hello, Henry.”

“Hey, Grandpa!  Robin and I could use a ride—can you come out here?”

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “Out where?”

“Um, my Mom’s.  Remember?  We’re, uh—”

“Right.  Of course.”  Rumplestiltskin had almost forgotten about Henry’s mission during the fight with Nuckelavee, and he was still expecting an adrenaline crash at any moment.  He’d used too much power _far_ too easily, and it had to catch up to him at some point.  Didn’t it?  But that was a thought for another time; he needed to focus.  “Why do you need help leaving?”

“Cause I don’t think we want to walk around town with what I found.  We’re around the corner.”  Henry hesitated.  “And, uh, you might not want to put it in your car, either.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach drop.  He’d wanted Henry to look around, not to steal things that Emma would undoubtedly notice were missing.  “What did you _take_?”

“Um.  A sword?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly later than usual update! Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Four—“The Death that Cannot Die”, in which Regina returns Archie’s heart, Danns’ acts on the information Isaac gave her, Zelena tries to make an new ally, Morgan runs into someone unexpected, Rumplestiltskin keeps planning, and a heart is crushed.
> 
> And yes, that glimpse into the other world is indeed one you might recognize. There's a slight crossover going on here, but if you don't recognize it, there's no reason to worry--anything you need to know will be explained.


	84. The Death that Cannot Die

Henry’s grandfather appeared in a swirl of golden smoke, mere feet away from where he and Robin had taken shelter behind a shed.  They’d taken the sword—which Henry could _tell_ was magic—out of the Emma’s basement and cut through her backyard into a neighbor’s.  Then, they’d quickly gone around a corner and found another backyard to hide in, between a shed and a row of trees that should have shielded them from view.  It wouldn’t do any good if Emma got home and realized the sword was gone, of course, but it might help if Emma didn’t notice the lock had been picked and then re-locked.  Still, running around town with a magical sword in hand would garner way too much attention, which was why Henry had called his grandfather.

Sometimes, having the Sorcerer in the family was really useful.  Even if seeing his immaculately dressed Grandpa Gold standing in knee-high grass behind a shed with crooked siding and peeling paint was kind of weird.

“Hey, Grandpa.”  Henry grinned, but he didn’t fail to notice how apprehensive Robin looked.  He didn’t _think_ that was because of any special tension between Rumplestiltskin and Robin, but he couldn’t be sure.

His grandfather, however, speared him with a hard look.  “I do recall our agreement being that you should _look_ around your mother’s home.  Not steal things.”

“I couldn’t leave a magical sword there!  I think it might be Excalibur.”  Henry didn’t know what the big deal was; he was safe, wasn’t he?  He hadn’t gotten caught, and they had the sword.

“It isn’t.” 

“How do you know?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “Let’s just say I’m well aware of Excalibur’s fate.  Or most of it, anyway.” 

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but can’t we have this discussion somewhere safer?” Robin spoke up suddenly, reminding Henry of why they’d hidden behind the shed in the first place.  He didn’t know when Emma would get back, after all, and what if she could track them—or the sword—with magic? 

But the sword wasn’t Excalibur.  Henry had really hoped the sword would be; he didn’t know a _lot_ about Excalibur, but he did know that it was supposed to be the most magical sword in creation.  _Except for Galatine!_   Henry felt his eyes go wide, and he turned to his grandfather to ask, only to be swept off of his feet with magic.  The trio landed in Rumplestiltskin’s work room at the Sorcerer’s house, and Henry almost laughed out loud when Robin started muttering curses under his breath.

“A warning would be nice next time.” The outlaw’s glare wasn’t too harsh, though, and Henry thought he saw his grandfather smirk slightly.

“My apologies.”

“Is this Galatine, Grandpa?”  Henry couldn’t wait any longer to ask.  “If it isn’t Excalibur, and it’s magical, it could be Galatine, right?”

“That’s a possibility, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin reached for the sword, and Henry handed it over, watching his grandfather study the blade intently.  “I’d have to ask my mother.  She would know.”

Henry felt himself trying to bounce up and down, and barely managed to hold still.  But the idea was so exciting!  Morgan had been looking for Galatine _everywhere_ , and if he’d been able to find the magical sword, maybe they could use it to help his mother.  Or maybe they could at least use it against the Black Fairy before everything in the town went straight to hell.  “Can we go ask her?”

“Hold on there, Henry,” Robin cut in.  “First, we need to make sure that Emma doesn’t know _who_ has it—and perhaps why she has this sword in the first place.  If it’s so powerful, why would she keep it a secret?”

“Hoarding magical objects is part of the nature of her curse.”  There was something else behind his grandfather’s shrug, but Henry didn’t know if that was because he was remembering his own days as the Dark One or something else.

“Without telling us?” Henry did wonder about that.  He thought Emma was _trying_.

“Sometimes, what seems logical with those voices going on in your head isn’t logical at all.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly.  “I could write you a book on the many instances I was certain that I was on the right path, despite knowing the decision was wrong.”

“Like not telling us that she has the sword everyone on the good side is looking for.” 

“Exactly.”  His grandfather ran a hand down the blade.  “If this is Galatine, Henry, you were very lucky—and very _right_ to take it.  Keeping this sword out of the Black Fairy’s hands is of the utmost importance.”

Henry nodded, glancing Robin’s way.  “We need to keep it a secret, too, don’t we?”  He grimaced.  “Even from Mom?”

Robin snorted.  “Which one?”

“Emma.  Right, Grandpa?”

“For now, let’s keep this between the three of us.  Let me ascertain the sword’s identity before we tell Regina, please.”  Even Rumplestiltskin frowned at that, seeming to understand exactly what he was asking of Regina’s husband and son.  Yet he didn’t waver, and Henry knew he was right.

So much for the hope that they could tell at least one of his mothers.  Henry tried not to heave a sigh; he’d done something incredibly important today!  And yeah, so what if he was supposed to just look around?  He’d gotten Galatine back, and that was _huge_.  Henry was definitely proud of that…and bursting to tell someone.

“Can I, uh, tell Dad at least?  He’ll see the sword here, ‘cause he lives here.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Yes.  But no one else, you understand?”

He grinned.  “Okay.”

Henry was good at secrets, after all.  He might have been so excited that he wanted to share, but he understood how important it was to keep this quiet until they knew if the sword was definitely Galatine and why Emma had it.  He hoped it was just because she was the Dark One, and because Dark Ones liked to hoard anything magical.  Henry couldn’t think of any other reason for her to hold onto the sword and tell no one, and he really didn’t like that.  Worry was starting to form a tiny knot in his gut, and he hoped his instincts were wrong.  Emma was beating the darkness.  Wasn’t she?

* * *

 

How _she’d_ ended up doing this, Regina didn’t really know.  Oh, she understood that Rumple had to take the damn Hat back and hide it, but Regina’s relationship with the cricket had never been very good.  She’d used him in more than one scheme, and while she hadn’t been the one to lock him up and torture him, she’d turned a blind eye to his plight.  She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable around him, but that didn’t mean she was his friend.  In fact, it meant the exact opposite…and Regina knew that better than anyone.

However, unless she was going to just carry Archie’s heart around until she found someone more friendly to drop it off (Henry or David came to mind, but her older son was off with his birth father and her stepson-in-law was busy playing sheriff), she had to return it.   So, Regina made herself take a deep breath, square her shoulders, and knock on Archie’s apartment door like there was nothing wrong.  After all, she wasn’t afraid of him.  Archie was probably the single nicest person in town, and she was here for a _good_ reason.  For once.

The door opened to reveal a very startled former cricket.  “Regina?  What are you doing here?”

“I came to return this.”  She held the heart out awkwardly, realizing how much stranger it was to deliver a heart that _she_ hadn’t stolen.

“How…how did you get my heart?”

“It’s a long story.”  She snorted.  “Let’s just say that it includes an obnoxious fae, a Hat, and me trying to keep this heart of yours from getting covered in dirt.”

Archie’s eyes went wide.  “ _You_ defeated Nuckelavee?”

Leave it to him to know the jerk’s name.  Regina shook her head.  “No, uh, it was Rumplestiltskin, believe it or not.  But he’s a bit busy, so I came to give this back.”

“Thank you.”  Archie’s smile was annoyingly heartwarming.  Then he started.  “Where are my manners? Would you like to come in?  Can I offer you anything?  I don’t have much right now, but—”

“It’s okay,” she cut him off quickly.  “Let me just stick this back in you, and then you’ll be as free as you want.  No more house arrest.”  Regina managed a real smile.  “I hear Ruby’s already baking a cake.”

Archie beamed.  “That’s so nice of her.”  

“Well, you deserved better than this.”  It probably went without saying, but _someone_ probably needed to say it to Archie.  The poor guy had been cooped up in here for months.

“Thank you, Regina.”  His eyes met hers, and Regina tried not to look away.  She always felt like he was reading her soul far too accurately, and she didn’t like it when people got that good of a look at the blackened remnants of who she used to be.

“Don’t thank me.  Now, are you ready for me to put this back in?”

“Yes.”  Archie bobbed his head in relieved excitement.  “Definitely, yes.”

“Then brace yourself.”

Once, Regina would have lined the heart up and shoved it in with all of her might, just to prove her power.  Once, she would have sneered, dropped it at his feet, and told him to find someone else to do it—or to man up and do it himself.  But Regina wasn’t that woman any longer, so she pushed Archie’s heart in gently.  Watching the look of awe and joy on his face was enough to take her breath away, and not for the first time, she realized how much more _rewarding_ it was to help people.  Sure, sometimes being nice was a pain in the ass…but sometimes it was really worth the work.

* * *

 

Danns’ did not plan to take chances with the information Isaac had given her earlier, so she arranged for the 9-1-1 call herself.  Oh, she wasn’t foolish enough to actually make the call—she reserved that honor for an old woman who had been birding in the park—but she waited in the park for Storybrooke’s sheriff to arrive, watching from the shadows as David Nolan excited his patrol car and prowled towards the lake.  The old woman had claimed to see a body there, and there _was_ one waiting for him, now.  Of course, the body was that of the same old woman, who had proven doubly useful.  Danns’ waited for David to bend over the body, waited for the confusion to color his features, and then stepped out from behind the clump of trees that had been sheltering her.

“I admit that it’s a bit maudlin, but she served her purpose well, don’t you think?”

David jumped, but wheeled on her with admirable courage.  “You killed her.”

“I did.”  Danns’ saw no reason to lie; she was going to erase his memory of this encounter, anyway.  After all, it wouldn’t do for David to know she had his heart.  Not with what Heart he had.

Not long ago, she had been operating under the assumption that the Truest Believer had to have been born within the curse or shortly before it, but this information had made her reevaluate that belief.  It was possible that the previous Truest Believer had died untimely, which meant that _anyone_ could have become the new one…such as the suddenly confused and angry prince standing before her.

“Why?  She was innocent, and—”

“I needed bait.”  Danns’ shrugged.  “She was available, and I needed a death to get your attention.”

He glowered.  “You certainly have it.”

“Good.” 

Three swift strides carried her forward.  Her right hand swept outwards to knock the gun out of David’s hand before it could come up, and her left shot forward, plunging right into David’s chest.  There was a strange touch of resistance before the heart came free, but Danns’ hand exited in good order, revealing a glowing red heart.

Red.

His heart was _red_.

“You are not the Truest Believer.”  Staring at the heart made her eyes narrow, and Danns’ spoke the next words in a snarl.  “And this is not even your heart.”

“No.  It isn’t.”  David met her gaze fearlessly, and Danns’ _hated_ to see that look on a human.  It made her want to destroy them all.

Her eyes narrowed.   “You are the Heartless King.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing, but it’s as good a description as any.”  His shrug only infuriated her further—as did the fact that nothing _happened_ when she squeezed the heart roughly.  David should have been crying out in pain, but he didn’t even react.  The heart in her hand only beat even more strongly.

“Tell me who the Truest Believer is,” Danns’ commanded, holding that infernal heart more tightly.  Whose was it?  The heart had to belong to someone close to David; otherwise, he could never have survived with it in his chest.  _His dead wife,_ she realized.  The sheer power of the True Love they must have shared was staggering, and the fact that Arthur had killed the woman whose heart this was made things a little more sweet.

“No.”

Danns’ blinked.  _No?  He can’t refuse while I’m_ —the thought cut off with an audible snarl.  Of course he could lie to her.  This wasn’t his heart.  And David clearly knew it, judging from the confident expression on his face.

“You may be able to lie to me when I hold this heart, but it keeps you alive.  If I crush this heart, you will die.”  Humans always wanted to live, she knew.  They all feared death.  Even Merlin had, in the end.

“I know.”  David shrugged.  “But I’m still not going to tell you.”

“Do you think I won’t kill you?” she asked incredulously.

“No.  I’m sure you will.  But I’m willing to die to protect the actual Truest Believer.  Do you think I wouldn’t have been when we told Isaac that lie?”  He met her gaze again, and if she hadn’t been so angry, Danns’ would have been impressed by his courage.  _I think I chose the wrong king.  Pity I will have to kill this one._   “Go ahead.”

She bit back the urge to light him on fire.  “Do you have any idea how much I can make you suffer?”

“Whatever it is, it probably won’t hurt more than your husband killing my wife did.”

 “Ah, but there are many types of True Love, aren’t there?”  Suddenly, Danns’ smiled, finding herself back on balance as the idea struck her.  “The love your wife felt for you—and you for her—has sustained you even without your heart.  But there are others whom you love just as much.”

That finally made him flinch, but what she really relished was the way the color drained from his face when she drew the Dark One’s dagger out of her sleeve.  David’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide and terrified, and Danns’ just gave him her sweetest smile.

“Dark One, I summon thee.”

* * *

 

“You could make a new start, you know.”  Zelena ran her hand down his chest, giving Arthur her best smile.  “She’s never going to let you realize your full potential.”

Her lover snorted.  “You do know I reigned as a supreme king for decades, yes?”

“With her always pulling your strings from the shadows.”  Not rolling her eyes was hard; Arthur was slavishly devoted to the Black Fairy, but she thought she was starting to make some progress in changing that.  She just had to make him see that there was far more profit in being with _her_ than with his fairy wife.

“We understand one another, she and I.”  Arthur pulled away, redoing the buttons Zelena had undone only moments earlier.  “Which is more than I can say for the two of us.”

Zelena pouted.  “I think we understand one another _very_ well.”  She threw a pointed look at his crotch, but Arthur ignored it.

He ignored _her_.  What the hell was wrong with him?

“It’s been fun, but if you think I’m leaving my wife for you, you’re dumber than I thought.”  He actually laughed at her.  “You’re a beautiful woman and a powerful sorceress, but I’m married to the Queen of the _Fae_.   No one betrays her and lives, and I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on her.”

Zelena was fuming so deeply that she barely heard him.  She’d never had a man refuse her like this—or, at least, only once, and that didn’t _count_.  She wanted him, wanted to take something away from the damn fairy who seemed to be in the midst of taking all the power in Storybrooke.  She’d wanted to prove to Danns’ a’Bhàis that she was a force to be reckoned with, but Arthur wasn’t cooperating!  Yet she knew that killing him would be foolish…and it probably wouldn’t bother the Black Fairy very much at all.  _Arthur is more loyal to her than she is to him,_ she thought behind her anger.  _But I know a way to hurt_ both _of them, don’t I?_

“Of course you aren’t.”  She forced herself to smile.  “Forget I said anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Zelena teleported herself away in a cloud of smoke.  She had plans to make.

* * *

 

The bastard would normally have been back by now.

Tink had a pretty good idea what Nuckelavee’s schedule was after so many days in his hands, and she knew that he always liked to come by after lunch.  Even if he just dropped by for a few minutes to make her suffer, he was bound to show up.  It made for a depressingly painful routine, but at least it let her count the days in the windowless basement he’d shoved her into.  She really had hoped that he’d kill her quickly, but that apparently wasn’t going to happen.  Even though she was pretty sure that she’d convinced him that she _didn’t_ actually know who the Truest Believer was—or at least that Blue hadn’t told her who it was, which she hadn’t—Nuckelavee seemed to view her as a wonderful toy to play with.

But Tink wasn’t the _playing_ sort.  She’d survived Neverland and the worst Pan had to offer, and Nuckelavee was only worse in a physical sense; he hurt her more, but Pan had been a master of mind games.  If she’d had to pick one to live with, Tink actually preferred the physical pain of straight-up torture.  Pan’s idea of games had been far worse in the long term.

Of course, that didn’t mean she had any intention of sticking around.  Not if Nuckelavee was going to be stupid enough to leave her alone for this long, anyway.  She was a fairy, which meant that she technically needed a wand to do magic…but she’d learned a thing or two since coming to Storybrooke.  Fairies needed their wands and fairy dust to do _fairy_ magic, but not to do normal, human-style magic.  Tink still wasn’t very good at it, but she knew enough to get herself out of a pair of shackles.  Even if it did take her four tries.

The door proved easier, even if she was terrified that she’d open it and find Nuckelavee laughing on the other side.  But she didn’t, and he was nowhere in sight when she crept out of the surprisingly nice house on the west side of town.  It figured that the convent would be to the east, though, which meant she was in for a long walk.

But at least that was walking.  It sure as hell beat being locked up in a basement.

* * *

 

Walks in the evening helped Morgan clear her head, and a lot had been happening lately that made her need time to think.  Over the years she’d spent wasting away in that crystal cave—waiting, she’d claimed, planning and making ready—Morgan had come to terms with the fact that her magic had faded.  Such things _happened_ to humans, even half powers, who poured so much of their strength into creating portals.  Had she been less than she was, the effort of sending Colette and Lancelot into the future would have killed her, and Morgan had told herself to be content with the small magic she had left.

Until it started coming _back._

She wasn’t sure what to make of this, wasn’t sure how she felt about being powerful again.  Oh, the feeling was heady, extraordinary, and even a little breathtaking, but she had grown used to being a has-been.  Now her magic was returning, and even though it had a slightly darker cast than she was accustomed to, it was _her_ magic.  Emma’s darkness might have been the catalyst to awaken it, but the magic was all Morgan’s.  In her younger years, she would have celebrated and felt vindicated. But now, older and wiser as she was…she simply hoped that it—

“Ah!”

A body slammed into her, sweeping Morgan right off her feet and sending her crashing into the sidewalk.  Her assailant landed on top of her, and had a distressed sound of pain not come out of the other person, Morgan might have used that new-old magic of hers to do something regrettable.  But focusing on magic made her senses open, and Morgan’s mind finally caught up with who had hit her.  _She’s a fairy.  Not fae._

“I’m sorry.”  The fairy scrambled to her feet, revealing herself to be short and slender, with blonde hair and haunted eyes.  She took a few quick steps back, as if worried she’d be grabbed.  “I’ll just be going—”

“Wait!” Morgan managed to get the word out before the young fairy fled, noticing the magic twisting around the poor girl.  _It_ was fae, dangerous and deadly, and Morgan knew that signature.

_Well, at least Rumplestiltskin took that psychopath out of the game!_

“Wait for what?”  But the young fairy stopped, at least, crossing her arms nervously.

“You’re one of the fairies that the fae took.  Nuckelavee in particular.”

“Says who?”  The hostile look she got didn’t even make Morgan flinch.  She was used to that; her fae blood often turned fairies off right away.  But this one studied her with narrowed and intelligent eyes.  “You’re not one of them.  Not completely.”

“My name is Morgan.  I am—”

“Half fae.  Astrid told me about you.”  Her chin came up shakily.  “I’m Tink.  Tinker Bell.”

_She must have escaped,_ Morgan realized with a smile she barely managed to suppress.  _Good for her._   Nuckelavee was out of the picture, but that didn’t mean his magic wasn’t hard to get around.  That meant this Tink was a very talented fairy indeed…and she needed more protection that Reul Ghorm could or would provide.

“I think you’d best come with me,” she said gently.  “They will look for you in the convent.”

“I know.”  Tink grimaced.  “But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You do, now.”

* * *

 

“Will it hold him?” Belle asked, looking at where the the again-boxed Sorcerer’s Hat was hidden under the floor.  Nuckelavee was safe inside the Hat, but she was still worried. 

“Oh, yes.  It held Reul Ghorm.”  Her husband’s smile was cold.  “Though I somehow doubt it could have held her for long, had she been of a mind to escape and willing to use the full strength of her power.”

“Why didn’t she?”  Belle had spent hours—days!—researching how to free the fairies from the Hat, using that to bury her grief over having exiled Rumplestiltskin.  Eventually, she had only found a way because Rumplestiltskin had provided it, in his guise as an online professor. 

“I expect she prefers not to demonstrate the depth of her power.”  He grimaced unexpectedly.  “I begin to understand why.”

Surprised, Belle turned to face him.  She’d never thought she’d hear the day that Rumple agreed with Blue!  “Why?”

“Power like this—even the lightest of magic—has a price.  All magic does.”  He smiled crookedly.  “In my case, as in hers, when you demonstrate that you _can_ do things…people want you to do them.  Even if you ought not.”

Belle nodded; she knew human nature.  Ever since her husband had inherited Merlin’s power, people had looked at him differently.  Had he been anyone other than Rumplestiltskin, their door would probably have been beaten down long ago.  “No one’s asked for anything yet, have they?”

“Not yet.  But they will.”

“Because of this?”  She gestured at the hat, and then stepped closer to rub his arm.  There was a strangeness in Rumplestiltskin’s expression, something uncomfortable that she couldn’t quite place. 

He swallowed.  “In part.”

“What’s wrong, Rumple?”  Gently, Belle reached up and drew his face around so that he looked in her eyes, and she saw a slight smile flicker across his face.

“This power frightens me.  It’s so… _easy_.”  He let out a breath.  “And I worry where it might take me.  What it might make of me.”

“You can’t become like you were before, can you?”  Belle knew the answer, but she knew that he had to say it.

“No.  No, that takes more than just power.”  Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes.  “I just…I just feel so unworthy of it, and yet I love it.  And I wonder if that makes me into a different kind of monster.”

“There’s nothing wrong with loving the power as long as you use it for the right reasons, Rumple,” Belle whispered, leaning in to kiss him gently.  It had taken her a _long_ time to understand that, to understand why her husband loved power so much.  Once, she’d thought that a tragic flaw, something that had to be _fixed_ , but now she understood it was just a part of him.  In the end, perhaps it was almost better to give a self-professed coward such power.  He would always be afraid of using it wrongly.

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, sweetheart?  I know how—”

“How I used to feel.  People grow and change.  People learn.”  She kissed him again, and was glad for how he melted into her this time.  “I understand that power makes you feel like you can be _someone_.  I never needed that, but we’re not the same person.  You do, and I don’t love you any less for it.”

He bent his head so that his forehead rested against hers.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve me and worse.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled, but Belle cut him off again with a kiss, and then drew him out of his workroom.  There was time before dinner needed cooking, and she had plans for her husband.  Besides, Henry and Roland had finally gone back to Regina’s and Robin’s, and Baelfire was out with Killian.  They’d not had privacy for far too many days, and Belle intended to make use of the time they had.

* * *

 

This time, the summons brought her to the lake, which Emma hadn’t expected.  It took her a moment to get her bearings, but when she did, she noticed Danns’ holding the dagger—and her father standing only a few feet away.  Emma felt her eyes go wide.

“Dad?”

“Emma!”  The horror on David’s face made it plain that he could tell she was being controlled, but shame coiled up in Emma’s stomach all the same.  She hadn’t wanted him to know.  She hadn’t wanted _anyone_ to know!

_He’ll hate you,_ Nimue whispered.  _He’ll hate you for being so weak that you follow that bitch of a fae’s commands.  He’ll see that you’re nothing, just a tool.  You’ll see what your dear Daddy does then!_

_So much for the love of that family you cling to,_ Zoso added snidely, and Emma wanted desperately to block them out…but she couldn’t.  All she could do was endure the darkness whipping through her, staring at her father and wishing anyone else was there.  Desperate for distraction, she whirled on Danns’.

“Did you summon me for a reason, or did you just decide you were sick of keeping this a secret?” The words were a snarl, and they’d probably get her hurt later, but Emma didn’t care.

“I always have a reason.”  The Black Fairy’s smile was dark.  “Now, your father will make a decision.  Either he will tell me what I want to know, or I will force you to kill him.”

“ _What_?”  The word yelped out of Emma with the force of a gunshot, and she spun to face her father as she felt all color drain out of her face.

David’s wide eyes were on Danns’.  “You wouldn’t be so cruel.  You can’t make her—”

“I can.  And I will.”

Emma felt cold as her gaze met her father’s, felt like she was moving underwater and every limb weighed a thousand pounds.  She wanted to go to him, but her legs just wouldn’t obey her commands, and all she could do was stare.  _Not him.  Please not him.  Not after Mom—_ Breathing was so hard.  She couldn’t remember ever having been so afraid in her life.  _Oh, just let him die.  Better he dies now before he starts to hate you,_ the darkness whispered, and Emma shook her head violently.

“Just tell her.  Whatever it is.  Please, just tell her.”  _I can’t lose you, too!_

“Emma…You know I love you, and I don’t blame you for anything that happens.”  Why did David look so torn?  Why wasn’t he just saying whatever he had to say?

“No.”  She shook her head again, wildly, feeling hair escaping her bun as she did so.  Tears were burning in her eyes.  “No.  Not like this.  Not you, too.”

“Then tell him to tell me who the Truest Believer is.”  Danns’ looked utterly unmoved as she extended the heart in her hand towards Emma.  “Or take this and crush his heart.”

_Oh, God._ She wanted Henry.  That was why David was being so stubborn.  But how could Emma choose between her father and her son?  She couldn’t.  She just couldn’t.  It wasn’t a choice she could make, wasn’t a choice she could even _contemplate._ “I can’t.  Please.  I can’t.”

“You can.  Unless—you know who it is as well, don’t you?”  Danns’ turned on her, eyes blazing with sudden interest.

Emma’s lips moved on their own.  “Yes.”

“Oh, that’s rather brilliant.  How foolish of me not to ask earlier.”  A soft laugh.  “Who is the Truest Believer, Dark One?”

“No.”  Emma tried to shake her head, tried to fight, tried to block the words out.  Everything in her rebelled against answering, and she tried shaking her head again, tried focusing on her love for Henry.  That love was the purest part of her, the one part that was true and good and—

Pain exploded in her mind, claws ripping into her soul.  Crying out, Emma collapsed to her knees, clutching at her head as the darkness itself turned on her, tearing, clawing, _hurting._   Distantly, she thought she heard her father shouting for Danns’ to stop, thought he tried to come towards her and was repulsed by magic, but Emma wasn’t sure.  Everything hurt, and she felt like her soul was bleeding.  But she _had_ to fight.

“Tell me.”  The cold words echoed in her mind, over and over again.  _Tell me._   “Now.”

Emma bit her lips hard enough to make them bleed, but the word still came out in a broken whimper.  “Henry.”

Immediately, the pain relented, but she refused to look up.  Emma just stared at the ground, hating everything she’d ever been.  _Damn this.  If I hadn’t been so stupid as to think I could beat the darkness, Henry wouldn’t be in danger.  My father wouldn’t be in danger._ Everyone _I love is in danger, and it is all my fault._

“You son?” Danns’ asked delicately.

“Yes.”  Emma gritted her teeth, but the truth was out already.

“Now I see why you were both so stubborn.”  She dared to look up, and she _hated_ that smile.  “Get up.”

Emma was on her feet before she could think about resisting.  Her head was spinning and she felt cold and broken.  She was such a monster that she had betrayed her own son.  She couldn’t look at her father.  She just couldn’t.

“It’s not your fault, Emma,” David said softly, but she could only shake her head.

“It’s all my fault.”  Her whisper was dull and dead; Emma just wanted to disappear into the ground and take it all back.

“No, it isn’t.”  She shook her head, but her father continued gently:  “Look at me.”

Emma looked up, biting her lip again.

“Henry knows how much you love him.  This isn’t your fault.  He’ll understand.”

The worst part was that Emma knew that Henry _would_ understand.  And the others would do everything they could to protect him, particularly now that David could tell them that Danns’ had the dagger.  Or maybe Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin already had.  That thought brought with it a glimmer of hope, and Emma found herself giving her father a tiny nod in return.  She might have been forced to betray her son, but she could still fight for him.  Emma would do everything she could to protect him—no matter what.

“As beautiful a father-daughter moment as this is, I am afraid I must interrupt.”  Danns’ whimsical comment made Emma’s head snap around; she _knew_ that playful tone, and it was never good.  “You do remember what I told you would happen the next time you defied me, don’t you?”

_Every time you defy me, someone you love will die._

“No.  No, you can’t.  I _told_ you!”  Emma tried to take a step forward, _burning_ to do something violent to Danns’, but she only made it a few inches before her legs stopped obeying.

“And that’s why I won’t make you do the deed.  You’ve earned that much latitude.”

“Not him.  _Please_ —”

Danns’ squeezed the heart to dust, and David dropped like a rock.

Emma screamed.

* * *

 

Morgan was around the corner from her house when she ran into her grandsons.  Both of them recognized her companion right away.

“Tink!  We’d heard you were missing.”  Baelfire got in first, but only barely.

“Dead was what the others made it sound like,” Killian added.  “Though I’m glad to see you’re not gone, love.”

“Yeah, breathing is nice.  And so is not being a fae prisoner.”  Tink gave them a smile, though, one that was warm enough that Morgan could guess they were all friends.

Bae cocked his head curiously.  “How’d you two meet each other?  No offense, Grandma, but I didn’t think you were the hanging-out-with-fairies type.”

Morgan snorted.  “I’m not.  But you could say that Tinker Bell here knocked me right off my feet.”

“I almost ran her over getting away from Nuckelavee’s little prison.”  Tink shrugged.  “And Morgan was nice enough to offer me somewhere to stay, since the fae probably will look for me at the convent.”

“Ah…” Bae exchanged a glance with Killian.  “That’s probably a bad idea.”

“Why?” Morgan felt her eyes narrowing; she trusted her grandsons, but there was clearly something they weren’t telling her, and that was _not_ something she appreciated.

“Do you recall how Mordred has always claimed Accolon is up to no good?” Killian’s smile turned into a scowl.  “And while he may tend to yap about that like a nervous dog, this time he's barking up the right tree.”

“What?”

“I saw him coming out of the Black Fairy’s house.  And he and Arthur seemed really friendly about, well, everything.”  Bae shrugged apologetically.  “It seemed to be something of a habit.”

Blinking, Morgan thought back at the many times her elder son had claimed Accolon was a spy for Danns’.  Mordred never had proof, mind, but he’d never liked Accolon, either.  _Oddly enough, that’s one of the few things he and Rumplestiltskin have agreed about from moment one._   Yet Accolon had been her lover for centuries.  Surely, if he was going to betray her, he would have done it before now…wouldn’t he have?

_Unless, of course, he’s been reporting to her all along._ Someone had destroyed the potion that would have led her to Galatine, too, and Morgan didn’t believe in coincidences.  And during the last war against the fae, she’d always known there was a traitor close at hand.  She thought she’d identified the right person, but Accolon had helped with that, hadn’t he?  Morgan felt cold certainty seeping through her.  Rage would come later, for she trusted so very few and she _had_ trusted Accolon, but for now, she simply felt dispassionately vengeful.

“I see.”  The words ground out of her like shards of glass on her tongue, but Morgan would not explode here. 

“May I volunteer the _Jolly Roger_ for safe housing?” Killian filled the silence with a saucy smile.  “No fae in their right mind will look for a fairy on a pirate ship.  Presuming said fairy doesn’t try to burn my lovely ship to the waterline again, that is.”

Tink snorted.  “Well, if you keep your hands to yourself, that won’t be a problem, will it?”

Killian laughed.  “You know you love me.” 

“Compared to Pan, sure,” Tink shot back.  “But that isn’t much competition.”

“Ah, I’m wounded.”  But Killian looked like he was enjoying himself as he offered his arm.  “Shall we away to your cabin, my lady?”

Tink glanced at Morgan, and Morgan gave her a smile that was only a little strained. “Go on.  It’s a good idea.  I’ll come by tomorrow and make sure my piratical grandson has behaved himself.”

“Thank you.”  Tink reached out to squeeze her arm, and Morgan nodded. 

She and Baelfire watched the pair walk off in silence, and then slowly turned to head towards Morgan’s own home.

“You all right?” Bae asked quietly.

“Knowing who the traitor is always makes things better.”  Morgan would not condemn Accolon without proof, of course, but she knew how to get that.  She felt cold at the thought, though.  So cold.   “How did you happen to see him there?”

“Emma.”

Ah.  That made quite a bit of sense, though it was nice to know that the Dark One who he grandson was in love with—not that Bae had ever said so to her, though one would have to be a fool to miss it—was still fighting Danns’.  They so often didn’t, Morgan knew.  Danns’ was more likely to turn a Dark One into a broken shell of themselves than to find one that kept resisting, because the Black Fairy had plenty of practice controlling Dark Ones…and destroying them from the inside out.

* * *

 

Danns’ had left, taking a sobbing Emma along and leaving David’s motionless body in the park.  She thought to hurt her Dark One further by that, to terrify the town and leave them guessing about how David Nolan had died.  Emma was already a wreck, sobbing in denial and self-hatred, but Danns’ liked the idea of letting that death sink in even further for her very unwilling slave.  At any rate, the body would keep, she knew.

That decision turned out to be a mistake.

Hours passed, and the sun set.  Aurora, babysitting young Neal, called David’s cell over and over again, but eventually decided that some emergency must have taken the sheriff’s attention.  She put Neal to bed with little Philip, certain that David would get ahold of her and apologize in the morning.  She didn’t mind, anyway.  Neal was a good baby, and he and Philip were close to the same age.  They’d become better friends as they got older, but this was a good time to start.  She had no idea that David’s body was lying by the lake, motionless and abandoned.  No one knew. 

David never expected to wake up.  One moment, he’d felt the sudden _emptiness_ of Snow’s heart being crushed, of the last part of his wife being utterly destroyed.  The next, he was waking with a gasp, jerking upright into a sitting position, surprised to feel the beating of a heart inside his chest.

“I can’t—I can’t be alive.”  David clutched his chest with both hands, but there _was_ a heart beating there.

But whose?

And… _how_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty-Five—“There was a Legend Told,” where David tries to figure out what happened to him, Emma embraces the darkness to escape her grief, truths come out, Danns’ makes a deal, Blue tries to be tricky, and someone unexpected comes across a visitor and his dragon. 
> 
> I’ll be updating once a week (vice twice) during the summer due to work commitments and real life, so look for chapters to come on Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Thank you again to everyone who is sticking with me through this hugely long story—I really appreciate having you along for the ride!


	85. There was a Legend Told

Dawn had been breaking as David woke up, and by the time he made it to the sheriff’s station—he hadn’t been able to call anyone thanks to a dead phone—Storybrooke was awake and buzzing.  Some people gave him strange looks, probably noticing the stains on his jeans and the grass and mud stuck to him that he couldn’t be bothered to brush off.  Still, he made it to the station in one piece, despite looking like hell warmed over.  David _felt_ like he’d been run over by a truck, or like he’d actually been dead for the night.

Had he?

David didn’t know.  What he did know was that Robin jumped out of his skin when David stumbled into the sheriff’s station, still periodically clutching his chest to reassure himself that Snow’s heart beat there.  He’d been more afraid of losing all he had left of his wife than he was of dying; watching _Snow’s_ heart be crushed had been far worse than the sudden feeling of emptiness he’d experienced.  The blackness had been almost welcoming, and if he tried very hard, he thought he could remember the touch of a hand, someone waiting for him—

“Are you all right?” Robin’s question made him jump.

“I don’t really know.”  David made it over to the desk and sat down heavily, checking his pulse again just to make sure he was alive.  This wasn’t some weird type of death, was it?  Robin had spoken to him, which meant Robin could see him, and _Robin_ was definitely alive.

So, he wasn’t living in some weird _Sixth Sense_ world.  He’d never forgive Emma for having convinced him to watch that movie at this rate— _Emma!_ The thought of his daughter hit him like a bolt of lightning.  _Oh, god.  She thinks I’m dead, and she’s being controlled._ David’s first instinct was to call his daughter, to tell her that everything was all right…but he couldn’t, could he?  If he told her, the Black Fairy would know.  David’s chest was tight.  He could only imagine how Emma felt right now.  Guilt was probably killing her, and he remembered her anguished scream as they both watched Snow’s heart crushed to dust.  _But why didn’t I_ die _?_

“David?”

Startled, he turned to look at Robin, who was watching him with concern.  “Sorry.”  David blinked hard.  “I…I had a rough night.”

“You can say that again.  Everyone was out looking for you once Aurora said that you weren’t answering your phone.  No one could find you, even Emma.”

_She made her lie._ The realization was almost enough to break him, and David had to suck in a shuddering breath.  He had to do something, but what?  Moving in the wrong direction could get Emma hurt terribly.  He had to think.  “Is Neal all right?”

“Yeah, he stayed over at Aurora’s.  Henry checked on him this morning, but Aurora said he could stay there for now.”

“Thank you.”  At least one of his children was safe.  David swallowed hard, scrubbing his hands over his face.  He needed advice, needed answers, and Robin couldn’t provide those, could he?  Regina couldn’t, either.  But he knew one man who could.  Finally, he looked up at Robin.  “Can I borrow your phone?  I think mine’s dead.”

“Sure.”  Robin handed his cell over, and David pulled up Rumplestiltskin’s phone number.  He’d come to trust the former Dark One, but now was the time to put that to the test.

* * *

 

Emma felt numb.

She’d wept and she’d wailed, and she’d spent the night _forced_ to pretend that she didn’t know that her father was dead in the park.  Regina had asked her to do a locator spell, and Emma had been forced to screw it up, making the shirt they’d used go in endless circles.  Eventually, she’d come up with some bullshit reason about magical interference, and then she’d _created_ said magical interference when Regina had grown fed up and created a spell of her own.  Fortunately, when they’d called Rumplestiltskin, he’d been unavailable, because Emma wasn’t sure she could have spoofed his magic.  But when Belle had come to help, she’d said that Rumplestiltskin was off with Killian, of all people, which just left Emma’s head spinning.

Being confused had given her a respite from her grief that lasted about ten seconds, but she’d been forced to bury it until she was able to get away from the others.  Then she’d rushed home, burying herself in one drink after another.  But even getting drunk hadn’t really worked; she’d gotten hungover, but she never managed to forget.  Even the pain didn’t really numb.  Her father was _dead_.  Emma was now truly an orphan, and it was her actions that had led to David’s death. 

_Get revenge,_ the darkness whispered.  _Let_ her _see you mourning, and plan.  Plan how you will destroy her.  Ally with whomever you have to.  Make her burn._

Never had Emma embraced the darkness so thoroughly as she did now.  She needed its help, she realized.  She could use its strength.  The darkness didn’t feel pain; it didn’t feel loss.  It boiled with fury, and the darkness wanted _vengeance._ Emma could embrace that.  She _needed_ that.  The alternative was to break, to fall to pieces.  And she wouldn’t let herself do that until her father was avenged.

No matter how badly going on hurt.

* * *

 

Going by the damn fairy’s house couldn’t hurt, could it?  Yeah, there was certainly plenty of magic keeping Jefferson there, but Whale figured that maybe they could find a way around it.  Jefferson was pretty good with magic, after all; he was a portal jumper, which meant he knew his way around the stuff, unlike Victor, who had never had any use for magic or fairies.  But now he’d steep himself in the crap if only it got Jefferson free.  _I don’t really care if we’re igniting a war at this point.  I just want him back!_ After all, every villain who tried to claim this damned town sparked of some sort of battle or another.  Maybe it was better to bite the damned bullet and—

“What the hell?”

The words tore out of him without warning; Victor had tripped and nearly fallen flat on his face, despite the fact that he was walking down a residential street.  But streets weren’t supposed to look like mirrors, particularly not huge round ones that threatened to eat the sidewalks as well as the blue convertible parked off to the right.  The entire surface looked wet and shiny, half like a lake and half like a mirror did when you were drunk, which made Victor stop cold and stare.

It had to be the Black Fairy’s fault.  He was only six or seven houses down from her mansion (to think that he’d _liked_ Widow Morton!  It was rather insulting), and magic like this always had a cause.  Swallowing, Victor started to back away, until he realized that the giant mirror also seemed to be some sort of window, because there was a man looking at him from the other side.

“Helloooo?” the other man called, sounding like he was speaking through a glass jar.  “I say, there’s someone else there!”

Victor just stared.  The fellow on the other side was brown haired, with the kind of huge beard that idiot nobles from medieval type worlds favored, the kinds that caught gravy, housed lice, and were generally unclean and unhygienic nightmares made out of facial hair.  He was dressed like the Enchanted Forest’s more primitive idiots used to, too, complete with a crown on his head.

Then a hand abruptly stuck out of the mirror-y surface, making Victor jump.  A head followed next, and the oddest thing he noticed was that the beard wasn’t wet. 

“Grab my hand, will you?  This isn’t terribly uncomfortable, but I’m not sure I want to know what will happen if I just drop through head first.” 

“Head first?” Victor echoed, and then—against his better judgment—reached down to grab the wiggling fingers, pulling the other man through.

“Well, on my end, the portal faced downwards.  I stuck my head in to look around.”

“I see.”  He stepped back to get a better look at the stranger, wondering what pile of crap he’d just stepped into.  “Do you mind if I ask who the hell you are?  Not to mention where you’re from—and why do you have a _lizard_ on your shoulder?”

“Well, he’s not actually a lizard.  He’s a dragon.”  The newcomer grinned.

“Great.  I’ve let people from the Land of Loonies in.”

“Actually, we’re from the Land of Music.”  The answer was surprisingly congenial, given what Victor had just said.  Then the newcomer stuck out a hand.  “I’m Richard, by the way.  Some even call me _King_ Richard.”

“Some?”

Richard looked a little affronted.   “Well, people from my kingdom do.  These days, anyway.”  He glanced around.  “Is that not normal in your…whatever this world is?”

“Not really, no.”  Victor shrugged.  “But the modern world is kind of an acquired taste.”

“Modern?  Is that what this is?  The Land of Modern?”

“No, this is Storybrooke.  It used to be the Land Without Magic, but these days it’s more like the Land of Modern Magic.”  That got him a confused look, and Victor sighed.  “C’mon.  You’ve got to know what magic is.  You’re not from here—not the way _you’re_ dressed—and you’re claiming that your lizard is a dragon.”

“I’m not claiming anything!”  Richard twisted to look at the lizard on his shoulder.  “Tad, will you help me out here?”

The lizard hopped down, clearly understanding what this foreign king said—which, Victor figured was probably _not_ the strangest thing he’d ever seen, given the lands that he’d traveled to over the years.  It scurried a few feet away, probably sick and tired of being shackled to a loony, and Victor almost burst out laughing at the idea that the lizard was just going to run away after all that.  But his mirth died as a slight swirl of smoke filled the air, and suddenly there was a giant green dragon right where the lizard had been.

He was really glad that he’d used the restroom prior to heading this way, because otherwise Victor had a feeling he would have needed a change of clothes.  As it was, he could only stare at the humongous beast, watching wide-eyed as it cocked its head and stared at him curiously.  Snapping his mouth shut took an effort.

“Okay, then.  You have a dragon.”

Richard just smiled congenially.  “This is Tad Cooper.  He travels as a lizard sometimes because it’s easier, but he also does the dragon thing pretty _spectacularly,_ doesn’t he?  I mean, it’s an impressive trick.  I even wrote a song about it, if you want to hear it.”

“Ah, no thanks.”  Victor tried to paste on a smile—he wasn’t stupid enough to antagonize the guy with the dragon, after all—but the expression felt a lot more like a grimace.  “So, uh, what brings you to our humble little town?”

“Well, curiosity, mainly.  A portal like this opened up on our end, and someone had to investigate.  Since my wife really is better at running the kingdom than I am, and my favorite hero is still off on his _rather_ extended honeymoon, I thought I’d take a looksee.”

“With a dragon.”

“Of course with a dragon!  Do you have a better way?”

“Well, I’ve never had a dragon, so, you know, it’s never really occurred to me.”  But Victor wasn’t an idiot; having a dragon would have been damned useful.  Maybe he could talk Richard’s dragon into burning down the Black Fairy’s house before they went back to their Land of Music—after Jefferson was free, of course.  He opened his mouth to ask if they might be amenable to doing a good deed, but the words never came out.

Instead, a giant wind almost knocked him off his feet, and an earsplitting screech tore through the air just as Tad Cooper’s head snapped up.  Victor twisted, trying to figure out why the wind was gusting instead of constant, only to see another dragon making a landing.  Its great black wings were rimmed in purple, but its brown eyes were anything but friendly.  In fact, the thing looked ready to roast someone, and Victor was so not getting in the way of that.  _Damn you for bringing me here, Regina!  I had a perfectly normal life animating corpses before you brought me to this crazy place!_

“Oh, look, Tad!  Another dragon!  Do you think you might be friends?” Richard sounded more excited than terrified, which solidified Victor’s earlier thought that he might be a little simple.  Richard even started forward towards the newcomer, until Victor grabbed him and yanked him towards the sidewalk.

“Are you mad?”

“What?  I’ve never met another dragon, and Tad always told me that he’s not from my world—”

“Shut up, man!  Those two look ready to roast one another to death!”

“Tad Cooper is hardly that uncivilized!  Look, they’re both turning human.”  Richard pointed, and Victor turned, shaking his head in confusion.

“Let me get this straight.  Your dragon is a lizard who is also human.”

“It’s magic.”  Richard shrugged.  “Aren’t things like that normal?”

“Hell if I know.”

Victor didn’t bother to say more.  He was too busy trying not to swear under his breath when he realized that the other dragon was Mordred, who had offered to help him find Jefferson.  _If I’d known he was a dragon sooner, that could have been useful.  Though I should have figured it out from Pen_ dragon _, shouldn’t I have?_ He felt like kicking himself.  But that really wasn’t important at the moment; although human, the two dragons were sizing one another up dangerously, looking like they were ready to go burning reptile again and take half the town with them.

_Sometimes, I really hate this place._

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had to give David credit; the prince didn’t wait long to get straight to the point.  He and Belle had arrived shortly after David’s cryptic phone call; the fact that David was calling from Robin’s phone had been enough to tell Rumplestiltskin that something was up, and he’d teleported them both there without preamble.

“I died last night.”  David swallowed.  “Or at least I should have.  I think I did, for a bit, but it’s kind of impossible to be sure.”

“What?  Are you all right?”  Belle immediately stepped forward to put a hand on David’s arm as Robin gaped off to the side.  Rumplestiltskin simply took a breath and let that news wash over him—along with all it implied.

_She fell for our trap but decided to kill him instead of keeping the heart,_ he realized.  Danns’ had acted faster than he’d anticipated, but he’d known that she was desperate to find the Truest Believer.  Pointing her at the one heart that he _knew_ couldn’t control its (second) owner had seemed the safest way to further delay her, particularly since he had suspected that something like this might happen.  _I didn’t expect to her to try to kill him, though!_ Danns’ was getting desperate, and that made her dangerous.

“I am, and that’s the terrifying part.”  David shook his head, and then looked at Rumplestiltskin.  “You were right.  She came after me.  The Black Fairy.”  The sheriff swallowed.  “Instead of Henry.”

Rumplestiltskin merely nodded, waiting for David to go on.  He didn’t see any blame in David’s eyes; they were both united in their desire to protect their mutual grandson.  David had known the risks, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t doubt that he’d faced death bravely.  He couldn’t imagine David having done anything less.  Not that man.

“But no one expected her to try to kill you.”  Belle gave David a compassionate smile before turning a slightly harder look on her husband.  “You didn’t, did you, Rumple?”

“No.”  He’d told Belle about the ruse, of course; keeping secrets from his wife had ruined their marriage in the first place, and he’d learned his lesson.  _Mostly._   “I did not expect that.  I thought she’d go after Isaac when she found out he’d lied, frankly.”

Belle didn’t look too pleased by that, but it was David who asked: “Did you know?  Did you know that crushing Snow’s heart wouldn’t kill me?”

“Yes.”  He’d suspected it wouldn’t, anyway, and now wasn’t the time to mention that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t wanted to volunteer to test his theories in case he was wrong.  “You can’t crush a heart to kill someone who is already dead.  As far as magic is concerned, _you_ already died, so you can’t die again—at least not in the same fashion.  Snow’s heart kept you alive, and it’s magically bound to do so.  So, the heart reconstituted itself.”  Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a slight smile.  “Did you really think I’d sacrifice you so cold-bloodedly?”

“The thought crossed my mind, yeah.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly.  “I suppose I deserved that.”

“It would have been worth it, for Henry.”  Surprisingly, those words made David grimace.  “But it’s worse than we know.  The Black Fairy has the dagger, and she made Emma tell her that Henry is the Truest Believer.”

“What?” Belle and Robin gasped together.

_Damn.  I knew that it would get out eventually…but this is sooner than I had wished for._   Rumplestiltskin realized too late that he hadn’t shown any surprise, because now all three sets of eyes were on him.

“You knew.”  Belle didn’t sound surprised, really, and not even disappointed.  Not quite.

“I had no proof, but I suspected, yes.”  This was not the time to beat around the truth. 

“Then why not tell anyone?” Robin demanded.  “You of all people know how dangerous a controlled Dark One can be!”

“Because Danns’ a’Bhàis wanted it kept a secret, and letting her assume we did not know gave us an advantage.”  He sighed.  “That, and the truth was more likely to hurt Emma than help her.”

Robin looked at him like he was mad.  “How do you figure that?”

“Because if Danns’ knows that we are aware of Emma’s situation, she’ll control her more tightly.  She may well decide to lock her away, and keep her from those who care about her.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to grimace and failed; he knew that feeling far too well.  “And if she does that, we _won’t_ be able to help Emma.”

“So you thought you should tell as few people as possible.”  Interestingly enough, David didn’t sound angry—just weary. 

“Once exposed, a secret loses all of its power.”

Belle snorted softly in amusement, returning to Rumplestiltskin’s side.  “What Rumple is trying to say is that the more people who know a secret, the more likely it is to be inadvertently shared.”

Robin glanced at Belle.   “You knew, of course.” 

“No, I didn’t.”  She looked at Rumplestiltskin.  “Does anyone else know?”

“Baelfire.  He was too close, and likely to do something rash if he didn’t understand the stakes.”

No one argued with that, thankfully, although a moment passed in silence before David cleared his throat.  “Before we talk about what we do next, we’d probably best get him and Regina in here.  We’ve got plans to make.”

“That we do.”

* * *

 

Danns’ did not puzzle over what she should do next often, yet she had spent the previous night wrestling with this issue—and quelling her fury over the fact that her most faithful follower had been sucked into the Sorcerer’s Hat.  She could fix that, however, given enough time.  The other problem was thornier by far than Nuckelavee’s foolishness.  _Perhaps some time in the Hat will teach him a bit of humility,_ she thought without humor.  _Though that is not likely._ Truth be told, Danns’ preferred Nuckelavee as his arrogant and recklessly loyal self, though there were times that those very traits made him a liability.  Still, he was not on the top of her lists of problems to deal with.  The Heart was.

Oh, she cared not that the Truest Believer was a child; no, that would merely make the Heart last longer.   The morality of it was hardly something that would bother her, but the boy meant something to _Belle._   Henry Mills was her grandson-by-marriage, and Danns’ knew that she’d already done quite enough to alienate her granddaughter.  Could she do this as well?  Did she dare?  Under normal circumstances, she would have gone straight to find the child after killing David Nolan…but now she hesitated.

There were other ways, of course.  None of them were so surefire as taking the Heart of the Truest Believer, but there _were_ other things she could do.  _If Reul cooperates, of course.  But I dare not leave the Heart in place if she is willing to take it to stop me._   Danns’ did not like her options, not as they stood.  Her sister had proven willing to take the Heart from its host many times before, and there was no chance the child’s age would stop her, either.  _She will simply tell him that it is the ‘right’ thing to do, and the idealistic little brat might believe her._   That thought made her scowl fiercely; Danns’ knew her sister.

But knowing Reul Ghorm meant that she could find a way to stack the deck against her, too, so Danns’ squared her shoulders and teleported to the convent in a swirl of black and silver smoke.  She appeared right in her dear sister’s office, and was gratified to see Reul jump.

“Polite people knock, Danns’.”  Reul was the master at that holier-than-thou disappointed look, but Danns’ only smiled.

“Rules are for lesser mortals.  If you have forgotten that, you’ve become more soiled by humanity than I thought.”

Predictably, Reul scowled.  “What do you want?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”  Smiling, she lowered herself into the comfortable chair across from the desk.  “One that will profit us both.”

“I doubt you have anything to offer that I would want.”  Her sniff was truly a thing of conceited glory.

Danns’ sat back.  “The Heart of the Truest Believer.”

“You didn’t—”

“Not yet.”  Not laughing was hard; Reul had come half out of her chair in surprise, looking ready to flee.  Of course, if Danns’ _did_ have the heart, she would have already used it on her sister, which they both knew far too well.

“Then you have nothing to bargain with.”  Reul rolled her eyes, ever so slightly, and Danns’ smirked.

“Ah, but I know who the Truest Believer is—Henry Mills.  Or is it Swan?”  Now Reul’s eyes went wide in alarm, but Danns’ continued sweetly: “And I may have already eliminated _one_ family member who was pretending to be the Truest Believer in his place.”

“Who did you kill?” Her sister sounded terrified, and that was good. 

“Our dear Prince Charming, of course.  He played a game he could not win, and he died for it.”

“You killed _David_?”

“Yes, though he didn’t suffer, I assure you.”  She folded her hands calmly.  “I simply crushed his heart.”

“Danns’!”

She shrugged.  “Needs must, sister.  Needs must.”  She smiled the cold smile that she knew Reul hated so much.  “Now, do you wish to spare young Henry from a heartless life, and yourself from being exiled as you exiled me?”

“What do you have in mind?” Reul almost growled.

“Simple.  I will not take the Heart if you do not.  We will both leave the boy alone.”  She would not promise not to trap her sister another way, but it was not her fault if Reul missed that point.

Or if Reul had _no_ idea that Danns’ had another method in mind.

“Why should I trust you?” Reul demanded, eyes narrowed.

“Because you know I always keep my promises.  I will not harm the boy, nor take his heart, so long as you also leave said Heart in his chest.”  She met her sister’s eyes.  “Are we in agreement?”

Reul took a deep breath.  “Yes.  Yes, of course we are.  Now get out of my convent.”

“Gladly.”

* * *

 

Morgan had _felt_ the magic, much to her surprise.  Once, she’d been terribly in tune to portals and any magic that involved travel between realms, but she’d felt that sensitivity fade over the centuries in her crystal cave.  Now, however, that particular sense had returned, and Morgan headed directly to the residential street from which the feeling originated.  As it so happened, she and Killian had been returning from the _Jolly Roger_ and a conversation with the newly freed Tinker Bell, which meant her grandson tagged along.

They arrived just in time to see Mordred reverting to human form, faced with _another_ dragon who had just done the same.  The other dragon—now human—was a fairly striking fellow, with dark olive skin and green eyes, but Morgan could tell from Mordred’s expression that he did not approve of the newcomer.  _Not that I should be surprised.  My eldest has always been a prickly one._

“Oh, bloody hell,” Killian muttered from her right.  “That pair has got to be the _worst_ welcoming committee Storybrooke could produce.”

Morgan eyed her son and Storybrooke’s doctor with narrowed eyes.  She loved Mordred, but…  “I quite agree.”

“Oh, look!”  The second man, the one speaking to Doctor Whale, pointed in their direction.  “More residents of this strange new world!”

Whale sighed nosily.  “Yes, people live here.”

“Wonderful!”  The man with the busy-curly hair—which looked tame only in comparison to his beard—strode forward, extending a hand.  “I’m Richard!  Or King Richard, as some people call me.”

“Great, another royal.  Just what we need.”  Killian gestured at the shimmering portal.  “Is that where you come from?”

Richard blinked.  “Where I come from, it’s polite to shake someone’s hand and introduce one’s self.  Is this world that different?”

“No, he’s just rude.”  Whale snorted.

“Fine.”  Rolling his eyes, Killian took the hand.  “Killian Jones.  Captain of the _Jolly Roger_ and resident of Storybrooke.  Where are you from, again?”

Richard pumped his hand enthusiastically.  “The Land of Music, of course.”  He glanced at Morgan.  “And you are?”

She barely heard him; in fact, Morgan barely heard their entire conversation.  She was entirely too engrossed watching the portal, _feeling_ the magical threads surrounding it.  She checked once, and then twice, and then a third time, hoping against hope that she was wrong.  Unfortunately, the same answer came back to her every time: _This portal is no accident._   Yet she’d been able to tell that it was naturally occurring; no living being had created his portal.  And that could only mean one thing.

“The walls between the worlds are collapsing.”  She took a deep breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the shimmering surface.  “We have not much time.”

“I thought that stopped when the portal to Camelot was shut down?” Mordred approached, accompanied by the other man—whoever he was.  Morgan didn’t care.  Not now.

She let out a breath.  “Temporarily, it would seem.”

“Wait a minute, does that mean that Storybrooke is going to be destroyed?  Again?” Whale interjected.  “Because I swear that I’ve seen this episode before.”

“Oh, do be quiet.”  Mordred glared at the doctor, but it was Richard who cut in.

“If your kingdom is at risk, I can offer you the hospitality of mine.  It might be tight, depending upon how many people you have in this, um, town, but we will help you if you are in need.”

“No, it is we who must help you.”  Morgan drew herself up, looking Richard in the eye.  “Storybrooke has become the hub of all magical realms.  Everywhere else—your world and every other—are merely spokes upon the wheel.  When the walls collapse, those realms will be destroyed.  Beginning, it seems, with yours.”

“I beg your pardon, but who are you to make such a determination?” Their other visitor spoke up.

“This is Tad Cooper,” Mordred introduced him.  “He appears to be a distant relative of mine, Mother…on the other side.”

“Yes, I gathered.”  Morgan resisted the urge to grimace; at least she did not know of any Coopers who were closely related to the Pendragons, so the relationship had to be quite distant.  “I am Morgan of Cornwall.  Some call me Morgan le Fae.”

Cooper gave her a blank look, but Richard practically jumped up and down in glee.  “Cornwall as part of Camelot?  Truly?  I’ve always wanted to go there!”  He looked around.  “Is that where we are?”

“No.  Camelot is no more.”  Mordred grimaced, but at least he had the courage to face that head on.

“What happened?”

“It was the first realm to collapse.”  Morgan could not allow them to continue to be so distracted.  “And yours will be the second.  You _do not_ have much time.  You must evacuate.  If you do not, everyone will die.”

Whale groaned.  “Oh, goodie.  More people who have no idea what modern sanitation, refrigeration, medicine, or traffic signals are for…”

“How long do we have?” Richard seemed able to sober up in a hurry, at least.

“A few weeks at most.”  Morgan glanced at Mordred, who was probably the worlds’ expert at collapsing realms.  After all, he’d held Camelot on the brink of collapse for centuries, always starving off the impossible—at a price that was not worth paying.

Mordred nodded grimly.  Killian spoke up:  “I’m all for saving lives, Grandmother, but an entire realm’s worth of people in Storybrooke…well, it’s not exactly the best idea.  Can’t we send them to the Enchanted Forest instead?  No one is there, now.”

“Excepting the ogres your dear queen left behind.”  Mordred looked like he didn’t mind the idea, but Morgan was not about to let those two be foolish.

“If the Land of Music is collapsing, the others will follow.  Anyone who goes to the Enchanted Forest will eventually have to come here.  They’ll have on choice.”

Killian frowned. “Wait, isn’t this exactly what the Black Fairy wants to happen?  To combine all the worlds so she can rule _everyone_?” 

“She wants to do it all at once.”  Mordred shook his head.  “What’s happening now is natural, and might be able to be stopped.  It’s the difference between blowing something up and melting it.  The latter can be controlled.”

“Aye, but whatever you’re melting still dies.”

“That’s rather my point,” Morgan snapped.  “All of the walls may not be collapsing, but _this_ one is.  And you”—she gestured at Richard and Tad Cooper—“have not time to spare.”

* * *

 

Well, the secret was out.  Bae wasn’t sure if he was glad or not; for now, he was just glad that Henry was watching Roland and wasn’t here for this little impromptu family meeting.  David had been _killed_ , though, which was kind of huge, and really disturbing.  Regina had texted their mutual son, of course, letting him know that David had been found and was fine—but neglecting to mention the giant fact that Henry’s maternal grandfather had been dead for a bit.  Or that the Black Fairy had the dagger.  Some things were just best explained in person, and now wasn’t the time.  The adults of the family had too much to talk about, first.

They spent surprisingly little time arguing.  A few months earlier, when he’d been brought out of the Vault, Bae would have bet that his father and Regina would have gone at it, with David playing peacemaker.  Or maybe Robin would have done it, since David still seemed a little out of it after his almost death.  _So much for dead is dead,_ he thought wryly.  _I guess things change, even the laws of magic._

Their family, at least, really had changed.  Regina only sighed and grumbled that she should have realized that Emma was being controlled.  Belle and David concentrated on how to free her, and Robin worried over what havoc the Black Fairy might force Emma to wreak.  Bae just wanted Emma safe as soon as possible, and his father proposed that they simply stop fretting about the dagger and skip straight to freeing Emma from the darkness.

“That’s what you meant about her needing to be hopeless.”  David’s eyes were wide.  “You think she might not let the darkness go if she isn’t.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t even blink.  “I know she won’t.  No Dark One will.”

“But won’t she be so desperate for release if she’s controlled?” Robin asked.  “I mean, I get that the darkness and the power is seductive, but someone having the dagger has to be miserable.”

_It’s worse than you can imagine,_ Bae didn’t say.  He remembered how it had been for his father, remembered the feeling of being in chains.  Rumplestiltskin had been half-mad with Bae in his head, but he’d been coherent enough to suffer.

“It is.”  Belle spoke up when it became obvious that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t going to.  “But wanting to be free of _control_ isn’t the same as wanting to be free of the darkness, right?”

After a slight hesitation, Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “Being controlled will only drive her to exert her _own_ control over everything within reach.  In my case, it led me to the Sorcerer’s Hat, because I never wanted to be controlled again.  Emma…Emma is strong.  She’ll resist it, but as long as she believes that she can live _with_ the darkness and be who she thinks she wants to be, she won’t be ready to let it go.”

“Well, I’d say that she’s pretty hopeless, now.”  David’s laugh was bitter.  “But if you tell me to let my daughter believer I’m dead, Gold, you have another—”

The door swung open, and David cut off as the Blue Fairy walked in…and then stopped cold.

“David?”  She stuttered the word, eyes wide and face pale.  “I thought…I heard you were dead.”

David’s smile was crooked.  “It appears that rumors of my death were slightly exaggerated.”

“But how?” Blue looked rattled, something Bae had never seen from her before. 

“That doesn’t matter.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was harsh, but no one seemed prepared to tell him not to be.

“Where did you hear that?” Belle added immediately, looking suspicious.  “David said there was no one else there.”

“There wasn’t,” David confirmed, just as Regina stepped forward, her eyes narrowed.

“Someone’s been hanging out with her sister, hasn’t she?  Tell us again how you’re the ‘good’ fairy, why don’t you?  I’ve forgotten how you’re better than the other one.”

Blue flinched as if hurt.  “Speaking to my sister does not make me your enemy.  I am working to stop her, and—”

“With Henry’s heart?” Bae couldn’t stop himself.  He’d had it with people wanting his son’s heart.  Knowing David had killed by the Black Fairy in search of it, and that Danns’ now knew Henry was the Truest Believer, only made matters worse.

“No.  Danns’ and I have agreed not to seek his heart.”  Blue folded her hands primly.  “Henry is safe.”

“Do you want a medal?” Regina scoffed.  “You come in here like some grand hero, expecting credit because you have deigned not to steal a child’s heart.  I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to worship you just yet.  Try me next week.”

“Regina’s right.”  Surprisingly, it was David who spoke up.  “We’re grateful that you are not going after Henry, of course, but I had honestly expected you to help us more than this.”

Blue frowned.  “I told you that this is a fairy matter.  I will deal with my sister.  Henry is safe from her now, and others will follow.”

_What about Emma? Do you consider her a monster, now, like you once did my father?_ Bae almost asked, but Rumplestiltskin got in first.

“How did you convince her to agree to leave Henry’s heart alone?”  Rumplestiltskin’s question made heads turn.  “I doubt Danns’ agreed out of the goodness of her heart.”

Belle grimaced a little, but no one argued with the validity of the question.  There was _no_ way that the Black Fairy had just suddenly decided to call it quits on finding the Truest Believer.  Not after how many people had suffered because of that quest?

“That is between my sister and I.”  Bae wanted to wipe that sanctimonious smile off of Blue’s face.  “I assure you that you need not worry.”

“That isn’t very reassuring.”  Belle spoke up with a scowl.  “I know you think that this problem is beyond us ‘mere humans’, but we’re not going to stand by while you ‘solve’ everything for us.”

Blue sniffed.  “I have already secured Henry’s safety.  I would think that should earn me trust.”

Regina snorted.  “It would if you were trustworthy.” 

“I have never—”

“If you can make that argument wearing a straight face while I’m in the room, I’ll be impressed,” Bae cut her off.  Blue’s mouth snapped shut, likely remembering how she’d given him a magic bean for an escape that they both knew Rumplestiltskin could never have taken.

“Look, none of us are going to let this go.” David rose, moving a little stiffly, to look Blue in the eye.  “Our home and our people are being threatened.  We cannot let that pass.  We _will_ fight for Storybrooke.  Whatever it takes.”

“I am only asking for your trust.”  Blue was overplaying the martyr look, Bae thought, but clearly she hadn’t gotten that memo.

“Trust has to be earned.”  Robin took Regina’s hand as he spoke up, and Bae saw Regina flash her new husband a smile.  “Work with us.  Not against us.”

Blue, of course, refused.  They’d come to expect that by now, so Bae didn’t even bother to be disappointed.  He was, however, kind of worried about whatever deal Blue had made to keep Henry’s heart safe—and why she had done it.  Not to mention the fact that he really didn’t want to find out the hundred and one ways in which it could bite them in the ass later on.

* * *

 

They walked back to the shop together, with Rumplestiltskin’s stomach rolling nervously the whole way.  He liked to think that he’d worked hard to heal the wounds made by his past lies, but what if he’d inadvertently reopened them?  He hadn’t failed to tell Belle about his suspicions concerning Emma because he didn’t trust his wife; Rumpelstiltskin had done so because he wasn’t absolutely positive.  Now that David had seen proof of who held the dagger, things were different.  But he was still terrified that Belle would not agree.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Belle,” he said as soon as the door swung shut behind them.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you.  I just wasn’t sure, and—”

“Rumple, it’s all right.”  Gentle hands landed on his arm, and he turned to look into compassionate blue eyes.  “I’m not angry that you hadn’t told me yet.”  One eyebrow rose.  “You _were_ going to tell me eventually, though, weren’t you?”

“Of course.  I just…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly. 

“You like to play things close.”  Belle smiled slightly.  “I knew _that_ when I married you.  I’m just glad that your plots and your manipulations put you on the good side, now.”

“So am I.”  Admitting that was strange, but it _was_ true.  Rumplestiltskin still felt good after defeating Nuckelavee, too.  For once, he’d used his power for the right reasons, and even in the right ways.

Belle squeezed his arm once more before sighing, and he could tell from the way her shoulders slumped that she wasn’t happy.  But before he could start to worry if he’d done something stupid, she turned to him to ask: “Are you worried about what Blue said, too?  I get the feeling that there’s something she’s leaving out.”

“Oh, I’m certain there is.” Rumplestiltskin knew how to spot lies of omission; they’d once been his specialty, and he still indulged more often than he probably should have.  “I do wonder how she convinced your grandmother to agree.”

“Do you think it’s something Grandmother might tell me?” Belle cocked her head thoughtfully.

Rumplestiltskin’s breath caught in his throat, and it was all he could do to convince himself not to _immediately_ shout what a bad idea that was.  Danns’ had already proven that she wouldn’t hurt Belle—it was pretty much the one thing they could count on about her.  And…it could work.  It truly could.  Even if it didn’t, they didn’t have much to lose.  The worst Danns’ would do with Belle is not answer.

“You can if you want.”  He let the idea roll around in his head for a moment.  “You might want to ask about Jefferson while you’re there, too.”

“Jefferson?”  Belle went pale.  “You think my grandmother has him?”

“I fear she does.” 

“I wish I was surprised.”  Belle looked away for a moment.  “I can ask.  I’m not sure she’ll tell me the truth, or that she’ll listen to me, but I’m going to try.”  Her eyes flashed angrily.  “And I want to know what Blue promised her, too.”

Rumplestiltskin just wrapped his arms around her, marveling at his wife’s strength and determination.  He loved her so much—and maybe, just maybe, her fierceness would help them save Jefferson without resorting to blackmail.  It was an option that he hadn’t considered before, and one that just might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty-Six—“More than Love Met its Doom,” in which Regina meets with King Richard and starts figuring out what to do with this mess, Robin unexpectedly runs into an old friend, Rumplestiltskin returns Galatine to his mother, Belle seeks her grandmother out, Morgan draws Accolon out, and Emma seeks revenge.


	86. More than Love Met its Doom

Regina had absolutely no idea what to make of this.  Killian Jones—of all people!—had come to her the night before and told her about a freaking _portal_ that had opened up on a residential Storybrooke street.  Apparently, Morgan had sent the people—including a damned dragon!—from that realm home, but they were due to return today.  Which was how she found herself standing at the edge of the portal, ready to welcome ‘King Richard’ to her town.  Temporarily, of course.  _Except for the fact that their world is collapsing. I made Rumplestiltskin get off his formerly-leather-clad ass this morning to check this thing out, and he confirms what his mother said._

_Damn them all._

Regina crossed her arms, and then quickly uncrossed them, shaking her head angrily.   These people didn’t know her as the Evil Queen, not any more than the people from Camelot did.  She could start off on the right foot with them, if only she could stop her snarky mouth from getting the better of her. 

“Be nice,” Robin murmured from her side as if he could read her mind.  “I know you can be charming when you put your mind to it.”

“With people I _like_ , sure.  It’s harder with strangers.”

“I don’t know.  You won me over pretty quickly.”

Regina felt a smile tugging at her lips, but she still wanted to argue.  She’d _never_ grown close to someone as quickly as she had Robin, after all.  Liking wasn’t really in her nature, not anymore.  “You were different.”

“Well, I should hope so.”  Robin grinned cheekily.

“You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked fondly.  “I think—”

 _Swoosh!_ A sudden shadow fell over them, and it took all of Regina’s self-control not to scamper backwards when she saw that a dragon had just emerged from the portal.  The oversized lizard was almost as big as Maleficent in that form, and—unlike Mal—carried a human on its back.  The dragon shot straight up into the air, and then flew a lazy circle as Robin whistled in awe.

“I don’t care who you are. That’s pretty damned impressive.”

She shrugged, still feeling ornery.  “Mal is bigger.”

Robin snorted as the dragon landed to their right, sending up a cloud of dust as its rider hopped off.  “Hello, friends!”  The man who had to be King Richard was beaming.  “Where are the lovely people who we met yesterday?”

“Morgan is busy, Whale is delivering a baby, and I have no idea where Killian is.”  Regina snorted.  “Probably hungover.  It’s a bit early for pirates.”

“Oh, you’re right.  I didn’t think of that.”  Judging from Richard’s expression, he’d met a pirate or two.  He extended a hand.  “Ah, no matter.  I’m Richard, King of—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter here, does it?”

“Probably not.”  Smiling wryly, Regina accepted the hand and shook it firmly.  “Regina Mills.  I was a queen—a Dowager Queen, now, I suppose—in the Enchanted Forest.  Now I’m the mayor of Storybrooke.”

“A woman ruler!  How enlightened.”  Regina couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not until Richard continued gleefully: “Roberta will be so pleased.  She’s always after me to equal things up and all that.”  He gestured expansively, wearing the grin of a man who couldn’t believe his luck.  “She’s my wife.”

 _That_ sounded like a marriage Regina could approve of.  “And this is Robin, my husband.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Robin shook Richard’s hand with a smile.  “Welcome to Story— _Tad_?  Tad Cooper?”

Regina turned to gape as Robin cut himself off in shock, staring at the olive skinned man who the dragon had turned into.

“Robin Hood!  I’ll be damned!  I assumed you would still be in the Enchanted Forest.”  Tad Cooper was a strange name for a man who spoke with what present-day Regina would classify as a rather thick Hispanic accent, but she’d long since learned not to be surprised by anything.

“Oh, it’s a long story.  There was a curse or two, quite a bit of magic…let’s just say a lot has happened in the last ten years.”  Robin grinned.  “But what about you?  You never told me you were a dragon!”

Tad shrugged.  “Well, people tend not to take that very, uh, _gracefully_.  I used to avoid transforming at all costs.”

“I can imagine.”

“Wait, Tad, you _know_ people here?” Richard broke in, saying exactly what Regina was thinking.  She glanced at Robin, who gave her a pleased smile that told her Tad was actually his friend, despite the fact that Robin hadn’t known Tad was a dragon.

“I do.”  Tad seemed to flush, but it was hard to tell with his complexion.  “Or I did, anyway.  I ran with Robin’s outlaws for a time, until I ran afoul of a noblewoman and her husband.  He liked me a great deal more than she did, so when she tried to have me killed, I ran.  Being a dragon, crossing realms was relatively easy, and I soon found myself in the Land of Music.”

“Which is, of course, where we met,” Richard supplied.  After a moment, however, the foreign king’s enthusiasm flagged, and he gave Tad a confused look. “But you were a lizard.”

Tad grinned.  “I’m _always_ a lizard.”

“No!  I mean a small lizard.  And you didn’t turn human until after you became a real dragon!  Which, I have to tell you, could have been really useful if you’d done it earlier.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Galavant called you a bearded dragon, and you don’t even have a beard!”

“Not at the moment, no.”  Tad laughed.  “But to answer what you’re truly asking, and to make a painful tale short, I stole from a witch and she caught me.  I tried to turn into a dragon, but she transformed me into a _bearded_ dragon, dooming me to remain that way until someone believed in me.”

The tale was interesting, and Richard clearly believed it, but Regina felt that there was something missing.  She felt her eyes narrowing.  “Every dragon I’ve ever met has magic enough to prevent such a curse.”

“Aside from the impressively useless ability to turn stones into acorns, I have no such gift.”  Tad shrugged.  “I can feed an army of squirrels, but I am afraid that’s it.”

Robin laughed.  “Is that why the little buggers always flocked to you?”

“Probably.”

“All right, as amusing as this all is, we need to discuss what to do with Richard’s people,” Regina cut in.  “If your world is going to collapse, we need to bring you all here and close the portal as fast as we can.  Otherwise, the collapse will spread like the plague.”

“The ride here _was_ rockier this time,” Tad confirmed, and Regina tried not to sigh.

This was going to be a real mess.  The last thing she needed was to inherit _more_ outsiders; the people from Camelot were enough of a headache.  But they really had no choice, at least not until someone figured out how to stop the irrevocable slide of magical realms.  _Rumple had better know how to fix this mess,_ she thought irritably.  _It’s one thing to create Storybrooke via a curse, but I—_

 _Wait a minute_.

That was it, wasn’t it?  Storybrooke really was in the middle of nowhere, and there was plenty of land available around them.  If magic could build the town—twice!—magic could surely help it grow.  Building new homes for new residents would take too long; and the Camelotonians had already taken up all of the available space.  Using magic was the only option, but it was definitely possible.  She would need a lot of power to do so…but Regina knew who she could ask for help.  And she knew how to do it, too. 

Finally, she could turn the Dark Curse into something _better_.  Maybe then she might be able to forgive herself for casting it in the first place.

* * *

 

“Henry found it.”

“Where?”  Mordred asked the question; Morgan seemed riveted on the sword, not saying a word.

“His mother’s basement.  It appears that she had the sword hidden there.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother to voice _why_ he believed Emma would have had it there; his mother and his half-brother knew the reason as well as Rumplestiltskin did.  Particularly now that David had been able to confirm it.

“Clever.”  Mordred’s lip lifted in a sneer.  “Danns’ knew the Dark One couldn’t wield Galatine, so there was no risk leaving it with her.”

“And she undoubtedly enjoyed the game.”  Morgan frowned, her voice growing quiet.  “As she always does.”

A moment of silence passed; Mordred appeared to be fighting against the urge to say something.  Eventually, he lost.  “Lancelot—”

“Had Galatine last, I know.”  Morgan’s eyes flicked away from the sword briefly.  “Allow me to confirm the worst before you worry too much.”

“ _Can_ you?”

“Yes.”

Rumplestiltskin did not comment; he knew how Morgan was planning to find out about Lancelot’s fate, but no one had told Mordred about Accolon’s betrayal.  In fact, Morgan had asked Rumplestiltskin _not_ to, even when Bae had told him how Accolon had been seen leaving Danns’ home two days earlier.  So far as he knew, Morgan had not yet acted on that knowledge, but Rumplestiltskin understood why.  _The traitor you know is useful.  The one you do not is dangerous_.  He really didn’t care what his mother did to her longtime lover, of course; the one time he’d had anything approaching a conversation with Accolon, the man had proven himself utterly useless.

 _I suppose I can’t complain about her taste in lovers.  Mine—excepting Belle—wasn’t exactly better_.  He sent a contemplative glance at his fuming brother.  _I wonder if Mordred inherited that unenviable trait, as well._ Mordred _had_ slept with Zelena, after all.  Even at his most desperate, Rumplestiltskin had managed not to do that.

“I will take Galatine,” Morgan said after a long moment.  “I have enough magic again that Danns’ will never be able to take it from me.”

“Will the magic stay?” Rumplestiltskin needed to know; they’d been nothing but lucky in regaining the only other secondary power available besides the Dark One’s dagger, and they could not afford to lose it again.

That, and he wanted to believe his mother was able to defend herself.  Almost losing her had been terrifying—so much that he still found himself growing cold and tight-chested at the thought.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t ready to lose anyone in his family…and Morgan was definitely family, now.

“I believe so.”  Morgan let out a breath.  “Danns’ attempt to force young Lilith’s darkness into me appears to have had that unexpected side effect.  I am not complaining, mind.”

Mordred’s sneer transformed into a vicious snarl.  “She nearly _killed_ you.”

“But she did not.”  Morgan held her hands out, and Rumplestiltskin handed the sword over, trying not to think about how much _he_ had changed.

Once, he would have held onto such a weapon with all of his power.  Galatine was a secondary power, their best chance to kill the Black Fairy—or him, if the wrong person got their hands on the sword.  Yet Rumplestiltskin _trusted_ his mother to prevent that from happening.  He really did.  Trust was hard for him, and always had been.  Becoming the Dark One had only made that particular trait of his worse; he’d been a coward, not gullible.  But Belle had taught him to trust others, to believe that he could be loved and love in return.  And now he was even comfortable handing Galatine to his mother.

Morgan would do the right thing, he knew.  No matter what it cost.

* * *

 

Determined though she was, seeking her grandmother out made Belle a little uneasy.  She _did_ believe that Danns’ wouldn’t hurt her, or her unborn child, but even then, Belle was uncomfortable.  Being the closest living relative of the worst villain Storybrooke had ever encountered wasn’t something she’d ever aspired to be, particularly when she knew one of her oldest friends was her grandmother’s prisoner.  _If she listens to me, there’s hope yet,_ Belle decided, accepting the cup of chamomile tea that her grandmother extended.  _No one is irredeemable unless they_ want _to be.  She isn’t predestined to darkness.  She has a choice._

“I doubt this is merely a social call, given how you feel about my ultimate goals.”  Danns’ smile was welcoming, but Belle could see the sharpness in her eyes.  “So, what can I do for you?”

At least her grandmother did Belle the courtesy of not assuming she was there to side with her.  That was something.  _Even if it took her long enough to understand._   “I came to talk to you about an old friend.”

“Is there someone you want to introduce me to?”  Green eyes danced.  “Fascinating.”

“No, I believe you already know him.”  Belle put her teacup down firmly.  “His name is Jefferson.”

“Oh?  I met many people while I was here under the curse.”

“Some more intimately than others,” Belle snapped before she could stop herself.  She’d found a few books on what the fae did to their ‘pets’, and Belle wasn’t a fool.  Rumplestiltskin might try to shield her from the worst of what he thought was happening to their mutual friend, but Belle would not hide from the truth.

Danns’ frowned.  “I’m not sure I appreciate what you’re insinuating, Belle.”

“I’m sure _I_ don’t like it.”  She took a deep breath, forcing her temper to cool down.  “Do you have him?”

“I do.”

Belle blinked, taken aback by the blunt truth.  “Then why are you holding him against his will?”

“Who says it is?”  The smile was innocent, but the laughing eyes were not.

“I’ve known Jefferson for a long time.  He wouldn’t leave his daughter alone like that.”  _Particularly not for you,_ Belle didn’t add, but she thought her grandmother heard it, anyway.

“Very well, then.  Let’s be honest.”  Danns’ sat back calmly.  “Yes, I have him.  He’s a quite enjoyable pet, and I do not plan on giving him up.”  She shrugged.  “He’s perfectly healthy, of course.  I am wounded if you believe he is not.”

“I believe you can heal anything you do to him, yes.”  Tea forgotten, Belle crossed her arms.  “That doesn’t make it right.”

“Right and wrong have nothing to do with it, my dear.  It’s about power.  You’ll understand that, someday.”

“No, I won’t.”  Belle shook her head.  “Not like that.”

Was Danns’ smile suddenly sad?  “We all say that.”

“Let him go.”  She had to change the subject; Belle didn’t want to think of what her grandmother meant by that.  “Please.  For me, if nothing else.  He’s my friend.”

“Good.  You’re learning.”  The appraising look was almost proud, though it made a shiver run down Belle’s spine.  “But appealing to my maternal feelings will not avail you here.  I have already made an agreement with my sister not to harm Henry Mills because he is your grandson.”

“You _what?_ ”

Danns’ blinked. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“She said she convinced _you_.”

“Oh, that’s rather typical.”  Her grandmother laughed lightly, sipping her tea.  “I suggested it to Reul, as we are the two whose interests are best served by keeping the Truest Believer under control.  Of course, I have more of a vested interest in the Heart than she does, these days, but I did not want to hurt you like that.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”  Belle’s right hand found her stomach, and she let out a shaky breath.  Every time she thought she understood Danns’, her grandmother did something unexpected.  _It’s ironic that I believe her over Blue, but I_ do.

“I will not ask for thanks—I understand that you do not view this as a sacrifice on my part.  But I do hope you will understand that I do not act monstrously without purpose.  There is a reason for everything I do.”

“And Jefferson?”  Feeling gratitude didn’t mean Belle would lose track of the reason she had come.  Henry was safe, but the Hatter was not.  “What’s the reason for what you’re doing to him?”

Danns’ laughed lightly.  “Everyone needs a hobby.”

“A _hobby_?” Belle gaped.  “Jefferson’s a human being!  He’s not a toy to be played with—”

“As you say, he is only human.”  A shrug.  “You have enough power to live far beyond your human birth, Belle.  You will understand someday.”

She shot to her feet, blood boiling at the idea of “You keep saying that, but I know I never will.”

“Perhaps you will not.”  Danns’ smiled that same slightly sad smile again, and it sent a chill down Belle’s spine.  “But if you wish for your friend’s freedom, what you must do is simple.  Tell your husband to release Nuckelavee from the Sorcerer’s Hat, and I will release Jefferson.”

Belle opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut.  A long moment passed before she trusted herself enough to speak levelly.  “You want to release a monster in exchange for a good man.”

“The nature of a compromise is that neither side is truly satisfied.  I believe this will suffice.”

Feeling cold, Belle could only nod.  They could not afford to release Nuckelavee, of course—not after the people he had gleefully danced to death, or after the way he’d tortured Tink and other fairies.  But refusing to do so would doom Jefferson, who deserved far better than to be Danns’ _toy_.  There was no right answer, no _right_ path to take.  So, what could they do?

* * *

 

“Emma, this is ridiculous!”  Regina was pounding on her door again, reduced to shouting because Emma’s wards wouldn’t let her through.

And good riddance to her.  Emma didn’t _want_ to talk to anyone.  She’d ignored Henry’s calls and Bae’s, too.  What made Regina think that she was going to get through?  This wasn’t something that the former Evil Queen could just blast her way through, even if she had already tried.  Emma wasn’t going to let her in, either, no matter how much she yelled.

“I just want to talk to you!” Regina shouted, and Emma wished she’d thought of putting a silencing spell up before Regina had cast a counter that kept her from using magic to tune her friend/enemy/fellow mother out.

“I don’t care!” she finally shouted, goaded by the constant banging.  “Go away!”

“No!”

Closing her eyes, Emma contemplated the beer in the fridge.  Then she contemplated the sword in the basement, wondering if it could possibly kill her, too.  After all, if it was powerful enough to do the Black Fairy in— _No luck for you, Dark One,_ Nimue’s silky voice interjected.  _Only the dagger will kill you.  You get to suffer until then._   Shaking her head wildly did nothing to banish the other Dark Ones.  In fact, it only made Emma feel worse.

She’d watched her father die.  She’d _caused_ her father’s death.  How could these people want anything to do with her?  If she hadn’t known them so well, Emma would have assumed that this was all some game of Danns’, not her family trying to talk to her.  But she _did_ know Regina and Henry and Bae too well to assume that, which only left her wondering why they would bother.  Surely, by now they had to know it was her fault.  Whose else’s fault could it be?  And they’d hate her for it, of course.  After all, they’d all turned on Rumplestiltskin quickly enough after Zelena had controlled him, because he had been the Dark One.  No one cared about _fair_ with the Dark One.

 _Maybe they don’t know._   Emma couldn’t tell if that treacherous thought was hers or the darkness’.  Did it matter?  Either way, hope leapt up so quickly that her chest hurt.  Maybe her family had no idea that she’d been involved in David’s death.  Maybe they were just here to be _family_.  Maybe they didn’t know she was being controlled.

If so…what could she do?  Could she grieve with them, living with the pain and guilt festering inside her?  Emma _had_ to hide it; she couldn’t let them know she didn’t have the dagger.  _Some of them know,_ she reminded herself.  Bae knew.  Rumplestiltskin knew.  And the wily old bastard would guess, wouldn’t he?  That put her right back where she had started, hating herself and—

“Emma!” Regina shouted her name again, but Emma only retreated towards the back of the house.

Her father was dead, and she’d stood there and let him die.  The kind of monster she’d become didn’t deserve family like this.  Emma knew what she was, and she knew what the fury boiling through her veins made her…and for the first time, she didn’t really care.  She could grieve and hate herself for the rest of her life, but that wouldn’t bring her father back.  _Nothing_ would.  There was nothing that could make this even a little bit better—but there was a way to use her raging grief.

 _You know who told Danns’ that he was the Truest Believer,_ the darkness whispered.  _You know who hated him enough to set him up to die._

Shivering, Emma glanced to her right, spotting her reflection in the mirror.  For once, she didn’t shrink away from the woman she saw there.  Now she studied herself, studied the black leather clothing she’d chosen this morning, the silver-white hair and the severe lines on her face.  Emma _wasn’t_ the woman she’d been, but that wasn’t a bad thing, was it?  The foolishly hopeful Savior never would have gone looking for revenge.  That woman had been weak, and would have forgiven the lies that had killed her father.  But Emma had changed.  She wasn’t weak, not now.

The Dark One did not forgive.

* * *

 

Morgan had made sure to hide the Galatine where Accolon could _see_ her do it.  That was a calculated gamble, of course, because they had no evidence to indicate that Danns’ knew her pet Dark One had lost the sword.  Yet Morgan felt it was a chance worth taking.  Baelfire had seen Accolon at Danns’ home, and while there was only one explanation for that, Morgan had to see it for herself.

So, she watched her lover.  She bid him a distracted farewell when he told her he was heading to the Rabbit Hole—as he did all too often; the curse had given him a bit of a gambling addiction, and Morgan hadn’t cared enough once she woke up to shake him out of it.  She’d been too fascinated by the new world she found herself in, too distracted by the knowledge that Danns’ would act before long and she _had_ to stop her.  Then, Morgan had assumed she would have few, if any, allies in that battle.  Now she knew differently, but that did not absolve her of fault where Accolon was concerned.  _I should have known.  I should have_ noticed _._

Following Accolon, Morgan reflected upon the many signs she’d missed.  There had been at least a dozen times when information Accolon knew had made it into the hands of her enemy, or things Morgan needed had suddenly disappeared.  Yet she hadn’t _wanted_ to see that, had she?  She’d been so lonely, between all those years in the crystal cave, where she’d had Accolon and a few others for company—but only Accolon had meant anything to her.  She’d left Mordred behind when she left Camelot, and then she’d borne another son, only to abandon him, too.  Then Morgan had learned about him, saved his unborn second child, only to let herself forget his very _name_ in her depression.

All the while, she’d clung to a shallow man who she didn’t love, because he was all she had.  Morgan hadn’t been ready to lose the only person she had left who seemed to care about her…yet now she found herself strangely dispassionate.  Accolon _didn’t_ care for her any more than she loved him; in fact, she was willing to bet that he had lost any emotional attachment he’d once felt.  Particularly if he was willing to do _this._

He walked right past the Rabbit Hole, completely unaware that Morgan was following him.  He walked past Granny’s, too, and the store he said he’d stop off at on the way home.  Morgan’s home wasn’t too far from Danns’ and Arthur’s, which meant going to the Rabbit Hole was rather out of Accolon’s way, but he was clever enough to go the right way.  That meant his walk was twice as long as it needed to be, but he still made it to Danns’ doorstep within a half hour of leaving.  Morgan, however, never gave him the chance to knock.  He lifted his hand to do so, and she twitched her fingers.

_Tug._

Magic pulled Accolon away—none too comfortably, but she was done feeling sorry—and deposited him back in _her_ home.  Morgan teleported herself, too, landing inches away from her former lover, her arms crossed and her eyes hard.

“Start with how long you have been spying for her, and leave nothing out.”  She wasn’t in the mood to play games.  Morgan was done with playing _nice_.

Particularly with this traitor.

“Wh—what?  Morgan, I—”

“Stop.  You know how I hate being lied to, so do _not_ toy with me.  Talk, Accolon.”  She gave him a cold smile.  “I will have my answers, one way or another.  You know that.”

Accolon flinched.  He _did_ know that, and his handsome face was pale.  Accolon might not have been the smartest man Morgan had ever known, but he was no fool, either.  And he knew her rather well after all these years, which meant he could tell when she was utterly immovable.  _Such as now._   Morgan might have clung to him out of loneliness for far too long, but she had a family to protect, now.  There was nothing in the world more important to her than that.  Even defeating Danns’ paled in comparison.

He swallowed hard, speaking quietly:  “Arthur came to me shortly before we left Camelot.  I have been…serving them ever since.”

“Did I wrong you so deeply that you had to go to her?” Morgan tried to keep her voice level, but it still shook with grief and betrayal.

“Yes.”

That made her blink.  “What?  How?”

“You could have married me and made me a king!  You _should_ have!”  Accolon’s features twisted into an ugly sneer.  “But no, I was never good enough.  Good enough for your bed, but not to rule a kingdom for you.”

“ _For_ me?” Morgan gaped.  “You think I would ever allow some husband to rule _for_ me?  You have never known me well if you think I would allow anyone to rule me.”

Accolon scowled.  “You would have gotten in a lot less trouble if you’d ever listened to sane guidance.”

“I see.”  Morgan bit her lips for a moment, stopping herself from saying any more.  The one man Accolon had never reminded of her was her late husband, King Lot, and yet now he sounded almost _exactly_ like Lot had.  _Only in my nightmares has such a thing ever before come to pass._   But she took a deep breath; Accolon was not Lot, and she needed information, not a husband.  “And this bought her your loyalty?”

“At least Arthur would reward me as I deserved.” He shrugged, and Morgan could see no regret in his eyes.  None at all.

“I will not ask you to detail what you’ve done; I can see it plainly enough now that I am paying attention.”  The words ground out of her as Morgan thought of potions lost, friends betrayed, and all the times her eldest son had tried to warn her.  “But what of Lancelot?  Did you have anything to do with his disappearance?”

“I helped track him, yes.  But I never laid a hand on him.”

Morgan snorted.  “No, he would have taken you to pieces without any effort at all.”

“I am not—”

“Oh, do be quiet,” she cut him off.  Morgan had once found Accolon’s posturing about his own martial skills amusing, but now he just set her teeth on edge.  “Where is he?”

“How should I know?”

“Do not test me, Accolon.  Not if you have any hope for mercy.”  Magic sparked in her fingers, dark and cold, and Morgan _burned_ to destroy this man she had once held so close.

“Fine then.  He is dead.  I know not where, though, so don’t bother asking.”  Another shrug; Accolon clearly did not care about Lancelot, who had once been one of his closest allies.

 _I am sorry, Uncle,_ Morgan thought emptily.  She had loved Lancelot as a friend and her (rather younger) uncle; he had been a strong and true man, who deserved far better than the life he had been given.  But she had already grieved for him; now she would avenge him, albeit in a very small way.  _Accolon is merely Danns’ creature, but this is a start._

“Thank you.”  She nodded politely, and then began pulling the pieces together for an old and complicated spell, looking Accolon in the eye.  “We have shared much, even if it meant nothing to you.  So, I will give you this choice—imprisonment, or death?  I warn you that the former will be lengthy and perhaps neverending, while the latter will be quick and kinder than you deserve.”

Morgan knew from the gleam in his eye that Accolon expected Danns’ would free him, which meant she knew exactly what his answer would be.  “Imprisonment.”

“Very well.”

Her hands came up, and a sharp _crack_ filled the air.  Immediately, Accolon started turning from human to crystal, the effect spreading from his heart outwards as Accolon yelped in shock and more than a little pain.  But the transformation only lasted seconds; Morgan found no joy in torturing someone, even this traitor.  Soon enough, Accolon was a perfectly formed crystal statue, shimmering in the afternoon sun.  A wave of her hand transported Morgan and her new statue out to the backyard, where she settled the statue in next to her small pond.

“She’ll not save you, you know,” she told Accolon softly, knowing he could hear her.  “And nor will I.”

Morgan walked away without looking back.

* * *

 

Either his mother had not realized he was there, or she did not care.  With Morgan, it could go either way—and Mordred did not stay in her home to ask.  Morgan was busy with her new statue, and he was too full of rage.

Lancelot had been his _friend_.  More than that, really.  Lancelot had been the third brother he and Gwaine never had, the man who fought beside them in battle and watched their backs in peace.  After Agravaine was killed by the darkness—along with their great grandmother, Lancelot’s mother—he and Gwaine had always felt like something was missing.  Lancelot, however, had eased that pain, and he had believed in Mordred and his cause when no one else had.  Mordred knew that he’d become unhinged after losing Gwaine, losing control of the magic in Camelot, and becoming obsessed with destroying the Dark One, but Lancelot had brought him back.  Lancelot had reminded him of who he was, and Danns’ a’Bhàis had _killed_ him.

Mordred had hated her before, but not with the boiling intensity that he did, now.  Now he could see the truth; his quest to stop the Dark One had only ever been a distraction.  Danns’ was the real enemy, the one who had tricked Nimue into becoming that monster, and then Merlin into following her.  Danns’ had been the one who fooled his stepfather into killing his _sister_ , and she’d corrupted Arthur, too.  It all boiled down to her—and the prophecy that one of Morgan’s line would finally defeat her.

Perhaps he was not the one to destroy the darkness.  Mordred was finally at peace with that.  But Danns’ he would kill.  No matter what it took.

* * *

 

“You told her that lie, didn’t you?”

Breaking into Isaac’s house had been easy, as had disabling the security cameras.  Emma could have done the later without magic, but doing it _with_ magic was even easier when the darkness was offering such helpful suggestions.  So, she strolled into the living room without the former Author even knowing she was there, interrupting whatever stupid television show he was watching by destroying the T.V.  It went up in a cloud of smoke, melting into sludge and then disintegrating as Isaac leapt to his feet, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What lie?  I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

He cut off as Emma stepped forward to rip his heart out, the last word stringing into a yelp of terror.  “About. My. _Father._ ”

“But I—I—didn’t lie!” Isaac was staring at the heart in her hands with wide and terrified eyes, and part of Emma hated the way she reveled in his fear.

But he deserved it.  She wouldn’t regret this, because Isaac had gotten David _killed._ If he hadn’t told Danns’ what he had, _none_ of this would have happened, so Emma squeezed his heart, just a little, just to make him pay.

Isaac yelped.  “Please, I just did what I was—”

“Shut up.”  Emma squeezed again, and he almost collapsed.  _Make him pay.  He deserves it._   “He’s dead because of you!  You and your big mouth, with you hating the way heroes always win—you might as well have killed him yourself!”

“Wait, David’s dead?” The confusion on his face only made Emma hate him more, and she lunged forward, fighting back the urge to flay skin off of his bones.

“And it’s your fault.”  She felt cold.  The next words came in a frigid whisper.  “I should have done this the moment we got back from that alternate world, so maybe it’s my fault, too.  So, I’ll finish the job.  Right now.”

“Wait, no, stop!  I’m working with—”

Emma didn’t care.  She crushed his heart before Isaac could try to twist his way out of this one, not wanting to hear whatever it was he had to say.  She hated him and wanted him dead…but she was also terrified that the darkness would force her to torture him if she waited a moment longer, and Emma wasn’t quite that far gone.  Even if she _burned_ to destroy anyone else who’d ever even imagined hurting her father.  _Make them all suffer._

Emma walked out without looking back, brushing the ashes of Isaac’s heart off on the couch as she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Eighty-Seven—“She Dreamed an Awful Dream”, in which Henry talks to his dad about Emma’s situation, Rumplestiltskin receives a visit from his grandmother-in-law, Killian plays welcome committee for King Richard, Emma is commanded to kidnap someone, Rumplestiltskin has a startling realization, and Emma learns her father is alive.


	87. She Dreamed an Awful Dream

David found Isaac’s body the next morning; he’d gone to the former Author’s house to find out if Isaac had given Danns’ any _other_ gems of information that might get someone killed, and had instead found a dead body. 

“I guess she cleans up her messes, doesn’t she?” Robin asked wryly, crouching next to body to gesture at the pile of ashes.  “No need to ask for cause of death, here.”

David couldn’t help grimacing, remembering how it felt to have your heart squeezed and crushed, to have the light go out of the world.  He’d now experienced that _twice_ , but the most recent time had been a bit more traumatizing than the first.  “Yeah.”

Taking a deep breath, David glanced around the room, his eyes sweeping over the destroyed television—which looked like it had been melted and then turned to dust of a slightly thicker consistency than the leftover-heart ashes—and the rest of the furniture.  Everything else looked normal enough, but he was hardly Isaac’s biggest fan.  He’d only been in the house a time or two, but he hadn’t wanted to send his upset grandson over to talk to Isaac.  Henry hadn’t taken the news about Emma well at all; they didn’t want to make things even worse.  _And now I’m glad that I didn’t send Henry to discover a body,_ he thought grimly.  Unfortunately, that meant he wasn’t sure if anything else was wrong, just that things looked fine.

“Everything else seems untouched.  Why torch the television?” Robin’s words echoed his earlier thoughts.

“No idea.”  David shrugged.  “Maybe he was watching some T.V. show she didn’t like?”

Robin snorted.  “So, I’m guessing we’re blaming the Black Fairy for this one, yeah?  Seems right up her alley.”

“It certainly does.”

He still felt like they were missing something, but what?

* * *

 

“You killed the former Author.  Well done.”

As greetings went, it was less painful than some Emma had received at the Black Fairy’s hands.  Still, it made her glare darkly at the fairy who held the dagger, who had killed her _father_.  Emma would never forget that, even if she’d quieted her rage to something dark and manageable.  She could wait.  She could wait and she could plan, and then she would take that self-satisfied little smile and shove it down Danns’ a’Bhàis’ throat.  For now, however, she said nothing, just standing silently and waiting.  She could feel the darkness boiling in her veins, could feel it singing to her softly.  It liked the idea of revenge, particularly against Danns’.

It was a pity that she couldn’t twist her mind into considering Isaac an innocent; then she might have been free already.  But Emma would be patient.  _Good.  You’re learning._

“I have a task for you today.”  Was it just wishful thinking, or had Danns’ seemed a little unnerved by Emma’s silence?  Emma hoped so.  But now the Black Fairy was smiling.  “I think it is one you will not hate so much.”

“I doubt that.”  So far, Emma was batting a thousand when it came to hating things Danns’ had wanted her to do.  Today was not likely to be different.

“You’re darkly feisty today, aren’t you?” Danns’ laughed softly.  “Are we still feeling furious?  Or is it just heartbreak?”

Emma just glared—or tried to.  The damned darkness reared up, twisting her soul into painful knots until she gritted out the word: “Both.”

“Good.”  Another smile. “Go find my sister.  Bring her to me— _without_ her knowing you have done so.”

“How the hell am I supposed to kidnap the Blue Fairy?” she asked incredulously.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but she could already feel the darkness tugging on her puppet strings.  She _had_ to find a way, even if the Blue Fairy was powerful enough—not to mention generally holed up in the convent when she was hard to get at—to make kidnapping her next to impossible.  But she knew that the darkness would only attack her if she tried to refuse, and Emma could feel the headache rising already.

The only silver lining was the fact that she really didn’t care who she was sent after now, so long as it wasn’t someone in her family. 

* * *

 

Regina and David had told Henry that Emma was being controlled by the Black Fairy the day before, but Bae was still worried about his son.  Henry was withdrawn and _angry_ , but behind the quiet eyes, Bae could see plans lurking.  David might assume that Henry would tell them before he did something—asking for help was second nature to that side of the family—and Regina might figure that she could predict what idiocy their shared son might get up to, but Bae knew a budding plotter when he saw one.

He’d gone through that same stage, himself.

“So, whatcha planning?” he asked, dropping onto the bed next to Henry.  Bae had learned from experience that any time Henry started staring at the Book was a time his son was scheming.

“Who says I’m planning anything?”

“C’mon, kiddo.  I know where you get the sneaky planning genes from, and it’s not exactly from your mom, okay?”  Bae smiled crookedly.  “And you didn’t exactly learn them from Regina, either, who’s about as subtle as a drunk elephant.”

That finally made Henry crack a smile.  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“So, let me guess.  You’re planning on how to steal the dagger back.”

Henry’s head whipped around to look at him.  “How’d you know?”

“Probably ‘cause it’s what I’d do in your shoes.  It wouldn’t work for me, either, but I’d damned well want to try, anyway.”  Bae shrugged.  “I get it, you know.”

“Then why aren’t _you_ trying to steal the dagger back?”

“Because I know it would only get someone hurt.  Probably Emma, if no one else.”  He swallowed hard.  “Don’t get me wrong, I _want_ to go run in there and do something stupid more than anything, but I’m not exactly someone who can match up to the Black Fairy.  If Zelena wasn’t dumb enough to leave the dagger lying around where someone could get at it, do you think _she_ is?”

Henry heaved a stubborn sigh.  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

“No, it means we should do this the _smart_ way.  Not the way that gets people hurt.”

He could tell that resonated, at least a little.  “Is Grandpa doing something?  Is there actually a plan?  Because I’m not too young to be told.  I want to help.”  Henry smirked a little.  “I was the one who got Galatine back when no one else could.”

“Yes, there’s a plan.”  Bae took a deep breath.  “But it’s not to steal the dagger back.”

“Why not?  Mom just watched Gramps die, and the fact that she’s been being controlled explains _everything_ about how miserable she’s been!”  Henry jumped to his feet, wheeling on Bae.  “We have to get it back.  We _have_ to!”

“Or we just free your mom without the dagger.  From the darkness, being the Dark One, and from being controlled.  The whole shebang.”

That jerked Henry up short.  “How?”

“Like you said, my dad’s got a plan.  And he’s about ready to do it, too.”  He saw Henry’s eyes light up, so Bae quickly added: “But you can’t tell anyone, Henry, particularly Emma.  If she knows about it, odds are the Black Fairy will find out, and she _can_ stop it if she forbids Emma from letting the darkness go.”

“But…but that’s not really fair to Mom, is it?”

“No.  None of this is fair, though, and I bet Emma will forgive us if we have a way to actually free her.”  Bae shrugged.  “And if she doesn’t, I can live with that anger.  As long as she’s okay.”

“I guess I can, too.”  But after a moment, Henry’s shoulders slumped.  “I just wish she’d stop avoiding me.”

Reaching out, Bae put a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “I think she’s trying to protect you.  Particularly after what happened to David.”

Wide brown eyes searched his face.  “Do you think she even knows that Gramps is okay?”

Bae didn’t have a good answer for that one.  He just didn’t.

* * *

 

Her conversation with Belle weighed more heavily on Danns’ mind than she cared to admit.  Seeing her granddaughter angry—nay, _furious—_ with her was…disturbing.  Danns’ did not like the feeling; she wished for Belle to be loyal to her, and her cause.  Had she not done everything she could to spare Belle’s loved ones?  Danns’ was being _far_ more careful than she had intended to be, and that was all for Belle’s benefit.   Yet her own restraint was proving problematic, particularly in respect to Belle’s _husband._

Having her granddaughter married to the new Sorcerer should have been useful, but Belle’s stubborn streak seemed to extend to her husband.  Danns’ had a fair enough read on Rumplestiltskin to know that he would lean in whichever direction Belle chose.  Belle was the one with the rigid moral center; Rumplestiltskin would follow her.  The problem, of course, lay not in his power but in the way he used it, which had proven to be far more skillful than Danns’ had anticipated.  Nuckelavee, for example, had a thousand years’ experience with magic, and he never should have been stopped so _easily_.  Even Merlin would not have been able to toy with him so!  Danns’ had not expected her faithful follower to be defeated, and it still came as a bit of a shock.

She had underestimated Rumplestiltskin quite grievously, and that had to stop.  So, Danns’ headed to the quaint little shop her grandson-in-law owned, waiting in the shadows for the fairy who had escaped Nuckelavee to leave before walking through the doors herself.  Fortunately, Belle was not there.  She loved her granddaughter, but some things were best said away from Belle’s sensitive ears.

“I was wondering when you might drop by.”  Rumplestiltskin looked at her calmly, his brown eyes an all-too-unpleasant reminder of who his mother was. 

 _I should have acted sooner to bring him to my side, but I expected him to be the Dark One, with the dagger there to force him._ Clearly, that had been a mistake.  Now Morgan had her claws into him, and between her and Belle, Rumplestiltskin was not kindly disposed towards Danns’ goals.  But she let none of her regret color her expression as she cocked her head, drifting forward gracefully.

“Did you now?”

“Belle told me about your offer.  You’re not as smart as I think you are if you believe I’m going to let your pet psychopath out of the Hat.”

Danns’ managed not to scowl.  Barely.  The deal had always been a shot in the dark, but it had been worth offering.  Instead, she shrugged.  “I thought you cared for your friend enough that you might bend.  Or is he merely Belle’s friend?”

That thrust went wide; Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I’ve been accused of being cold blooded before.  I don’t really find it an insult.”

“No, you don’t.”  Danns’ smiled.  Oh, it was a pity this man would not serve her—or ally with her, even.  She could imagine worlds in which she _would_ have welcomed Rumplestiltskin as an equal—had he not been married to her granddaughter, Danns’ would have found him quite enticing.  _He is no Merlin…but I do believe I was mistaken in thinking him_ less.

That, of course, was a problem.  Even if she could admire his hard-edged brand of power.

“Do you want something, or is this merely a social call?  It’s hard to tell with enemies who are also in-laws.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was dangerous, but the quip made Danns’ laugh out loud.

“Oh, it’s merely social.  You would know by now if I wanted something.”

“I doubt my poor shop would survive it,” he replied dryly.

 “Perhaps not.”  She glanced around at the strange mix of magical and modern goods; Storybrooke really had become such a strange place.  “Still, it could be terribly interesting.  I found your defeat of Nuckelavee quite…surprising.”

“Because I’m not Merlin?”  There was a slight mocking lilt to his voice, and for a moment, Danns’ could see the echo of darkness shining through him.  Rumplestiltskin was no longer the Dark One, but surviving that curse had given him an edge that was quite sharp.

“Yes.”  She saw no reason to lie about that.  “I underestimated you.  I will admit it.  But now I find you quite fascinating.”

Danns’ drifted forward, leaning against the counter to close the distance between them.  Did she see him flinch slightly?  It was impossible to tell.

“I’m afraid I’m taken, dearie.  As you well know.”  There was definitely something there, something deep and buried.  Perhaps she should ask Zelena for details, as much as the whiny witch annoyed her.

“Yes, I know.”  _It is a pity, but what is done is done._ “True Love.  It is everything a grandmother could wish for her granddaughter.”

Rumplestiltskin merely snorted, and his silence forced the onus of continuing the conversation back to her.  It had been a long time since she’d faced an opponent who clearly did not fear her magic—even Morgan was wary of her power, even now—and Danns’ relished the feeling.  Of course, Rumplestiltskin’s intractability made him her enemy, but she would harm him as little as she could.  For Belle’s sake.  _And because having a second original power on my side will make me undefeatable, even by my dear sister and her minions.  But I do hope I do not have to break him_ too _badly._ Danns’ would hate to ruin that undefinable combination of vulnerability and grit that Rumplestiltskin personified.

She allowed several more moments to tick by before speaking whimsically.  “It is a pity that we have become enemies.  I do hate forcing Belle to choose between family and what she sees as her duty.”

“Then don’t.”  His eyes were steady when Danns’ gave him an incredulous look.  “The choice is yours.  Abandon your insane scheme to smash the worlds together, and you’ll find Belle is much more amicable.”

“Don’t you see the irony of it?”  Danns’ laughed.  “The edges of the Land of Music have already merged with this one—the collapse has already begun.  I need do nothing, now.  All I have to do is wait.”

“Is that so?” 

Danns’ just smiled.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough… _Sorcerer._ ”  Calling him that was still strange, but she did believe in giving credit where it was due.  “Do remember that I am always kind to my friends.  You are no mere human, and you are Belle’s husband.  You need not fear any world I rule.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrowed.   “I am done with being ruled.”

“They all say that.” 

One final nod, and she walked out of the pawn shop onto the sunny street outside.  Danns’ did not care who saw her, nor did she care who feared her.  None of them could harm her, and she could _feel_ the worlds beginning to bend.  Rumplestiltskin was powerful, and he was far more clever and experienced than she had anticipated, but there were still things he did not know.  He was a step behind when it came to the union of the worlds, and Danns’ could— _would_ —use that.

* * *

 

Killian wasn’t sure how he’d found himself playing peacemaker, but he supposed that he was a better choice than Dr. Whale.  _Or Regina. She managed to give them an invitation, but when it comes to playing nice, Her Majesty is still a few cards short of a full deck._   Besides which, Robin had said that Regina had an appointment of her own with Storybrooke’s wisecracking doctor today.  She _was_ rather largely pregnant—though Killian had no idea precisely how far along she was—and that was bound to put any lass in a foul mood.  Particularly one for whom foul moods were a perpetual state of mind.

So, here he stood, chatting with King Richard, who was at least a congenial sort.  They were waiting on David, who insisted that he was hale and hearty, despite having been recently dead, which Killian still found more than a little mind-bending.  _But no stranger than this overgrown adolescent I’m talking to_.  Richard’s current ramble was on the differences between kingdoms in his land, and on how he’d conquered one but gave it back, and how his crazy ex-wife had gone in for something called the “D’DEW”, which was apparently some sort of lunatic sorcery. 

“Can we leave her behind, do you think?” he asked when Richard paused for air.  “Storybrooke has enough of our own evil, magical-using, megalomaniacs.  We don’t really need another.”

Richard jerked back as if struck.  “You have D’DEW here?”

“Ah, no.”  Killian refused to ask exactly what that was.  “But as most of our people come from the Land of _Magic_ , what we have is probably worse.  Or at least I hope so.”

“Ah.  Good point.  Still, I’m not sure I can leave Madalena behind in good conscience.  I mean, she _was_ my wife before she went crazy, and Gal _did_ love her.  Maybe she’s just misunderstood.  Tad chased her away when she tried to take over the kingdom again, but—”

“David!” Spotting David and Robin as they climbed out of David’s truck (refurbished after Killian accidentally led it to mating with the diner’s front seating area), Killian waved the pair over quickly.  He could only take so much prattling, and Richard had passed his limit some time ago.

 _Let David make nice with him.  I’m just a pirate who’s trying to help out.  He’s the bloody ‘Heartless King’_.  Of course, word of David’s not-quite-death had spread all over Storybrooke already, even if it had only been two days.  People stared at the prince—or was he a king?—everywhere he went, and even Killian hadn’t been able to miss the whispers.  Tink speculated that David had survived because it wasn’t _his_ heart that was crushed, but the townspeople seemed to think that David was somehow immortal, now.  Or at least immune from being killed with dark magic.

“Hey.”  David gave him a smile as he walked up, Robin on his heels.  Then he extended a hand to Richard.  “You must be Richard.  I’m David Nolan.  I’m the sheriff here.”

Richard pumped the hand enthusiastically.  “I understand your, uh, Lady Mayor is a bit busy, so I’m glad to meet you.”

“Just between you and I, mate, working with David will be more pleasant than Regina any day,” Killian couldn’t stop himself from putting in.  Robin, however, gave him a very arch look, which made him continue: “Not that she doesn’t have her own type of _charm_ , but…”

Robin snorted out a laugh.  “Just stop digging, Killian.  It’s probably safer.  We have enough holes, already.”  He gestured at the still-shimmering portal, and Killian had to agree.

“So,” David spoke up again.  “I understand that you’ve spoken to your people about coming here, and most of them are willing?”

“Yeah, things are getting a bit dicey back home, if you know what I mean.  Earthquakes, floods, all the natural disasters you can think of.  It’s getting a bit biblical, if you know what I mean.”  Richard gestured expansively.  “No one wants to leave, but…”

“Believe me, we understand.  Storybrooke isn’t our first home, either, and we also adopted Camelot’s survivors a few months ago.  Storybrooke takes a little getting used to, but you’ll fit in.”  David smiled.  “Regina’s already figuring out how to expand the town magically, so there should be somewhere for everyone to live, too.”

Killian tried to pay attention to the conversation concerning where everyone would go, when the town would expand, and how they’d get everyone through the portal without suffering some sort of total collapse, but he truthfully found it all rather boring.  David had it all well in hand, anyway, and Robin was there to help organize things.  Killian was a man of action, not a man of plans, and if things started collapsing and people needed saving, he would have been immediately engaged.  But all this talk was just _talk._

So, when he spotted Lily walking down the street nearby, he headed in that direction, instead.  There was no missing where she was headed—he knew who Lily and her mother were working for—but maybe he could actually _help_ on that front.  Lily wasn’t exactly a diehard follower of the Black Fairy, after all; she’d just joined up there because she and her mother had been ignored one too many times.  Yet he thought he was getting through to her, at least a little.  And talking to her was a hell of a lot more  interesting than listening to kings talk politics.

Even Regina’s sassy sarcasm was more interesting than _that._

* * *

 

“I feel like I spend half my time in the bathroom.”  Belle laughed, trying not to feel nervous.  But she _was._   She’d read every book available in Storybrooke on pregnancy and babies, and had talked to Whale at every appointment, but she still hadn’t ever done this before.  And Rumplestiltskin hadn’t exactly been there for Baelfire’s birth any more than Bae had been there for Henry’s, which meant that the two parents she saw most often were absolutely clueless.  “Is that normal?”

Fortunately, Morgan didn’t laugh at her.  “It is, unfortunately.  What are you, now, eleven weeks along?”

“Yeah.  Doctor Whale says this is the pleasant part, but I’m not sure how many pregnancies he’s actually seen.”  Belle smiled wryly.  “He did get his knowledge from a curse.”

“That is the downside to much of this world, isn’t it?” Morgan snorted, and then gave Belle a once over.  “Though I do believe you’re starting to show a little.”

“A bit.”  She tried not to blush, but it was hard.  Particularly with where her mind went.  “Rumple noticed it before I did, actually.”

Morgan blinked hard.  “I’m _not_ going to ask.”

“Yes, there are definitely things one does not need to discuss with one’s mother-in-law.”  Belle laughed, and then sobered a little.  “Though I think you’re the only one who really knows about pregnancies.”

“Well, I have had a few of my own.” 

The dry response made Belle smile, and helped her finally lean back in her chair and relax.  She didn’t want to admit that she was nervous, but Morgan seemed to understand.  Belle wasn’t afraid, not really—she was certain that she and Rumple both would do everything in their power to protect their unborn child—but she was worried about messing things up.  There was a _life_ growing inside her, and Belle knew how very many things could go wrong, particularly with the war brewing on the horizon.

Had someone told her three months earlier that she’d be asking her mother-in-law pregnancy questions, Belle would have told them they were insane.  Yet here she was, both to ease her own worries and to ease Morgan’s loneliness.  Morgan was a fiercely independent woman, Belle knew, but what had happened with Accolon had to cut deeply.  Morgan hadn’t wanted to discuss it, only gesturing at the crystal statue out by the pond, but Belle could tell.  So, she’d come to spend the afternoon with the older woman, and proceeded to pepper her with questions about pregnancies and magic.  After all, learning from multiple sources was better than only using one.  Besides, Belle had brought one of Merlin’s books along, and she really _did_ have some questions.

* * *

 

Emma wasn’t really tricky by nature, but at least the voices in her head were.

She’d let Morgan see her when she’d attacked on Danns’ orders, but that time, it hadn’t mattered.  Danns’ had armed her with a memory potion that time around, but this time, the Black Fairy offered no such insurance.  _Would a memory potion even work on the Blue Fairy?  She’s supposed to be extra-powerful, too…but Pan’s shadow killed her._   That thought made Emma narrow her eyes.  She’d always wondered about that.  How could a shadow kill so easily when only secondary powers were supposed to be able to kill original powers?  Had Blue been lying to them the entire time?  _It did seem too easy…_

Her parents would have told her to trust Blue, but now both of her parents were gone.  Emma could only hope that someone had taken little Neal in—she assumed that Regina would, anyway.  Or Bigger Neal would, worst case.  She knew her ex-boyfriend well enough to know that he’d do it for her sake, if not Henry’s…but Emma really should have checked.  Guilt gripped her as she slipped through the convent unseen.  How could she not have thought of that earlier?  She was busy swearing vengeance and killing Isaac, but what good did that do her little brother?  By all rights, _she_ should be taking care of him—

 _Don’t start thinking like that, fool,_ Zoso’s annoying voice cut into her thoughts.  _A child will weigh you down, stop you from doing what you have to do._

 _And_ she _will only use him against you,_ Nimue warned.  _Love is weakness.  Didn’t you learn that when she killed your_ father _?_

Biting back her need to snarl took all the willpower Emma had.  Yes, she knew that love was weakness, but she couldn’t stop what she felt.  Deep down, she didn’t want to, either, because even heartbroken love fed fury, and that fed power.  She could use her anger to do what she wanted, Emma knew.  So what if there was a price to be paid?  She’d already paid it.  Both of her parents were dead, and she was enslaved by the woman who had killed her father.  _And who is married to the man who killed my mother_ , she thought darkly.  Emma hadn’t forgotten what Arthur had done, even if everyone else seemed to write it off as an accident.  Before, she’d told herself that killing him would only make her darker, but what did she care about that, now?

So, Emma dug into her power and teleported herself silently into the Blue Fairy’s plush little office, landing right behind where Mother Superior sat in a chair reading.  On first glance, it looked like Blue was reading from a Bible—the thought of which almost made Emma laugh out loud—but after a moment’s study, it seemed to be a spell book of some sort.  _Take it with you,_ Nimue advised.  _Gather all the power you can._

It was a good idea, so when Emma brought magic crashing down to knock the Blue Fairy unconscious, she grabbed the book.  Just in case.  She was also careful to send it to her home before she delivered her captive to Danns’.  After all, her command had been to kidnap Blue, not to leave everything in place.  Or even to tell Danns’ what she took.  Danns’ hadn’t said anything about _that_.

_You’re learning, dearie._

* * *

 

 Danns’ words kept echoing through his mind.

_The edges of the Land of Music have already merged with this one—the collapse has already begun.  I need do nothing, now.  All I have to do is wait_

Was she right?  From what he’d gathered about the Black Fairy, she didn’t tend to _lie_.  Oh, she might tell very tiny partial truths, but there was usually truth in what she said.  Much like him, she tended to twist words and manipulate, but Rumplestiltskin could not see any misdirection in what she had told him.  Gloating, yes.  Danns’ had certainly been preening over the inevitability of her victory.  But she hadn’t been lying…and that meant they were in trouble.

The portal between Camelot and Storybrooke had only been the catalyst, Rumplestiltskin knew.  The real problem had begun with the Dark Curse.  Its reversal might have repaired the damage, but the second casting of the Dark Curse had only deepened the fissures, wearing down the walls between the worlds almost to a breaking point.  Travel between realms had become much easier, both via magic beans and other means.  The Sorcerer’s House had appeared with the Second Curse, riddled with secret doorways between realms.  Rumplestiltskin had closed all the ones he could find, just as he’d tried to stabilize and then close the portal between Camelot and Storybrooke, but the damage had already been done.  He’d _thought_ that he’d stopped the slide, but clearly he had been wrong.

That knowledge brought him to the edge of the shimmering portal that had opened right down the street from Danns’ home.  Was that a coincidence, or had she already started working magic towards this end?  At the moment, he couldn’t afford to care.  He had to study the problem in front of him, and find a way to stave off the destruction of every other magical realm.  Even if the idea of _Rumplestiltskin_ being the one to do so was utterly ludicrous.

He’d been the Sorcerer for nearly three months, and even now the idea of playing hero was enough to make wonder if he’d actually stumbled into some other alternate world.  _Even in my wildest dreams, I would not have thought of this._

Rumplestiltskin also would not have thought that the worlds _could_ slide together like this.  _Had Danns’ come to me with this when I was the Dark One…I would have signed on gleefully._ Knowing that now made him feel a little guilty, but if Danns’ had been able to promise him Baelfire’s safety, Rumplestiltskin knew that he wouldn’t have cared about anything else.  He would have been perfectly capable of understanding the potentially world-ending consequences of allowing her to merge all the worlds into one, but he really wouldn’t have given a damn.  Having a conscience, however, changed things dramatically.  As did the ability to _see_ how things were changing.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” a voice asked, and Rumplestiltskin turned to watch Maleficent approaching.

“Objectively speaking, the portal is a thing of beauty.”

“To look upon, perhaps.”  Maleficent snorted.  “But what’s happening under the surface is hardly attractive.”

“I can’t argue with you, there.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, watching the _broken_ threads of magic along the sides of the portal.  If he looked at just the right angle, he could see where those threads should connect to other realms…yet they had failed.   _Imagine the realms of magic as a wheel, with the Enchanted Forest as the hub.  Each other world is at the end of a spoke, touching mainly through_ _the hub, but also connected faintly to one another,_ Merlin had told him.

Now Storybrooke had taken the Enchanted Forest’s place, yet the spokes were breaking down at an alarming rate.  He had to do _something_ to arrest the collapse, but what?

“Lily and I traveled to Wonderland a few days ago.”  Mal shrugged innocently when he glanced her way.  “I wanted to teach her how to travel realms before there are no other realms to travel to.”

The old Rumplestiltskin would not have asked, but the new Rumplestiltskin did not hesitate.  “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”  Mal swallowed.  “You can see it from the air.  You can _feel_ it.  Everything’s shaky.  I think Wonderland may come next.”

“Lovely.”  On a personal note, Rumplestiltskin hardly wanted to see Belle’s ex-boyfriend Will, who he’d sent back to that very realm via portal not too long ago.  Then the thought struck him—had the portal he’d created drawn Wonderland too close?  Was it helping to cause this?

But no one had opened a portal to the Land of Music, which killed that theory.  _Hopefully._

“Yes.”  Her lips curled up in a sneer.  “It is a distasteful little place, unless you’re looking for hallucinogens.”

That made his eyebrows go up.  “I’m not going to ask.”

“Yes, best you not.” Maleficent surprised him by laughing, but she sobered when she gestured at the portal once more.  “Can you stop it?”

“Me?” 

“Yes, you.”  She didn’t quite roll her eyes.  “We have had our differences, Rumplestiltskin, but I appreciate what you are now.  Unlike me, you’ve changed.”

He snorted.  “ _Changing_ isn’t exactly a ‘has’ or ‘has not’ proposal, dear.  It’s a process.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled wryly.  “And it’s not like anyone here in Storybrooke has cornered the market on attempts at redemption.  You can start any time.”

“It’s easier said than done.”  Her voice was soft, though.  “I’ve made my choices.”

“Do you think I never walked myself into such a corner as that?”  He chuckled softly.  “With the things I’ve done—or the things Regina has done, for that matter—you would think this town would want to imprison us forever.  Yet I find people remarkably forgiving, if you’re willing to try.”

“Maybe.”

“You worry about what revenge Danns’ would wreak if you turned on her.”

“I am not a fool, Rumplestiltskin.”  Maleficent looked at him like he was a particularly dense child.  “ _You_ may not be the sort for bloody reprisals, but I have a daughter to protect.”

“I do understand that, you know,” he said softly.

“I suppose you do.”  She was kind enough not to mention that his coming child was at least protected from Danns’ a’Bhàis; they both knew how many ways to endanger a child there were in this world. 

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, and then spoke very carefully—checking, first, to make sure there was no magic clinging to Maleficent to allow someone else to eavesdrop on her.  There wasn’t, so he said: “It doesn’t have to be black or white.  Do what you must to keep your daughter safe, but only fight the battles you have to fight.”

“You mean for me to do as little as I have to and then swap sides at the last moment.”  Maleficent laughed.  “Well, it’s nice to know that you haven’t changed much, even after becoming the Sorcerer.”

“People are people, Mal.  Our roles only define us so much.”

“Does that mean you’re going to fix this mess, or that you aren’t?” she asked pointedly.  “Because if you aren’t, there isn’t much point to me swapping sides, because she _is_ going to win.”

“As I am well aware.”  Rumplestiltskin bit the words off, and then squared his shoulders.  _Coward no more, I suppose.  This is a risk only I can take._

He had preparations to make first, but Rumplestiltskin could see what had to be done.  Maleficent could see some of it, but he knew that it was Merlin’s power that allowed him to see the slide…and to see where it could be stopped.

The only question was what stopping it would do to _him_.

* * *

 

Henry showing up at her door jerked Emma back to her senses.

A little.

The darkness was still a nice refuge, but looking at her son’s face made him impossible to ignore.  Hanging up on him when he called was one thing—when Emma couldn’t see Henry’s hurt expression, she could tell herself that she was doing the right thing.  But now, _looking_ at him made the fury stop singing so fiercely in her veins, and guilt reared up to demand her attention.  Swallowing hard, Emma resisted the urge to tell Henry to leave for his own safety.  _There’s nothing I can do to save him if she goes after him, so I might as well keep him close while I can._   Still, that didn’t mean that _Regina_ had to accompany their mutual son to Emma’s house.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.  “I don’t need a babysitter to see _my_ son.”

 _They probably know I killed Isaac by now.  They can’t possibly think I’d hurt_ Henry _, can they?_ She wondered, and the darkness answered immediately.  _Of course they can._ Emma shuddered.

“Of course you don’t.”  Regina snorted.  “I’m here because I need your help.”

“My _what_?”

“Your help.  In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a hell of a lot of trouble on our hands.  Worlds are colliding, and I need to expand Storybrooke magically.  But to do that—”

“You came here for magical problems?  Really?” Emma couldn’t stop herself from gaping.  “You what happened!  How can you stand there so normally and—and…” She cut off in a shuddering breath, unable to continue.

Emma turned away, tears blurring her vision.  _Dad…Oh, Dad…_

“Mom?” Henry’s voice broke through the howling feeling of loss.  “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m—” The words cut off before Emma could even realize that the old command to appear fine, to let no one _know_ , was asserting itself.  She gulped.  Pain reverberating through her skull.  “I’m fine.”

Henry shot her a disbelieving look.  “You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just—I’m sorry about your grandfather.”  It was all Emma could say.  She wanted to apologize for her role in it, burned to weep and tell Henry how sorry she was that she’d gotten her own father killed, but _the words just wouldn’t come_.  She couldn’t make herself say them, not with the darkness’ claws digging into her mind.

“What?” Henry blinked, and then something seemed to dawn on him.  “Gramps is fine, Mom.  He’s not dead.”

“Don’t toy with me.”  The words came out more harshly than she intended, but Emma couldn’t stop herself.

“I’m not!  He’s okay.  Grandpa says it had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t Gramps’ heart that was crushed—something because he was already killed that way, and now it’s Grandma’s heart.  He’s okay.  I can call him if you want proof.”

“What…?”

Turning helplessly to Regina, Emma felt like she was lost in some vortex, like she was struggling for air and couldn’t figure out how to breathe.  _That’s impossible.  Say it’s impossible.  Tell me he’s okay._   Emma couldn’t even hear the darkness over the confusion of her own thoughts.  Her heart was beating so hard that it sounded like drums in her ears.  _Please.  Please tell me I didn’t kill him.  Please tell me it’s not my fault._

“Henry’s right.”  Regina’s voice was oddly gentle.  “David’s fine.  I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen him myself, but he’s alive and well.”

Sagging against the doorframe as her knees went weak, Emma could only stare.  Her father was _alive_.  Somehow—she didn’t care how!—David hadn’t died.  She’d seen his heart crushed, watched him collapse to the ground, but he was alive!  Emma almost collapsed in relief, and barely reacted as Henry stepped forward to wrap his arms around her.

“Now, how about we talk about what needs to be done to keep Storybrooke safe?” Regina asked after a moment, and Emma almost laughed.

Almost.

* * *

 

“Well, shit.” 

Bae had gone over to Isaac’s place to check on the security cameras; it was pretty obvious who had killed the former Author, but they all just wanted to make sure.  He’d had enough foresight to get his father to enchant the cameras so that magic _couldn’t_ erase them—at least not without unravelling Rumplestiltskin’s complicated mess of spells first—which meant he was able to resurrect the footage that the killer thought they’d erased.

He hadn’t expected it to be Emma.  _She’s being controlled,_ he told himself again and again.  _It can’t be her fault._   But why would the Black Fairy want Isaac dead?  And if it was all Danns’ doing, why would Emma have said what she did?  Bae knew the truth, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself.  It was ugly, and it was unwelcome as hell, but he _knew._   Emma was the Dark One, and being the Dark One brought out the worst in you.  Particularly after—or during—being controlled by another.  None of these choses were ones that the old Emma would have made, but with the darkness eating at her mind…

Letting out a shaky breath, Bae made a copy of the video and then erased it.  He’d tell his father, and then they’d decide if they needed to tell David.  Knowing Emma had killed Isaac wouldn’t bring the prat back to life, and it _would_ turn people even further against Emma.  Most people didn’t understand what the darkness did to its host, and Bae wasn’t going to put Emma in any more danger than she was already in.

 _But we have to figure out how to stop her before she hurts someone else._ Or they had to get the darkness out of her.  Fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Eight—“Airy Dancers Hand in Hand,” in which Rumplestiltskin comes clean to Belle, Blue faces off with her sister, Regina realizes she’s in trouble, David welcomes newcomers to town, a song is sung (much to Killian’s displeasure), Lily meets Tad Cooper, Emma tries to lend Regina a hand, and Henry turns to his grandfather for help.


	88. Airy Dancers Hand-in-Hand

He really did have too many balls in the air, but Rumplestiltskin actually _had_ taught himself how to juggle back in his Dark One days.  He’d been bored, and a jester had wanted to make a deal…and, well, it hadn’t been one of his trickier moments, but it had passed the time for a few decades.  So, he did know how to manage all the many problems he’d taken on, even if they were growing complicated.  First, he’d promised Baelfire that he’d get the darkness out of Emma as soon as he could—the issue there remained containing the previous Dark Ones, but he was fairly certain that he’d figured out how to break the actual darkness up enough to strip their malignant souls of power.  Secondly, and far more pressing, the slide of worlds together _had_ to be stopped.  Thirdly, of course, the Black Fairy was still at large and dangerous.  The fact that she still held Jefferson prisoner was yet a fourth issue.  Since the last problem was the easiest to deal with, getting it out of the way was the smartest route.

Of course, the obstacle to his plan on that front was _Belle_.

But there was no getting around the fact that he had to tell her about his plan.  They all knew that he _couldn’t_ release Nuckelavee from the Hat; the sadistic fae would only use it as an excuse to kill more people than he already had.  But that left Jefferson out in the cold, and they’d already waited too long to save him.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t forgotten his promise to Whale, and the time for dithering was over.

“We need to talk about Jefferson, sweetheart,” he said quietly that afternoon.  Belle had come to the shop at his request, and if his wife was surprised to see Morgan and Mordred there, she didn’t comment.

Belle only sighed.  “I know we can’t afford to release Nuckelavee, but I don’t think that my grandmother is going to change her mind and demand something else.  I tried to convince her, but she wasn’t interested in letting him go.”

“Of course she wasn’t.”  Mordred snorted.  “She’s not the type to let her toys go.  Ever.”

“Enough, Mordred.”  Morgan spoke up before Belle could glare at Rumplestiltskin’s half-brother.  “There’s no need to state the obvious.  Everyone here knows what Danns’ is.”

Belle winced slightly, but Rumplestiltskin noticed that she didn’t say anything.  His wife wasn’t happy with the way things were going, but she’d made her choice.  _She’s not going to be happy with_ me _, either.  I didn’t expect her to take my not telling her about Emma as well as she did, but this might well burn up all the goodwill I’ve earned._ Not fidgeting nervously took all of Rumplestiltskin’s self-control.  He loved Belle more than life itself, but not every problem had a morally correct solution.  And the only way he could see to get Jefferson back definitely didn’t fit within any black and white definition of what was ‘right’.

Still, he’d played the coward and avoided the topic long enough, so Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  “Since Danns’ is not inclined to free Jefferson, or even to offer us a deal we can accept, we have to find another route.  Such as taking something _she_ wants in order to get what _we_ want.  Namely, Jefferson.”

“But not Galatine, surely.  Even if she knows the sword was stolen from Emma, we can’t offer her that kind of weapon.”  Belle’s eyes flicked to his face.  “Galatine can kill you as surely as it can kill her.”

“Yes, it can.”  Rumpelstiltskin grimaced.  “But I wasn’t speaking of something that we _have_ already.  It’s something we’d have to take: Arthur’s heart.”

“What?” Predictably, Belle shook her head.  “No.  We can’t do that.  If we take his heart, we’re no better than she is.”  She put her hand on his arm.  “Rumple, I know you’re trying to be better.  This isn’t who you are now.  You don’t have to turn to darkness.”

He laughed mirthlessly.  “Believe me, I don’t want to.  But if you have a better idea, sweetheart, I’m all ears.”

“There has to be _something_.”

“There isn’t.”  Morgan’s voice was hard, and made Belle’s head snap around.  “Unless you’re saying that your friend deserves to suffer in Danns’ hands.”

“Of course he doesn’t!”  Belle’s blue eyes flashed, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to take her hand, to tell her that Morgan didn’t _mean_ that…but he couldn’t.  Because he knew that his mother did mean that.

 _I had to inherit this affinity for cold-blooded calculation from_ somewhere _, after all,_ he thought with a wry smile.  “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” he said more gently, shooting his mother a look to keep her from saying more.  “Jefferson’s life is only going to be bought at a steep price, and if we aren’t prepared to free a monster, we must take the initiative out of Danns’ hands.”

“But you’re talking about being willing to kill Arthur.  If you aren’t willing, she won’t give in, and you _can’t_ be ready to do that.”  Belle was anything but stupid, and she turned to him with pleading eyes.  “Rumple?”

“He won’t.  I will.”  Mordred spoke before Rumplestiltskin could answer, making the others turn to stare at him.  Rumplestiltskin felt his own eyes going wide—he hadn’t expected Mordred to make such an offer.  Particularly not to spare _him._   Or Belle, for that matter.

“But he’s your father.”  Belle looked like she couldn’t believe her ears.

“And no great loss to humanity.  I know that better than anyone.”  Mordred’s expression was only marginally grimmer than Morgan’s.  “He’s no innocent, Belle.  In a just world, someone would have killed him already.  He’s Danns’ co-conspirator, actively _helping_ her with her design to smash all the worlds together.  And you had better believe that he knows exactly what is happening to Jefferson and does not care.”

She shook her head.  “Murder is never right.”

Mordred just shrugged.  “It won’t be murder if she gives in.”

“And she will.  Danns’ still sees Arthur as useful, which means she’ll trade her own ‘amusement’ for him,” Morgan spoke up calmly.  “That’s why this will work.”

“It’s still not right.”

“No one’s saying it is, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  “We all know it isn’t.  But this isn’t a perfect world where we can always do what is right.  In this case, saving Jefferson is more important than _how_ we do it.  He deserves to go home to his daughter, not to rot because we are too ‘good’ to use a little darkness to save him.”

Belle met his eyes, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin thought she might storm out.  His heart leapt into this throat, pitter-pattering nervously as he waited to see what she would do.  Belle had never hesitated to walk away when she thought he was going down the wrong path, and he usually capitulated because he couldn’t bear to lose her.  But this time he _wasn’t_ wrong, and Rumplestiltskin knew it.  He was doing the best he could with the situation he’d been given.  There was probably some other way to save Jefferson without bloodshed, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t see it.  _Particularly not without forcing Jefferson to wait even longer._

“Has it really come to this?” Belle whispered.  “Can’t we do better?”

“Do you see a way?” he asked gently.

“No.”  Crossing her arms, she hugged herself tightly.  “But it just feels so wrong.”

“It often does.”  Morgan sounded sad when she spoke up.  “We’re taught not to fight evil with evil, but sometimes you have to choose.   There is no perfect solution, but we have to save those we can.”

Belle nodded silently, and Rumplestiltskin just reached out and pulled her into his arms.  Belle had grown a lot, he knew, becoming more open minded and less likely to storm out when things grew murky, but compromises like this were hard on her heart.  She had _such_ a good heart, was so much a shining beacon of light, that he hated to see her make decisions like this.  It was one of the reasons he’d desperately wanted to lie to her, just to spare her the pain.

“Thank you for not trying to do this behind my back,” she whispered into his shoulder.  “I know you wanted to.”

“I…” He gulped.

“I don’t blame you for that, Rumple.  And I’m not going anywhere.  I asked for honesty, and I got it.”  He could hear Belle’s crooked smile.  “I know I don’t always have to like it.”

“I love you, you know.  And your damnable goodness.”

She snuggled close.  “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Blue knew plenty about the copper bands she wore unwillingly, though she had never expected to find them turned on _her_.  Oh, she and her sister had battled time and again, yet both had avoided doing something so utterly vulgar and personal.  They were supposed to be _above_ this!  At least planting the Heart inside her sister had been both elegant and painless.  These magic-blocking bands chaffed, and the more she reached for her power, the more painful it became.  She had known that would happen, of course.  Danns’ had created these infernal things over a thousand years earlier, and she’d been well aware of what they did back then.  But the bands still chafed.

There were five of them, each crafted with exquisite care in bronze, decorated—on the insides!—with runes in three separate languages.  The outsides were smooth copper, but Blue could feel the runes burning against the skin of her wrists, ankles, and neck, and it made her want to scream.  She really had expected better of Danns’, even after everything.

“Are your accommodations comfortable?”  Her sister appeared in the doorway without a sound, and Blue looked up from the bed she sat on.

“If you want me to be grateful not to be in some cell, I will not be.”  She rose, bringing her chin up.  She would not be cowed.  Not by her sister.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Reul.  You know I would never treat you so lowly.”

She sniffed.  “These bands say otherwise.”

“A necessary precaution.”  Danns’ laughed softly.  “You didn’t think that I would refuse the opportunity to use the Heart simply out of kindness, did you?  I did not want to hurt Belle, but I always did have another method to keep you harmless and contained.”

“Peaceful coexistence—”

“Says the faery who exiled _me_ for hundreds of years.”  Her sister’s voice was hard.  “No.  I think not.  Play your hurt and gentle act for someone else, sister.  We both know what you are.”

Blue could not stop her eyes from narrowing.  Was it to be this way, then?  She would have to find someone to get her out of these bands, and then the peace she had _hoped_ to find with Danns’ would be no more.  She had truly thought that Danns’ would be content to war upon humans rather than fairies, which should have given Blue time to find a new way to exile her sister.  She’d promised not to use the Heart, and she _had_ intended to keep that promise, but now what choice did she have?

“Tsk, tsk.  You’re planning to break your promises already.”  Danns’ floated forward, her smile smug.  “I do know that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  They both knew that was a lie, but it was one that had to be told.

“Of course you don’t.”  Another laugh.  “I will leave you to think on your new situation for some time.  You know what I want, after all.”

She shook her head firmly.  “I will not tell you how to reach the fae.”

“Then you will remain here.  Tell me, and you will walk free.”

Danns’ strode out of the room before Blue could decide if she was telling the truth or not, but it didn’t matter.  She sank onto the bed, heart heavy and worried.  None of the humans here in Storybrooke understood what she had done for them by exiling Danns’, and she’d tried to keep them in the dark while she sought a method other than using young Henry Mills’ heart.  Blue was not a fool; she knew that doing that would turn her former allies irrevocably against her…yet now she seemed to have no choice.

Or she could reveal the location of the fae and let the humans fight the battle they apparently burned for.

* * *

 

“I’m going to need an architect.”  Regina scowled at the large sheet of blank paper lying on their kitchen table that evening, glaring at it like she wanted to light it on fire.  “Or something.”

“Why’s that, love?” Robin put down the pot he’d been drying and wandered over, glancing Roland’s way as he did so.  His son was coloring cheerfully—Baelfire had found him a bunch of comic-themed coloring books that Roland loved.

“We have to expand Storybrooke to fit all the new people inside.”  His wife sighed angrily.  “I’ve figured out how to use magic to do it…but I have to tell the magic what I want.  And I have _no_ idea how to put together what amounts to a second town center.”

“Can’t the magic do that for you?” He’d come to Storybrooke with the Second Curse, and he knew that the town hadn’t been left standing between the curses.  Magic had built the town twice.  Surely it could handle the job again.

“The _curse_ could.  But I can’t use the scroll to recreate that magic—and even if I could, I’m not prepared to pay that kind of price.  Not again.”

Robin’s breath caught.  What Regina had done to cast the curse still haunted her, he knew; she had periodic nightmares about killing her father that would never go away.  Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around her for comfort.  “So you need someone to design the town for you.”

“More or less.  Magic can make the buildings structurally sound, but it can’t make where they’re located make _sense_.”  Regina gestured rudely at the paper.  “Town planning isn’t exactly a skill the curse gave me.”

“I can do that.”  Leaning in, Robin dropped a kiss on the side of his frustrated wife’s neck, making her twist to face him in surprise.

“You can?”

He shrugged.  “I dabbled in a bit of town design back home before I turned outlaw, and I worked for an architect when we were in New York.”

“Oh.”  She blinked, her voice going a little quiet.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I don’t talk about it a lot.”  Robin tried to smile, but the effort came out crooked.  He didn’t really like reflecting on his time in New York; the memories of having been fooled by Zelena still made him feel dirty. “But maybe this way that time can be turned to a useful purpose.”

“That would be great.”  Regina’s eyes flashed from angry to shining happily, and Robin felt his heart skip a beat.  While he was happy to let Regina run the show—and to admire her while she did so—he wanted to help.  Robin had spent years fighting for justice, and sitting on the sidelines holding Regina’s coat really wasn’t his style.

He grinned.  “Then show me what you need, and I’ll sketch something out.”

* * *

 

Today was the day they would bring the first people through from the Land of Music, and the portal had drawn quite a crowd.  A good half of those people were busy staring at David, though, which made him more uneasy than he’d like to admit.  He was used to being watched, of course—he’d been a king, which meant there was rarely a moment where eyes _weren’t_ on him—but this was different.  Even when he pretended that he couldn’t hear the whispers.

“My, you’re looking cranky today.”  Regina stepped up to his side, her smile amused.

David felt his jaw working as he tried not to frown.  “I can hear what they’re saying.”

“Yeah, it’s been going all morning.  Apparently, _someone_ let the cat out of the bag and told the town about your not-dying.”  She snorted.  “Now they’re all going on about how you can’t be killed with dark magic.  They’re even calling you the ‘Heartless King’.”

“I have a heart, thank you very much.”  His hand found his chest, where he could still feel Snow’s heart beating within.  He could feel her presence, too, the loving touch that tried to calm him when David just wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for everyone to stop looking at him like this.

For once, Snow wasn’t much of a comfort.

“Not yours, though.  When you think about it, it’s pretty extraordinary.”

He twisted to glare at her.  “Not you, too.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.  I’m hardly going to fall over myself fawning all over you, and I don’t think you’re some sort of king out of legend.”  Regina laughed.  “But these people do.  You can use that.”

“I’m not going to _use_ people—”

“Stop before you have an aneurism.  I’m not saying to all Evil Queen—or Evil King, in your case, I suppose—on them.  I’m saying that they have confidence in your leadership.  Who cares about the reasons?   You’re not lying.  You _didn’t_ die when your heart was crushed—twice—so if they need something to believe in, let it be you.  It’s been a long time since Storybrooke had a hero to believe in.”

David had to swallow hard, and his next words came out in a whisper.  “That’s supposed to be Emma’s job.”

“Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes, and you get to fill in until she’s ready again.”  Regina shrugged.  “Now, I’m going to go find your wayward daughter while you get these people in here safely.  Try to keep them away from the western side of town until we’re done expanding it, okay?”

“That much I can handle.”

David didn’t know much about being some king out of legend—or prophecy, if what Henry had mentioned that morning was true—but he did know how to get things done.  Richard and his dragon had come through the portal while he and Regina were speaking, and that meant it was time to get to work.  There were people to save from a collapsing world, and that meant there wasn’t time for self-doubt.

* * *

 

Here they were, yet again, bringing people through a portal and into Storybrooke.  Soon enough, they were going to become old hands at the process, assuming that the worlds collapsing didn’t do them all in first.  _And if Her Majesty doesn’t manage to make the town bigger, we all might find ourselves with unwelcome guests,_ Killian thought irritably, watching Regina teleport away in a cloud of maroon smoke.  She was working with Emma, he knew, but he tried not to think of that too hard.  Any thoughts of Emma still made his heart ache; he knew that he’d lost her, and Killian had mostly come to terms with it, but he had loved her so bloody fiercely that stepping away was hard.

Fortunately, there were plenty of ways to distract himself these days.  _Unfortunately_ , the present distraction was not one he would have chosen: a dark-haired, bearded man came striding through the portal with a lovely olive-skinned woman on his arm…and he were _singing._

_“Now once upon a time_

_There was a clock that chimed_

_Starting the legend that was Sto-ry-brooke!”_

Killian just _stared_.  He couldn’t find words to express the shock and dismay he felt—he’d known that the newcomers came from the Land of Music, but he’d thought that meant instruments, not songs and sing-alongs!  Even as he watched, wide-eyed, the dainty-but-pretty woman picked up:

_“We start ex-po-sit-ing_

_Though we should know nothing_

_About this brand new world of Storybrooke!”_

Then the two sang together:

_“It's! The power of the show tune!_

_Keeps us comic-al-ly in tune!_

_Yes! It keeps us on our toes,_

_Protects from all our foes,_

_In this new world of Sto-ry-brooke!”_

“Ahem.”  Killian finally made his mouth work as he stepped forward.  They were ridiculously cheerful for refugees, and he really couldn’t handle the singing.  Particularly since they somehow seemed to know things about Storybrooke that they _couldn’t_ know, which meant there was some nasty magic at play here.

“Oh, hello!”  The man turned towards him, holding out a ridiculously well-manicured hand.  “I’m Galavant.  Sir Galavant, technically, though you can just call me Gal.”  His smile was stunning.  “This is my wife, Princess Isabella Maria Eliza—”

“Isabella _Lucia_ Maria Elizabetta,” Isabella cut him off, glaring at her husband.  “Of Valencia.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Of course she was a bloody princess.  Why would she not be?  Baelfire would probably call her a walking fairy tale trope, and he wouldn’t be wrong.  Her singing voice gave him _such_ a headache, though.  He managed a smile, but barely.  “Captain Killian Jones.”

“A captain?” Galavant perked up. “I know just the song—”

“Start singing again, mate, and I swear I will run you through.” 

“What a terrible welcome.”  Galavant frowned mightily.  “Here we are, singing lovely songs about your town, and you threaten to run us through.”  His eyebrows went up.  “Hold on.  You’re not even wearing a sword.”

 _Damn._ Just when he half-wished for his old hook to make a realistic threat.  There were times Killian missed being in a world where he wore weapons regularly.  Thinking quickly, he smiled as sweetly as possible: “Then I’ll sic a crocodile on you.”

After all, if there was one person in this town that would hate their singing every bit as much as Killian did, it was his old Uncle Crocodile.  It was probably the only thing Killian and Rumplestiltskin had in common, but it was something.

“I heard that!”  Bae’s laughing voice came from Killian’s right, and he turned to greet his cousin in relief.  Bae was better at playing nice with people than Killian was, anyway.  Killian still had a pirate’s instincts and tended to wonder what he might take from these newcomers—which even he knew was a bad way to introduce them to Storybrooke.  “I’m not sure siccing my father on them is a good way to welcome anyone.”

Isabella frowned.  “Your father is a crocodile?”

“Only to Killian.”  Bae laughed easily.  “Welcome to Storybrooke, but go easy on the songs, will you?  People here aren’t really used to that.”

“Richard mentioned that you came from a land of magic before you wound up in this strange place.”  Galavant glanced around, his hand a little too obviously on the hilt of _his_ sword.  “Would that be magic of the evil kind?”

“As if there’s another,” Isabella mumbled.

There had been a time Killian would have wholeheartedly agreed with them, but he’d grown quite a bit since then.  _Not to mention learned a thing or two about magic._   “Magic of all kinds,” he answered after exchanging a glance with Baelfire.  “Some good, some bad.  Some just…there.”

“Well, we do have a friendly dragon on our side, so I suppose that we have to agree with you on that front.” Galavant shrugged.  “And he _did_ start life as a lizard, so…”

The thought of dragons brought something else to mind, and Killian suddenly realized what an opportunity this was.  Mordred had said that this Tad Cooper fellow was a human-turned-dragon, too—just like Mordred and Arthur—which meant that there were others who weren’t actually related to the Pendragon line.  _And Lily is still looking for her father…_

“Speaking of dragons, do you know if yours knows other dragons?  I, uh, have a friend who is looking for one.”

“If your friend is trying to become a dragon rider, tell him to look elsewhere.”  Isabella snorted, and then threw a smirk Galavant’s way.  “Tad is rather particular on that front.”

“No, actually _she_ is a dragon.” 

That made Isabella blink.  “Oh.” 

“Aye.  She’s hoping to find her father—who was apparently also a dragon.  And your friend might be able to help.”

“We can certainly ask him.”  Galavant shrugged.  “He should be through soon enough.”

Killian wasn’t accustomed to thanking people, but he felt his own smile turning surprisingly real.  “Thank you.  I think she’ll…really appreciate it.”

Now he just had to give Lily a call.  Maybe, just maybe, if they could help her find her father _without_ the Black Fairy being involved, they could tug Lily and Maleficent back towards their side.  Maybe.

* * *

 

“Can I ask you a question, Grandpa?”

Rumplestiltskin turned to face his grandson, careful to keep his emotions off of his face.  He’d known what Henry had to want ever since the lad had shown up in the shop, though Henry had put on a brave front of talking about other subjects.  Part of Rumplestiltskin desperately wanted to avoid this conversation, to brush Henry off on _anyone_ else, but he couldn’t do that.  Not to Bae’s son.

“Of course you can, Henry.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to be too obvious when he let a breath out, shoving away his own memories.  _Don’t think of that now._   Henry mattered more than what had happened to him; Rumplestiltskin had come out the other side, and he was all right.  Most of the time.

“What’s it like being controlled?”  Wide brown eyes searched his face as Henry fidgeted.  “I mean, I know Zelena was psycho, but…what did it feel like?  You always looked so sad.”

Henry hadn’t been around much when Zelena had the dagger, Rumplestiltskin remembered, but apparently he’d seen a thing or two.  Despite not having his memories at the time, Henry was always a sharp boy.  Now, however, that intelligence worked against Rumplestiltskin’s chances of hiding anything.  Assuming he wanted to.  He took a deep breath before answering.

“It depends on how the person with the dagger wants you to feel,” he answered after a moment.  “Zelena…Zelena was angry.  She wanted to make me miserable.  And so she did everything she could to make that happen.” 

“Do you think the Black Fairy’s the same way?”

“No.  Oh, I don’t doubt she’s capable of being a far worse villain than Zelena, but she seems willing to give your mother more freedom than Zelena did me.”  Every now and then, Rumplestiltskin still had nightmares of being locked in that storm cellar, of Zelena’s hands on him when he couldn’t run away.  For whatever reasons, Danns’ seemed willing to treat Emma like a human being, which meant Emma still lived at home and was (relatively) able to see who she wanted.

“But she still makes her do things, right?”  Henry grimaced.  “That has to be awful.”

“It is.”  Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and then decided to be truthful.  Henry needed to know, and better the lad ask him than try to go to Emma, who probably _couldn’t_ share with him.  “It’s like being a puppet on strings.  What you want doesn’t matter—the curse will _make_ you comply.  Sometimes, it’s almost like watching your body from the outside as it does things, except you’re the one who’s doing it.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s uncomfortable, yes.”  _It feels like being in chains,_ he didn’t add.  Henry didn’t need to know the constant feeling of being trapped or how it ate at you.  However, he did need to know other things.  “Don’t blame her for what she does.  She can’t help it.  If she’s commanded to do something, Emma will _have_ to obey.”

“I know.” Henry nodded unhappily.  “The Book says as much.  I think Mom thought she could fight it in the beginning, but she can’t.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  “No, she can’t.”

“You’re gonna save her, right?  Dad said you can get the darkness out of her even when the Black Fairy has the dagger.”  Henry’s eyes settled on him again, and seeing the hope and confidence there was almost enough to break Rumplestiltskin.

“I’m going to do my best.”  He took a breath.  “I just have to make sure that when I pull the darkness out of her, it isn’t free to infect someone else.  That would only compound our problems.”

Henry looked down at his feet, scuffing his toes across the floor listlessly.  “Yeah.”

“Hey.”  He put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder, which made Henry look up.  “She’ll be all right.  Your mom is strong—far stronger than I ever was—and we’ll get the darkness out of her.”

“But she won’t be the same, will she?”

“No one ever is.  Our experiences change us.  Good or bad, they make us what we are.”  Rumplestiltskin squeezed Henry’s shoulder gently.  “Remember when you asked me to make you forget so that you could forget the bad parts of life?”

Henry nodded.  “Yeah.  You told me that I shouldn’t.”

“It’ll be the same for Emma.  She won’t be exactly like she was, but she’ll still be your mom.  And even being the Dark One can’t make her love you any less.”

“Dad tells me the same thing.” 

The mention of his son made Rumplestiltskin’s heart warm, particularly after all the troubles they’d had when _he_ was the Dark One _._   “Well, he’s pretty smart, your Dad.”

“Aren’t you contractually obligated to say that?”  Henry finally smiled, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled in return.

“Perhaps.”

* * *

 

“This is crazy, you know.”  Emma tried not to glare, thinking—none too quietly—that she was lucky that Danns’ hadn’t forbidden her from doing this.

 _Then again, it fits right in with what she wants, doesn’t it?_ Emma thought sadly.  _All the worlds crashing into one another, everyone all in one place so she can rule them…_   She swallowed hard, trying to clear her mind.  But she could still hear the voices: _And what happens to you once she has what she wants?_ Emma didn’t like admitting that she was afraid, but that thought terrified her.  _Don’t help with this.  Delay.  Delay, delay, delay.  Save yourself while you can._

Resolutely, Emma shoved that voice aside, just in time to hear Regina’s response: “And what the hell is so crazy about it?  You _live_ in a town built by magic and you’re infested by a homicidal elemental darkness, but you think expanding the town with magic is crazy?”

 “Fine, you have a point.”  Emma scowled.  “I still don’t see why you want _my_ help, though.”

“You’re the Savior.  When the curse was cast, Rumplestiltskin made sure _you_ were a part of it.  I cast it, and you broke it—we’re the only two that can do this.”  Regina looked like she was letting out a nervous breath.  “And we have to, or Storybrooke is going to get overrun.”

Part of Emma wanted to demand why she should care about that—or why _anyone_ in Storybrooke should care about outsiders.  But the woman she’d been was still buried underneath the Dark One, and she knew why Regina felt they had to help.  _Just walk away.  This isn’t_ your _responsibility,_ the darkness whispered.  _Let her play the hero if she wants to._   She wanted to walk away, she did—but Emma didn’t.  She’d just been given the world’s most amazing second chance; her father was alive, against all odds.  Magic always came with a price, and Emma was not going to ignore the fact that she had to pay _something_ for the way her father had been spared.

Maybe this was it.  Either way, she could convince the darkness of that, and bludgeon it into shutting up.

“All right.  You got a plan here?”

“Actually, yes.”  Regina waved her hand, and a blueprint appeared.  “This is what it should look like.”

Emma peered at the design curiously, resisting the urge to deride it for no reason.  _Shut up,_ she told the darkness as it coiled impatiently.  _I’m doing this whether you like it or not._ She could feel the other Dark Ones shifting angrily, but that was something she was growing used to.  Of course, Danns’ could jerk her away at any moment, but Emma didn’t want to think of that right now.  Instead, she focused on the plan in front of her, which was both surprisingly detailed and surprisingly modern.  _Would you look at that._

The few weeks Emma had spent in the Enchanted Forest had been more than enough for her; she had no desire to ever live like that again.  In fact, she was pretty sure that she’d have run back to New York City as fast as humanly possible if Storybrooke had been so medieval.  Fortunately, it wasn’t.  Emma was rather fond of modern creature comforts, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to live without them.  _And I don’t really expect anyone else to, either._   She’d half expected Regina to do something stupid like build a town that the people from the Land of Music would be comfortable in, only to have to rebuild the thing later when those people demanded modern conveniences.  But Regina hadn’t.  She’d chosen to build another town on Storybrooke’s level of technology, and even if that meant someone would have to teach the newcomers how to use everything, Emma thought that was a good idea.

“Ready?” Regina interrupted her thoughts.

“Sure.”  Emma shrugged.  The entire idea was ludicrous, but if it was their only option, it was their only option.  And for once, the darkness wasn’t piping up helpfully.  “Might as well get it over with.”

“Then take my hand.”  The other woman held her hand out, palm up.

Emma eyed the hand like it was poisonous.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.  I don’t have cooties, Miss Swan.”

“And I’m not a five-year-old boy afraid of girls, either,” she shot back.

Regina arched an eyebrow.  “Then stop acting like one.”

Rolling her eyes, Emma took the offered hand—maybe a little more roughly than required, but Regina didn’t complain beyond an exasperated eye roll.   Then they joined their magic, and went to work.

* * *

 

The newcomers weren’t really the problem, even if they did have the unfortunate habit of bursting into song.  Still, some of them seemed pretty chill.  Bae and Robin had already met a cook and a maid who seemed to be determined to buck every medieval tradition ever.  Those two were already asking about modern technology and how to avoid things like dysentery in their new world, which sparked off an embarrassingly detailed conversation between the pair and Robin that Bae mostly tried to tune out.  They got that pair assigned somewhere to stay in yet another tent village—a temporary thing, they all hoped, since Emma and Regina were even now working to expand the town—and then moved onto the next group of refugees.

Hours passed like that, helping families move everything they owned through a shimmering portal in the ground.  But of course things couldn’t stay simple.  That would have just filled the day with backbreaking work and wary, heartbroken people.  No, ‘King’ Arthur had to show up, making speeches to the newcomers about how they were going to be victimized by a corrupt regime who didn’t care about them. 

It made Baelfire want to throw rotten eggs at him.

“You can’t trust these people!” Arthur shouted to the newcomers, gesturing angrily in the direction of the town.  “They’ll make promises about representation and never keep them.  And their ruler used to be known as the ‘Evil Queen’.  Do you need any more explanation than that?”

“’Used to be’ sounds a lot better than ‘currently’.”  Galavant stepped out of the crowd, looking curious.  “Redemption is a thing, you know.  At least in our world.  Our king used to be pretty evil, but now he’s a pretty chill fellow.”  The knight cocked his head.  “Who are you again, anyway?”

“King Arthur of Camelot.”  Arthur sneered, but he didn’t manage to continue before David walked up.

“Arthur here isn’t a big believer in redemption—or at least not when it makes him look bad.”  David’s grin was easy, and Bae could tell that it won him a lot more friends than Arthur’s superior expression.  “Besides, he’s married to the Black Fairy, who makes Regina look like a teddy bear.”

“Are you married to her?” someone asked, which made David’s eyes go wide.

To Bae’s left, Robin let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a squeal of laughter.

“Oh, no.  Definitely not.  She’s actually my stepmother-in-law.”  David chuckled, gesturing vaguely.  “We have a complicated family tree.”

“I’m married to her, if you must know.”  Robin stepped forward, but Bae stayed out of it.  There was no way to easily explain that Regina had adopted the son his ex-girlfriend had given birth to in jail, and now the three of them (mostly) amicably shared parenting duties. 

Galavant looked Robin up and down.  “Are you the one who is Tad Cooper’s old friend?”

“I am.”  Robin crossed his arms.  “Is that a problem?”

“Nope.  Not at all.  Just wanted to be sure.”  Galavant smiled, and somehow his words seemed to calm the crowd down enough that they started ignoring Arthur.  Rather predictably, Arthur didn’t take that well at all, and stalked over to where David, Robin, and Bae were now standing together.

“You’re nothing but a worthless pretender,” Camelot’s king hissed.  “I’ll see you go down yet.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to take the moral high ground here?” David snorted.  “Your wife crushed my heart and tried to _kill_ me, and your concern is that I’m not royal enough for you?  I’m sorry, but I’m not really worried about that.  And I’m also not trying to rule this town.”

“No, you’re bowing down to a woman who—”

“Who’s never done worse than your _wife_ , no matter what her past crimes were,” Robin interjected.

Bae couldn’t help speaking up with a laugh.  “He’s got you there, buddy.”

“You’re all fools.”  Arthur drew himself up, sneering again. “This portal is merely proof that the world _we_ are building will endure.  And I will rule that world.  Mark my words.”

“If that’s supposed to be a threat, it’s not a very good one.  We’re already determined to fight you—you’re just making sure we’ll work that much harder at it.”  David crossed his arms.  “So, why don’t you go off and do whatever it is you do.  Plot world domination if that makes you happy.  But you’d better start understanding that we’re not giving up this town without a fight—and we’re not going to let you rule over _any_ other world while we can stop you.”

Arthur’s smile was very certain.  “You can’t.”

David just met his eyes.  “Watch us.”

* * *

 

Elsewhere, Lily nervously approached the man who Killian had introduced as another dragon.  She wasn’t sure how she’d earned Killian’s friendship enough for him to go out of his way like this for her, but he’d done it, and she was grateful.  After all, Arthur hadn’t proven very helpful on that front; even Danns’ spell with the three dragon scales hadn’t helped find her father.  She was growing impatient, even if her mother wasn’t, and Lily was perfectly happy to find information where she could.

“You are Lilith?” Tad Cooper asked in what Lily would have called a Hispanic accent.  Of course, wherever Tad was from didn’t have a _Spain_ , but she couldn’t frame it another way in her mind.

“I am.”  She hoped her smile didn’t look as nervous as it felt.  “I, um, I’m a dragon.  Like you?”

“Yes, like me.”  He smiled back.  “I was even from the Enchanted Forest, once.  Before I ran.”

That made her perk up; Killian hadn’t mentioned that fact.  “You were from there?”

“Alas, I ran from an irate noblewoman whose husband liked me more than she did.”  He laughed easily.  “The rest is a long story, but I did run with the Merry Men for a time.”

“The outlaws?”

“The very same.  And you?  Where were you in that fine world?”

“I wasn’t.”  Lily shrugged.  “I got, um, thrown through portal as a baby—as an egg, really, because my mother had gotten pregnant as a dragon.  I grew up here in the Land Without Magic.”  She had to scowl.  “Which isn’t really without magic now, but the details are kind of ridiculous.”

“The tale does sound quite complicated.”  Tad didn’t seem interested in that story, though.  “You said your mother is a dragon as well?  I would love to meet her.”

“Yeah, she is.  There are others here, too.  Arthur and Mordred both, though they’re kind of stuck up.  Or _really_ stuck up.”  Lily didn’t have to like Arthur, even if he was her ally.  The more she thought about the egotistical king, the less she thought of him, to be honest.  He really was kind of a prick.

Her mother kept saying that they should keep their promises and honor their alliance, but as far as Lily was concerned, the Black Fairy hadn’t done much for them.  Oh, she’d pulled Emma’s old darkness out of Lily, but that had only been because she wanted to use it to attack Morgan le Fae.  Lily wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t blind, either.  She knew that trying to swap sides could be fatal, but surely they could just fly away if they had to, right?  Dragons could cross realms without portals, and even if Arthur tried to follow them, it would be two against one.  _Or maybe three, if Tad’s on our side._

“Do you want to meet her now?” Lily found herself asking suddenly.

“Alas, I have other engagements planned.”  Tad looked regretful.  “Can I ask for another time?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

Much to her surprise, Tad reached down and took her hand, kissing it in a very old-world way.  Normally, Lily would have punched any man who did that, but she didn’t feel like he was trying to come onto her at all.  The gesture seemed more polite than anything else, and she found herself smiling.  Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Eighty-Nine—“That is But of the World”, in which Rumplestiltskin attempts to close the portal, people realize Blue is missing, Danns’ and Morgan cross swords, Mordred is sneaky, the dwarves get roped into singing, and Rumplestiltskin makes what might prove to be his biggest mistake.
> 
> Also, credit goes to my amazing beta, kirlamouse, for the song our Galavant friends brought with them. I can't write songs to save my life, but she knocks it out of the park!


	89. That is But of the World

“I’m coming with you.”  Belle crossed her arms and glared at him.  She knew her husband well, and she knew when he was going to be stupid.  This was definitely one of those moments.

Quite typically, Rumplestiltskin proved her right.  “There’s no need, sweetheart.”

“You’re gonna lose this one, Pop.  Ever occur to you to just give in gracefully?” Bae piped up, and Belle could have hugged him. 

If it hadn’t made Rumplestiltskin scowl _quite_ so much, anyway.

“Opinions from the peanut gallery are neither requested nor required, Baelfire.”  Her husband gave his son a glare, but there wasn’t any heat in it.  Everyone knew that Bae could pretty much get away with anything around his father, and there were times when Belle knew her stepson took ruthless advantage of that fact.

“You have peanuts?” Bae’s grin was cheeky.  “Great!  I’m starving.”

“ _Bae._ ”

“He’s right, Rumple.”  Belle thought it was time to interject herself back into her own argument, so she folded her hands primly on her stomach and eyed her husband.  “I’m not going to let you go do this alone, so you might as well stop arguing and let me come with you.”

“This is _dangerous_ magic, Belle.  Even I don’t know what it will do to me, and—”

“And I’m not going to let you do something so _dangerous_ without someone there to catch you if you fall!”

Rumplestiltskin’s stubborn expression turned pleading.  “But you’re pregnant.  If something happened to you or the baby because of my mistakes, I would never forgive myself.”

 “I’m hardly talking about doing the magic myself, you know.”  Reaching out, Belle took his hands in her own.  If he hadn’t looked so pitifully worried, she might have said something about not using her pregnancy as a weapon against her, but she knew in her heart that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t doing that.  He was just worried, and while Belle was touched by his love and concern, she was hardly an invalid.  “But I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.   I can take care of myself, and I want to take care of _you_.”

“Belle…”

“Don’t tell me that pregnant woman can’t help,” she said a little more fiercely.  “If you do, I swear I will call your mother _and_ Regina, and the three of us will give you an earful like you’ve never had before.”

“I didn’t say that.”  Now he sounded petulant, so Belle leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good.  Then it’s set.”

“This is probably the time to mention that I’m coming, too.  Just to keep an eye on both you idiots,” Bae added, and Belle felt Rumplestiltskin deflate, just a little.

Her husband was trying so very hard to do the right thing, she knew, and he just wanted to keep his family safe.  But _they_ wanted him to be safe, too, and that meant sometimes he had to give in.  He didn’t like it, of course, but in the end, Belle and Bae both went with Rumplestiltskin to close the portal.

_I’m not losing him again.  Not when we’ve finally worked things out and we’re expecting a child,_ she didn’t say.  Belle wasn’t a fully trained sorceress, but she was determined to do her part.  Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, and that meant he had to be the one to close the portal—he was probably the only one who _could_ do so, actually—but that didn’t mean she was going to let him do so on his own.  As she’d said, she’d catch him if he fell.  Their marriage was a partnership, and Belle was never going to fail to be there when Rumplestiltskin needed her.  Never again.

* * *

 

If anyone had told Leroy two years ago that he’d be looking for Regina-Evil-Queen-Mills to give this news to, he’d have told them they were crazy.  But Rumplestiltskin was nowhere to be found (and wasn’t that another brain-breaking thought!), which meant that he and Astrid went looking for the mayor.  The other possibility was David, who was still working on getting refugees settled, or the Not-So-Savior, who Leroy really didn’t fancy running into.  Not since she’d gone even further off her rocker.  She’d killed Granny, and then a bunch of idiots from Camelot, and now rumor said she might have offed Isaac, too.  Most everyone blamed the Black Fairy for that, but Doc had overheard Arthur talking to someone, and he seemed to think it had been their friendly neighborhood Dark One.

Which was why Leroy was particularly irate to find that Emma was _with_ Regina.  The pair had climbed out of the mayor’s car in front of town hall, looking tired and a little self-satisfied.  Once, he would have really been worried by seeing _Regina_ look like that, but nowadays Emma was a lot more worrisome.

“What do _you_ want?” Emma drawled, spotting them first.

“Nothing from you, Dark One,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“ _Leroy_.”  Astrid gave him a hard look.  “He doesn’t mean that.  He’s just worried.”

“Yeah, by her.”

Emma stepped forward, her hazel eyes suddenly afire with something terrifying.  But her voice was whisper-soft, so soft that it sent a chill down Leroy’s spine.  “I’d be happy to give you a reason to worry.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Regina stepped in immediately, glaring at Emma.  “He’s a dwarf, not statuary, so kill that spell before you throw it at him.” Then she twisted to eye Leroy.  “And _you_ should know better than to try to bait the Dark One.  Quit it.”

“I think he’d make a lovely statue.”  Emma rolled her eyes, but at least she didn’t _actually_ turn him into something made of rock.

“I kind of like him the way he is, you know.”  Astrid’s voice was shaky as she spoke up, but Emma didn’t even look at her.

“And I don’t want to have to go through the hassle of turning him back.  I’m too tired for that crap, so stop.”  Regina turned to Leroy with a sigh.  “Astrid said you’re worried.  What happened _now_?”

“Blue’s missing.”  Leroy saw no reason to beat around the subject, not when he was pretty comfortable with the (still really weird) idea that Regina actually would turn him back if Emma did something nasty.  “The senior fairies tried to cover it up, but she’s gone.  No one’s seen her in at least a day.”

Regina snorted.  “What, did she trip over her wand or something?”

“No.  Her wand is still there, too.  Whoever took her left it behind.”  Astrid’s eyes were wide and worried, and Leroy squeezed her hand.  Even though Blue had been awful to both of them, Astrid still looked up to her and wanted her to be safe.  That was why she’d been willing to go to the town’s leadership when the senior fairies dithered.

“You’re sure someone took her?”  Regina was smart enough to figure out that if someone had taken Blue, there was really only one person powerful enough to do it—or two, if you counted Rumplestiltskin.  But Leroy didn’t really think the ex-Dark One was going to go after the head fairy; if he’d been interested in doing that, he would have done before he turned good guy.

“Yeah, we’re sure.”  It wasn’t like Blue to wander off, and they all knew it.  Leroy didn’t have to add that.

“That’s just what we need.”  Regina sighed, but Emma was strangely quiet.

Maybe she just didn’t care, though.  It wasn’t like Blue had been particularly nice to Emma since she’d become the Dark One.  Leroy was used to taking the fairies’ side, but he wasn’t dumb enough to buy their mantra lock, stock, and barrel.  Blue didn’t like _any_ Dark Ones, and they didn’t like her in return.  It was pretty much the way things were.

So it was probably nothing.  Wasn’t it?

* * *

 

She’d heard about David Nolan, which made twice in the last week that Danns’ had been forced to hesitate.  Oh, she knew about Morgan’s prophecy concerning the ‘Heartless King’—Danns’ had made it her business to unearth every single one of Morgan’s prophecies long ago—but she hadn’t expected him to _live_.  David had already made a difference; he’d opposed Arthur and united much of Storybrooke behind himself and Regina.  That had been quite the blow to her husband’s ego, but Danns’ hadn’t really cared.  David had merely been a convenient way to punish his obstinate Dark One of a daughter.  He hadn’t mattered in the long run…until he survived having his heart crushed.

In retrospect, she should have expected it. She was an original power, with a vast knowledge of magic.  She should have known that someone who carried their True Love’s heart instead of their own could not be killed in such a fashion, but Danns’ truly hadn’t considered that when she’d crushed ‘David’s’ heart.  _That is not an oversight I care to repeat,_ she thought irritably, striding down the street towards the outskirts of town.  She had already investigated the portal to the Land of Music, which was unstable but appeared to be permanent.  That was an excellent sign, one that promised the worlds would continue to slide together.  Yet Danns’ knew that not _all_ worlds would come together without intervention.  She still had work to do, still needed to break her fae out of captivity and then pull the worlds together once and for all.  But she was on her way.

_I had not considered how useful it might be for the Savior to be the Dark One,_ Danns’ mused.  _But if those powers can be combined…she might very well be something_ close _to an original power._ Given that her only other option on that front was Rumplestiltskin, who had proven entirely unhelpful, Danns’ thought she might have to take that chance.  There was one other thing she could take to ensure—

“I almost asked if you’d noticed Accolon was missing, but you haven’t spared him a thought, have you?” 

The voice made her turn, but Danns’ found herself smiling before she could even face Morgan.  Her old enemy/sister-in-law stood a half dozen feet away, eyes narrowed and back straight, looking more resolute than angry.  But Danns’ only felt satisfaction.  So what if Morgan had found out Accolon had been spying on her for literal centuries?  The former knight had served his purpose.

And no, Danns’ had not really noticed that Accolon was missing.  Nor had she cared.

“Did you do something to him?” she asked playfully.  “I hope it was terrible.”

Morgan scowled.  She really was too easy to bait.  “Terrible enough.”

Well, Danns’ would not mourn him.  Accolon had taken his chances, as had Morgan, when she’d allowed someone inferior—and disloyal!—into her bed.  “I do hope you’re not looking for an apology.”

“No.  I don’t consider you that human.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  She felt a smirk rising, and did not try to bite it back.  The last thing Danns’ would _ever_ have wanted to be was human.

“You would.”  Another deep scowl from Morgan, but really, what did the woman expect?

“Is there something else you wanted, or are you merely miffed that I corrupted your longtime lover?”

“I was miffed enough to turn him into a crystal statue, yes.”  Morgan’s voice was flat, and unusually dark, and that made Danns’ cock her head.

“Some of Lilith’s darkness _stayed_ in you, didn’t it?”  The possibility hadn’t occurred to her, and it made Danns’ laugh out loud.  “Oh, that’s rather lovely.” 

“Are you so sure about that?” Morgan’s smile almost matched hers for a moment; it was dark and secretive, and deep on many levels. 

The question made Danns’ squint, and suddenly she _saw_ it in the air.  _Magic_ , real and deep magic, magic of the likes Morgan of Cornwall had not possessed in many years.  Danns’ had faced her old foe when Morgan was at her full power, and she had almost missed that Morgan.  _Almost._   Morgan had been so much of a nuisance that she couldn’t quite regret the fact that Morgan had once been bereft of her power.  It was a pity that seemed to no longer be the case…but that did not answer the most important question.

Danns’ cocked her head.  “Why are you telling me this?  I would think you’d prefer to keep it a secret.”

“You’d find out soon enough.  I preferred to see the look on your face when you realized that your attempt to kill me backfired so spectacularly.”

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try.”  She shrugged, but her mind was still working in overdrive.  Morgan had sought her out—Morgan, who was secretive by nature.  Why?

“You’re a fool, you know.”  Morgan’s voice went surprisingly soft.  “You have now given nearly everyone in this town reason to hate you…including your granddaughter.  She doesn’t want to, but you’ve given her no reason to trust you.”

“If you _dare_ try to get between us, I will _end_ you.”  Danns’ hissed the words from between clenched teeth, suppressing the desire to murder Morgan then and there.  With Morgan’s power restored, it would be difficult, and she preferred to make Morgan suffer in other ways before ending her.

“I’m not trying to.  You’re doing it yourself.”

Magic crackled in her hands; it was all she could do to stop herself.  _It will work out in time.  Once we win, Belle will have no choice but to come around._   Still, the fact that Belle preferred Morgan to her at the moment burned more than Danns’ wanted to admit.  She’d already had her daughter stolen by Morgan’s plots and schemes.  She would not allow her granddaughter to be stolen away, too.

_It seems my plans need to be advanced,_ she thought, watching Morgan coldly.  The added advantage, of course, was that Morgan would suffer indirectly through what Danns’ intended to do, anyway—although she would have to be careful.  Belle loved her husband, who also happened to be Morgan’s youngest son, and that meant Danns’ could not hurt Rumplestiltskin….at least not much.  _But Mordred is not off limits.  Not at all._

So, she smiled and bid Morgan a polite farewell, still wondering in the back of her mind why Morgan had chosen _now._

* * *

 

“Hello, Father.”  Mordred had waited until he knew that his mother had Danns’ well and truly distracted; their plan would not work with Danns’ present.  Arthur, however, had been home alone—fortunately without Zelena around, although Mordred wouldn’t have minded the opportunity to dispose of that annoyance, either.

_Bad enough that I was foolish enough to sleep with her, but the fact that she’s moved onto my father—after what she did to my half-brother—is truly disgusting._   Then again, from what he knew, Zelena had impersonated another man’s dead wife to impregnate herself, all to try to take away her sister’s lover.  She didn’t exactly operate on normal moralist terms, that was certain.  But then again, neither did Arthur, who had turned to glare at him.

“Mordred.”  For a man who had been so possessive over Colette, he was still downright cold towards his eldest son.  But Mordred was used to that.  He was simply grateful that he had a mother who was anything but cold to him.  “What do _you_ want?”

“Your heart.”  Mordred saw no reason to lie, but he was smart enough to summon Arthur’s cell phone as he spoke.  A twitch of his fingers left the marvelous device in Mordred’s left hand; there was much about this new modern world that mystified him, but Killian had been very helpful when it came to learning the high points.

“My _what_?”

“Your heart.  We have plans for it.  You need not worry, though—you’ll have it back soon enough, assuming your ‘wife’ cares for you at all.”  He shrugged.  “Then again, knowing her, she might not.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.  “I did not invite you to insult my marriage.”

“No, you did that by marrying the Black Fairy.”  Mordred snorted.  “But I’m not here to argue with you.”

“You could have fooled me on that front.”

Rolling his eyes, Mordred gave up on trying to discuss anything with his father.  Arthur had stopped listening to him centuries ago; why had he been so foolish as to think things might change?  Instead, he took three swift steps forward, and plunged his hand into Arthur’s chest.

The heart he tore free was surprisingly red; or, at least it wasn’t completely black.  Mordred studied it for a moment before looking up with a cocked eyebrow.  “For a man who calls himself a hero, your heart tells another story, Father.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand what I’m trying to do for the world.”

“Oh, just stop.”  Mordred couldn’t take another one of these lectures; it was a wonder that Lancelot had never killed the man after spending years listening to this drivel.  _Yet Lancelot is dead while my father lives.  There is little justice in the world._

Fortunately, the fact that he held Arthur’s heart meant that Arthur had to shut up, for which Mordred was rather grateful.  He departed shortly thereafter, ordering Arthur to reveal nothing of the fact that he did not have his heart or of Mordred’s visit.  Danns’ would see through the ruse quickly enough, of course, but they didn’t need much time.

At least Mordred hoped they didn’t.

* * *

 

The last thing Rumplestiltskin had wanted was for his son and his (pregnant!) wife to tag along.  He _had_ to close this portal, just as he’d closed the one from Camelot, but Rumplestiltskin knew that the similarities between the two situations ended there.  This one was a wild portal, one that had occurred naturally, born of unstable magic and shifting powers.  It was dangerous and volatile, unlike the one between Camelot and the Sorcerer’s House, which had been drawn by the dregs of Merlin’s power and had been precise and contained.  This portal, however…

Rumplestiltskin knew that closing it might take all of his power, and the last thing he wanted was for Belle and Bae to be anywhere nearby.  He could lose control, he could fail and make the portal bigger, or he could simply get _himself_ sucked into the vortex and precipitate the very catastrophe he was fighting to avoid.  _I am no hero,_ the voice of doubt whispered for the thousandth time.  _I can’t do this_.  _I’ll screw it up.  I always make the_ wrong _choice.  It’s in my nature._ How many chances had Rumplestiltskin squandered to be better?  He always—

A hand squeezed his arm, making Rumplestiltskin jump.  Startled, he turned to face Belle, who was giving him a knowing look.  “I believe in you,” she said softly.  “I always will.”

“I’m never sure why.”  He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.

“Because you’re a good man.”  Belle came up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.  “You’ve proven that, and you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Belle and I will stay by the car, Pop,” Bae put in.  “We won’t get in the way.  You do what you’ve got to and close that portal.”

“Right.”  Rumplestiltskin forced himself to take a deep breath, forced his emotions back under control.  Self-doubt _could_ kill him today.  He was the Sorcerer, and he had decided what he was going to be.  He was the only one who could do this, so Rumplestiltskin was going to do his best.

Bae gave him a nod, and the confidence on his son’s face made Rumplestiltskin’s heart swell.  He _had_ come a long way, hadn’t he?  Less than a year ago, he’d been losing himself to the darkness, and his son had been dead.  He’d ruined his marriage almost as soon as it began—but that was in the past, now.  Maybe Belle was right.  He _was_ trying, and he had become something other than the broken mess of darkness he had been.  Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, and sometimes he even felt worthy of the title…particularly when Bae looked at him like this, like he believed in him.  _He hasn’t trusted me this much for centuries, and I’m_ not _screwing up this time._   So, Rumplestiltskin squared his shoulders and stepped forward, dropping into his magic and stretching out with his senses.

The power swirling around the portal was more toxic than ever, splintered threads arcing outwards.  Many of the threads were outright broken, fragmented in ways that made the magic all but uncontrollable.  Worse yet, the magic was… _uneven_.  Not entirely shattered, but entirely unstable, reacting to the way the worlds were sliding together.  Once, when Rumplestiltskin saw magic on a lower level, he would have decided that the instability was the problem, but he would have been wrong.  He could close the portal, as he had the one to Camelot, but that would merely delay another portal opening—this time to a different and potentially even more dangerous world.  No, he had to delay, if not stop, the slide itself.

Dropping deeper still into the magic he had inherited, Rumplestiltskin stepped up to the edge of the portal, watching its surface shimmer and reflect the purple-orange-red sky of the setting sun.  David had confirmed just an hour ago that everyone who was going to come over from the Land of Music had done so, which meant that no one should be caught in the portal now, or the crossfire of its closing.  There were some who had refused to leave the other realm, of course, but Rumplestiltskin could only hope that they would weather the storm.  Some might not survive, but he could not afford to worry about that now.

_This is why I am here and someone with a bleeding heart is not,_ he knew.  Dark One or not, Rumplestiltskin was more cold-blooded than the rest of the heroes combined.  It would never be one of his best traits, nor was it aligned with the man he had been born as, or the one he’d expected to become as a youth.  But it was who he was, and Rumplestiltskin could live with that.  Sometimes, the world needed someone detached.  So, he took a deep breath, no, and raised his hands to slowly start the weave.

He grasped one thread, and then another.  Wove one broken world away from the center, crossing threads to re-form barriers which kept the worlds apart.  The Land of Music was half-collapsed already, but he shored it up with snares and knots, strengthening the wall between the Land of Music and Storybrooke.  _The worlds are on the outside of the wheel, and the spokes, or pathways, binding them to the center—Storybrooke—are collapsing_.  He could see it now, could see the fragmented colors and the broken connections that smashed all too closely into one another.  _Those pathways are what I must strengthen._ Power rolled through Rumplestiltskin like a storm, rumbling from his mind to his fingertips, filling the air with tendrils of golden light.  They twisted around and into the portal, weaving closer and closer together.  Distantly, Rumplestiltskin felt a slight strain beginning to form across the base of his shoulders, but he pushed the pain aside.  He had known it would come, and there would be time later to deal with the consequences.

After several moments, the portal began to shrink, and he almost started to smile—until it stopped.

The sudden tug nearly pulled Rumplestiltskin off of his feet as the wild portal began sucking _his_ magic in, instead of responding to it.  Despite the awesome amount of power Rumplestiltskin had summoned, it was not enough.  _Defeating Nuckelavee was easy in comparison to this_.  But that annoyed thought only fed the portal, forcing Rumplestiltskin to clamp down on his wayward emotions.  _Focus._ Closing his eyes for a moment, Rumplestiltskin reengaged his magic, weaving threads tighter and more forcefully.  When he opened his eyes, a slight tremor had overtaken his hands.  Rumplestiltskin dug deeper.

Everything seemed to slow: time, magic, and even his own breathing.  Power reared up inside him, surrounding Rumplestiltskin and sending a chill running down his spine.  The strain was back, spreading to his chest and his arms, but finally, the portal began closing once more.  The process was infuriatingly slow, but the moment he tried to speed it up, Rumplestiltskin felt the ground begin to shake.

Stepping on his impatience, Rumplestiltskin slowed the process back down, allowing the portal’s edges to creep inwards once more.  Willing the portal to close actually required less power _and_ less finesse than this method, but pulling too hard might well tear the ground beneath him apart.  So, he continued weaving, feeling power feed the air around him, whipping up a stiff wind.  That current swirled around him dangerously, tearing at his expensive gray suit, tangling his hair, and making Rumplestiltskin desperately hope that Belle and Bae had sought shelter.  He could not afford to look away, and he prayed that his magic would not harm them, but there was no way to be certain.  He had to watch the portal as it slowly shrank, moments ticking by like snippets of eternity.

How long had it been?  He had no idea.  Using so much power distorted time for anyone at the center, and Rumplestiltskin had never immersed himself like this before.  _Halfway done._  

Suddenly, the shimmering surface began to bubble, and a shock of power—was that his, or something else?—raced up Rumplestiltskin’s right arm.  Gritting his teeth against the sudden pain, he brought his hands together, holding the walls between the realms in place as he drew the edges ever towards one another.  The fact that his is vision was beginning to blur was unimportant; his _eyes_ were merely one of the senses with which Rumplestiltskin saw magic.  He could still feel it, could still pull the portal closed.  Stopping might well have consumed him, anyway.

So, Rumplestiltskin put the shouting behind him out of his mind, hoping that it was Belle’s concern for him and not his family being in danger.  Even in the latter case, though, the best he could do was _finish_ this mess—because letting go of the awesome power now might just kill them all.

_Crack!_ Lightning filled the air, momentarily clearing his vision as Rumplestiltskin staggered once more, power reverberating through his limbs.  Across the nearly-closed portal, however, he suddenly spotted a pale white face.  Green eyes stared at him appraisingly, and the last thought that crossed his mind before he passed out was _I should have asked Mother to help_.

Morgan was _supposed_ to be distracting Danns’ so that he and Mordred could both do their work…except the Black Fairy was here now, and the ground was rushing up to meet Rumplestiltskin’s face.

* * *

 

“C’mon, you know you want to.”  The dark skinned youth turned to the dwarves imploringly as Astrid giggled—which, as far as Leroy was concerned, was his only saving grace at all.

“Not really, no.”  Doc pushed his glasses up with a sigh.  “We kind of gave up our singing days a long time ago—”

“But wouldn’t you _love_ to get them back?”  Sid—who was apparently Sir Galavant’s squire, but Grumpy guessed was really just a general nuisance who knew _far_ too many songs—beamed at them.  “I mean, c’mon.  You’re dwarves.  In our world, that means you sing and you love to work.  What better time to sing a song than when we’re busy helping refugees get settled for the night?”

Leroy speared him with a glare.  “You seem to be doing more singing than helping.”

“Yeah.”  Happy shot them all a dubious look. “Somehow, we seem to be doing most of the work.  Not that I mind work, of course, but that does seem to be the usual situation.”

“You said it, brother.”  Leroy crossed his arms as his other brothers nodded in agreement.  Even Tiny grunted tiredly, as well he should have.  They’d been organizing and helping people all day long, and only because David had asked them to.  _And maybe because Regina’s addition to the town really seems useful.  She’s not as bad as she was—though I really wouldn’t mind a return of the_ old _Evil Queen if it meant shutting Sid up._

He didn’t really want that, of course, but it was nice to fantasize.

Sid’s smile turned blazingly bright, and it was _not_ helped at all by Galavant, well, _gallivanting_ up.  “Oh, c’mon.  You know you want to sing with me.” 

“With us!” Galavant added, slinging an arm around his squire’s shoulders.  “A little song always brightens the days where we’re from!”

“You know what they say.  All work and no play makes a dull day.”  Sid rounded on Sneezy, and then dodged the obligatory snot ball once Sneezy sneezed.  “I’ll get started, and you’ll find it’s easy to sing along!”

Leroy amended his previous thoughts: maybe he _did_ want the Evil Queen to step in and restart her heart collection.  Today was a good day for that, wasn’t it?

Sid, unfortunately, broke into song—unfettered by any heart stealing. 

_“We sort sort sort sort sort sort sort refugees the whole day through_

_“To sort sort sort sort sort sort is what we really like to do—”_

That world had brought over some sort of damned magic, hadn’t it?  Grumpy though he felt, Leroy found himself singing along—much to Astrid’s delight.  And no matter how much he loved her, that really annoyed him.  Not the her being happy part, of course.  Just the singing part.

_“It ain't no trick to place 'em quick_

_“'Cause it beats digging with a shovel or a pick_

_“In a mine! In a mine! In a mine! In a mine!_

_“Where survival rates decline!_

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Astrid broke in when they all paused for breath, although Sid and Galavant seemed ready to go for another verse or two.  Nearby, several Storybrooke residents had stopped what they were doing to stare, with Hook looking at them particularly murderously.  _I bet he’s been sucked into a song or two.  That would explain_ that _face,_ Leroy thought, trying to scowl.  The fact that Robin Hood was laughing at them only made things worse, and he could _really_ work himself into a grouchy mood just based on how funny the mayor’s husband thought this was.  But Astrid kissed him on the cheek so happily, and it was really hard to stay mad when she was so delighted.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sid asked, and Leroy managed to groan.

“Actually, it was rather terrible,” Sneezy grumbled, and then sneezed.  “I _hate_ singing.”

“You hate everything.”  Happy grinned. “I thought it was fun.”

Leroy rolled his eyes.  “You would.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Galavant cut in.  “Come on, join in.  I’m sure Sid has a second verse.  Don’t you, Sid?”

“You bet I—”

“No!” Leroy, Doc, and Sneezy cut him off, but then Astrid turned to face all three of them.

“Oh, please sing some more?  It was so much fun.”

Those pleading eyes did him in, just like they did every time, and somehow, Leroy found himself singing along.  Tiny and Happy seemed to enjoy it as much as Astrid, and the newcomers _certainly_ loved to sing, but Sneezy, Doc, and Bashful remained disgruntled.  As did Leroy …but if it made Astrid happy, well, he was just going to damned well sing.

* * *

 

The portal snapped shut just as Rumplestiltskin hit the ground, and Bae found himself bolting for his father.  Belle’s magic had kept the worst of the powerstorm off of them, but the moment the portal closed, the wild winds died.  That meant Bae wasn’t about to stand around and wait to see if his father got up, particularly not with Belle’s dangerous grandmother just on the other side of the street.

“Stay back!” He hoped his stepmother would listen; Belle wasn’t great about staying out of danger, but she had his little sister inside her, and Bae didn’t want either of them hurt.

Dropping to his knees at his father’s side, Bae rolled him over so that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t face down.  His dad was pale, but he was still breathing, and even as Bae shook him gently, Rumplestiltskin blinked groggily. 

“You okay there, Pop?” he whispered around the lump in his throat.

“It’s done.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice slurred slightly, but at least the words were understandable.  Even if they weren’t much of an answer.

“I could kill you both right now.”  The soft voice made Bae’s head snap up, and he found himself looking into the cold green eyes of Danns’ a’Bhàis.

Bae rolled his eyes.   “With your granddaughter standing fifteen feet away?  Yeah, that’s a great idea.  Belle would _love_ to see that.” 

“And I think you’re missing a required tool to do the job, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin rasped.  He tried to get up, only to sway precariously, so Bae grabbed him around the waist and helped him sit up.  His stubborn father still insisted on standing, though, so Bae steadied him along the way and kept Rumplestiltskin upright when he wobbled.

One eyebrow rose.  “Given your current state, I do not think I would have to work very hard.”

“You’re welcome to try.”  Much to Bae’s surprise, his father’s voice was quiet—but not the shaking voice of the village coward Baelfire had grown up with.  Rumplestiltskin was exhausted but confident, a far cry from the broken man who had raised Bae so lovingly.    _If he’d been like this before, he never would have had to become the Dark One._

Bae couldn’t change the past, though, any more than his father could.  All they could do was move forward, just as they’d begun: together.  _Even if it means facing Belle’s crazy grandmother._

“What’s going on?” And then Belle was there, reaching Rumplestiltskin’s other side so the three of them could face Danns’ as one.

“Nothing.  Not now.”  Danns’ smile was cool until it turned on Belle, when her expression warmed markedly.  “There’s nothing to worry about.  The portal is closed, and impressively so.” 

Even Belle clearly couldn’t miss how dangerously her grandmother’s eyes flashed, but Danns’ walked away without another word, her dress swishing around her in the dying winds.  They all watched her in silence for several long moments, before Belle spoke up:

“Let’s get you home.  Bae can drive.”

“I can—”

“No you can’t,” she cut in firmly.  “You forget that you’ve taught me enough magic for me to see how drained you are.  You’re going home and going to bed, Rumple.  You can argue with me for a while if you want, but you’re going to lose.”

Rumplestiltskin looked his way, and Bae offered him a shrug.  “The lady knows what she wants, Pop.  Best to give in while your pride is within shouting distance of intact.”

Rumplestiltskin only grunted, but he didn’t argue as they got him into the backseat of the car.  He was half asleep by the time the car pulled into the driveway of the Sorcerer’s House, and Bae wound up mostly carrying his father into the house.  Belle fretted and worried, but Rumplestiltskin was coherent enough to tell them that he’d be all right after a little sleep.  Belle didn’t seem convinced, and Bae trusted her instincts, but sleep was supposed to heal all wounds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter-Ninety—“Half Sick of Shadows”, where Emma is finally reunited David, Belle tries to fix up her idiot husband, two sisters have a heart to heart, Robin pokes around for information, and Baelfire and Emma talk about risks and the future.


	90. Half-Sick of Shadows

Emma had been the Dark One for one hundred days.  One _hundred_ days.  She’d never imagined it could take so long to be rid of the darkness, had never once thought it could make her lose control like it had—or that she’d ever _be_ controlled by a sadistically minded fae who had power enough to frighten Emma and everyone in the town of Storybrooke.  Danns’ a’Bhàis hadn’t outright tortured Emma since those first few defiant days, but she was still wary of the fae who held the dagger, because every day Emma had to live with being controlled was another day where the chains around her tightened further and further…and where she stood by and did nothing while her father _died_.

The fact that David wasn’t dead didn’t really matter.  The fact that Emma had stood and done _nothing_ did—as did the fact that she’d killed someone to avenge him when it turned out that he didn’t really need avenging.  Emma hadn’t been forced to kill Isaac; she’d killed him because she wanted to, and because it felt _good_.  The darkness still sang in her, still whispered sweetly to her, and it was harder and harder to find reasons to ignore those voices.  She wanted to listen, even though she didn’t, and for the first time, Emma really understood the battle of facing the darkness long term.  _You all lose,_ Nimue whispered.  _Do you think I wanted to be like this?_

_Didn’t you?_

Nimue’s voice only laughed bitterly, and before Emma could ask for details, a knock sounded on her front door.  Part of her didn’t want to answer it, wanted to stay hidden and ignore everyone until she was commanded not to, but Emma knew who was at the door.  Her magic informed her of that effortlessly, and she did want to see him.  She really did.

Even if she was ashamed.

So, Emma screwed up her courage and headed for the door, refusing to hide from this just like she’d refused to hide from anything else.  She’d never—or at least rarely—turned a blind eye to a problem, and she wasn’t going to get in the habit, now.  Even when it was her father waiting on her doorstep, looking as sad and as broken as she felt.

“Hi.”  Emma swallowed.  “Um, do you want to come in?”

“Yeah.”  David seemed to try a smile on for size, but he seemed as awkward as she felt.  Still, he stepped inside and let Emma close the door behind him while she tried not to fidget.

_Don’t apologize,_ Nimue said, sounding almost wistful.  _You are what you are.  Don’t regret it.  You’re_ better _this way._   The words were convincing, and Emma could feel the darkness surging eagerly within her, but she did have to wonder who Nimue thought she was convincing.  Herself?  Emma wasn’t sure that was outside the realm of possibility.  _She’s been stuck with this darkness for a thousand years,_ Emma realized.  _She took it on without knowing what it would do—and doesn’t_ that _sound familiar?—and then it carried her along through the centuries._ How long had it been since Nimue had felt peace?  Did she even _want_ peace, anymore?

“I’m sorry.”Despite Nimue’s advice, the words bubbled out of her.  “I’m so sorry.  I tried to stop her—I tried so hard, but—” Emma cut off in a sob, only to find David stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her.

“Don’t apologize.”  David’s hug was tight, and Emma buried her head in his shoulder.  She couldn’t get the image of David collapsing to the ground, empty and lifeless, out of her mind.  Every time she tried to sleep, she thought she’d wake up and find him dead.  _And then I’d be an orphan again, this time for good._

Danns’ had crushed David’s heart to punish her, though.  Did he know that?  Emma shook her head despondently.  “If I hadn’t—”

“It was as much my fault as yours.  I made my choices, Emma.”  A kiss landed on her forehead, making Emma want to cry.  “And if dying was what it took to protect you or Henry, I’d do it gladly.  I just wish I’d known you were being controlled, earlier.  It would have made things so much easier to understand.”

“I couldn’t tell you.”  She sniffed, refusing to let her tears fall.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  He drew back enough to cup her face in his hands.   “I just want to take care of you, Emma.  I know I haven’t always been there, but you’re still my little girl.”

Nimue or the darkness—or both—scoffed, but that was exactly what Emma needed to hear at the moment.  “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered. 

_I can’t tell him I killed Isaac,_ she knew.  Emma wanted to be truthful, wanted to face what she’d done, but she couldn’t bear to tell her father that.  She desperately wanted his support, and she wouldn’t have it if she told him the truth.  _Besides, they won’t know.  I erased the videos, so they can all just keep assuming that it’s Danns’._  Emma couldn’t let David know how far she’d fallen. 

She couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, magical healing was a talent that Belle had developed quickly.  Last night, they’d hoped that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t need any healing at all—he’d certainly insisted that he wouldn’t—but when morning rolled around and he was weak and out of sorts, Belle objected.  He wasn’t even able to keep breakfast down, which meant she cajoled him back into their bedroom and convinced him to take a nap while she called Morgan for advice.  Belle was fairly sure that she knew what needed to be done, but Rumple’s mother was a far more practiced sorceress than she was, and Morgan could probably identify the problem without cracking a book.

Besides, Belle wanted to know if her grandmother had been distracted long enough to let Mordred steal Arthur’s heart.  She still didn’t really approve of the method they’d chosen to free Jefferson, but Belle understood the necessity of it.  And if they were going to do something so terrible, they needed it to _work_.  She wasn’t sure her brother-in-law wouldn’t come up with something altogether nastier if it failed, anyway.

Fortunately, Morgan was able to confirm that her stepbrother’s heart was safe in her keeping.  She was also able to take a look at Rumplestiltskin.

“You’re right, and he’s wrong,” her mother-in-law said with her typical bluntness.  Rumplestiltskin was asleep—fitfully—and unable to argue, so Belle just gave Morgan a confused look.

“He said that there’s nothing wrong with him _magically_ …I just think it’s something physical.”

“Physical problems brought on by magical overuse.”  Morgan sighed, sinking into a chair at the bedside while Belle sat next to her slumbering husband.  “I was afraid this might happen.”

“With the portal?”

Morgan shook her head.  “In general.  Unlike Merlin or my grandmother, Rumplestiltskin was not born an original power.  His lineage, and his years as the Dark One, meant his body could weather the transition of becoming one—otherwise absorbing Merlin’s magic might have killed him—but using that much power has made him seriously ill.”

“How bad?”  Belle swallowed hard, forcing her voice not to shake.  Barely three months had passed since the last time she’d sat by her husband’s side and watched him struggle through a coma, and she wasn’t ready to go through that again.  Not when she was just finishing her first trimester and just starting to show.  The nervous words came out quickly: “He will wake up, won’t he?”

_I need you, Rumple.  Please don’t leave me alone now, not when we’ve finally figured things out._ But of course a disaster would come when their relationship was on solid ground.  That was how things in Storybrooke worked, wasn’t it?  She just knew—A hand landed on her arm, making Belle jump.

“Of course he will.  The foolish boy simply overextended himself, and his body couldn’t keep up.”  Morgan’s smile was wry, but she was _smiling_ , and maybe that meant Belle was overreacting.  “He’ll be fine, particularly if you heal the problems.”

“Me?” she gulped.  “I thought you would…”

Morgan shook her head.  “My magic has a darker bent than I’d prefer these days.  It’s far better coming from you.  You’re everything but dark.”  She squeezed Belle’s arm gently.  “And he trusts you, which means his defenses won’t try to harm you.”

“He trusts you, too.”  But Belle felt a little warmed by Morgan’s confidence.

“Yes, but I’m only his mother, and a latecomer into his life, at that.  You’re his True Love.”  Morgan gestured at Rumplestiltskin.  “That means a great deal, when it comes to magic.”

“Right.”  Taking a deep breath, Belle set to work.  She knew that she probably couldn’t fix Rumplestiltskin’s exhaustion—only time would address that—but she could heal the ways in which his enormous use of power had strained his body.  Hopefully, that would let him sleep more soundly and keep food down, too.

Morgan offered a few suggestions as she worked, but by the end, Belle found herself surprised by how much she had managed on her own...and by how _good_ it felt.  She’d always been curious about magic, but she’d never really understood its draw.  Oh, learning it was interesting, and even rewarding, but watching _her_ handiwork heal someone was breathtaking.  It wasn’t just about power, or at least not power as an end in itself.  No, it was about what that power could _do_ , the difference it could make.  For the first time, Belle found herself absolutely understanding why Rumplestiltskin would never be happy without magic.  _It isn’t just that it makes him feel safe.  It makes him feel_ useful _, too._

Belle understood that need.  She’d spent much of her life burning for a way to make a difference.  She’d wanted to be a hero because that’s what heroes did: they saved people, and they _mattered_.  Maybe that was more egotistical of her than she wanted to admit, but Belle didn’t want to be just some footnote in a genealogical book about the nobility.  She didn’t want her sole legacy to be the man she married or the children she bore; Belle wanted to matter.  And although Rumplestiltskin had never put it into words like that, she finally understood that he wanted to, too. 

So, she sealed her healing with a kiss, and waited for her husband to wake up.

* * *

 

“He closed the portal.”

The words made Blue turn; of course her sister had come into her room (her prison, in truth, nicely furnished though it was) without any warning.  With the bronze bands tight around her wrists, ankles, and neck, Blue’s ability to sense magic was severely impaired, and Danns’ had always been subtle.  She should ignore Danns’, should try to prove a point by turning her back on her sister-turned-captor, but the truth was that Blue was bored out of her mind.  She needed news of the outside world, and Danns’ was her only source for that.  Besides, Blue was honest enough to admit that she’d trapped Danns’ more than once.

“Who?” she asked, not even trying to disguise her curiosity.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

The scowl on Danns’ face almost made her laugh, but Blue was far too acquainted with having the former Dark One be a thorn in her side to find the situation terribly funny.  “How securely?”

“Completely.  He even managed to stop the slide.  It _was_ rather impressive.”  Danns’ eyes darkened.  “The worlds have stabilized.  The natural slippage, caused by the high number of careless portals that have been opened over the last thirty years, has been stopped.”

“That’s rather ironic.”  Blue folded her hands, not sure if she appreciated this turn of events or not.  “Given that Rumplestiltskin was the catalyst for the original Dark Curse.”

“Indeed.”  Danns’ lips curled into a sneer.  “Tell me about him, sister.”

She cocked her head.  “And why should I do that?”  Asking Danns’ to take the bands off was sheer madness, but she could perhaps gain something for herself from this.

“Because you mislike a human original power entering this game as much as I do, particularly one who can effectively use his power.”

“True.”  Blue sighed.  Danns’ had the right of it.  She had not been party to her sister’s plan to turn Merlin into the Dark One, but she had been happy to narrow the playing field down to the two of them.  _Humans, even long-lived ones, are not suited for such power,_ she thought for the thousandth time.  “And he is always a nuisance.”

“I would find him more useful were he not married to my granddaughter,” Danns’ muttered, and Blue felt her stomach roll, ever so slightly.

Dislike Merlin or not, she had not approved of the way Danns’ had treated him after he was in her control.  Nor did she like thinking of the ways in which Danns’ had undoubtedly hurt Emma Swan.  Emma was the Dark One, yes, but she had taken the power on to save others.  Blue could appreciate that courage whilst still understanding that Emma was damaged and tainted forever.

“Well, he is married to Belle, and I trust that will spare him from the worst of your tender mercies,” she snapped more sharply than she meant to.  There were lines _she_ had never crossed, but Blue could not say the same for her sister.

“Perhaps.”  Danns’ face smoothed out again.  “Tell me about him.  What kind of man was he before becoming the Dark One?”

“Utterly unimportant.”  Blue shrugged, and then dug into her memories, trying to remember who the Spinner had been before he’d garnered her attention.  “A dreamer turned coward.  He never mattered, poor and nondescript.”

“Poor?”

“I believe so, but I never noticed.  His father was remarkably villainous, choosing to merge with a demon and become Pan, but Rumplestiltskin was only remarkable in his desperation.”

Danns’ peered at her suspiciously.  “Yet he became a strangely learned Dark One.  You never attempted to have him replaced?”

“Of course I did.”  Blue sniffed in irritation.  _I nearly removed that horrible darkness entirely from our world, only to be thwarted at the last moment._ “But he was clever.  Too clever, as you’ve noticed.”

“And now he wields Merlin’s power as if it were born to him.”

“That is a pity.”  They could agree on that, at least.  Blue had offered to guide him, hoping that she could keep Rumplestiltskin from reaching his full potential, but his old hatred of her had meant that effort was doomed to failure.  And now Danns’ had failed to win him over as well, which was at least a pleasant side effect of Rumplestiltskin’s stubbornness.

_He won’t be your ally any more than he will mine,_ Blue didn’t tell her sister.  That might help them keep the balance, at least—but what happened when Danns’ tried to pull the worlds together once more?  She knew what her sister’s ultimate goal was, and although Blue could live with that if said circumstances came to pass, she was now certain that Rumplestiltskin would use all of his power to fight that.  _I have more power in a small world than a larger one,_ she knew. 

Perhaps she needed to reevaluate her priorities.

* * *

 

“I do have to say that this world has excellent drinking establishments.”  Tad sat back in his chair at the Rabbit Hole, nursing a margarita with a lazy smile.

Robin snorted.  “This really isn’t all that posh.”

“Compared to places I’ve been?  This is excellent.  Though it lacks the ambience of the Enchanted Forest—no, not the realm.”  Tad chuckled.  “There’s a tavern of…questionable repute named that back in the Land of Music.  Or there was, anyway.”  His amusement faded on the last sentence.

“To worlds lost.”  Robin raised his glass, seeing the hidden grief in Tad’s eyes.  Tad had made a home in the Land of Music after fleeing the Enchanted Forest, and Robin could understand how it stung to lose your home.

“To worlds lost.”

They both drank, and sat in companionable silence for a long moment.  It was a quiet afternoon at the Rabbit Hole, with only a few hardcore drinkers present for a liquid lunch.  That was why Robin had chosen the seedy bar when Tad had asked to meet—that, and he knew that Tad had a weakness for every seedy bar that he could find.  Tad had always been that way, and it was nice to know that his old comrade hadn’t changed.  _At least not in that respect._

“So, you wanted to meet?” he asked after a few moments.

“Well, yes…”

The way Tad trailed off made Robin’s eyebrows go up.  “Please tell me you’re not going to serenade me.  It’s funny when the dwarves get roped into singing, but doing a chorus really isn’t my kind of thing.”

Tad barked out a laugh.  “Oh, no.  I don’t mind singing on principle, but when you’re the only one _not_ from the world—and thus noticing the utter compulsion to sing merrily—the feeling gets a little old.”  He gestured tiredly.  “It made me very glad to be a bearded dragon, at first.  Bearded dragons don’t _sing._ ”

“I can imagine.”  Robin could, too; he was from a world where magic ruled nearly everything, and he was no stranger to compulsions.  Being in a world that wanted to _make_ you sing, however, was something else entirely.  He was fairly sure he would have gone insane.

“Coming to the point, Richard asked me to inquire about your, uh, wife.  The mayor who used to be a queen.”

That put Robin on edge more than he liked to admit.  “What about her?”

If this Richard turned out to be yet another power hungry king who wanted to use Regina’s past against her, Robin was going to shut Tad down in a hurry.  He _liked_ Tad, but Regina was his wife, his True Love, and his soulmate.  He knew what she’d done in the past, but he also knew how she was fighting to overcome that, to make amends to those she had hurt.  Robin had made a choice to stand by her a long time ago, and no matter how good of a friend Tad had been, nothing Tad could say was going to make Robin change his mind.

“Well, one hears eerie things about her.  Richard is hardly a stranger to a not-so-good monarch who has redeemed himself…he just wants to make certain she’ll _stay_ that way.”

“Oh.”  That put a new spin on things, didn’t it?  Not for the first time, Robin realized how very little they knew about their new fellow residents.  _I need to change that.  I’m the only one with a real link to those from the Land of Music, and Tad’s usually an honest sort._ Except in romance, anyway, where Tad’s track record was downright roguish, and usually led to irate spouses chasing him with crossbows. 

“Shall we say that we’re, uh, simply wanting to be sure that the right side remains the right side?  Past deeds are passed, but we’ve had enough turmoil.”  Tad’s smile was crooked, but Robin could see the concern in his eyes.

“Regina might have her gray moments, but she’ll fight to the death for Storybrooke’s safety,” he answered honestly.  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“And her darkness adds a little _spice_ to your love life?” Tad’s grin turned naughty, and Robin had to snort.

“That’s not your business, friend.”

Tad laughed.  “Oh, of _course_ it isn’t.”

“Says the man who beds every attractive person who will have him?” Robin shot back.

“I never said spice was bad.  Precisely the opposite, in fact.”  Another grin, and then Tad downed what was left of his drink in one long draugh.  

“Well, just so long as we have that straight.”  Robin waved the bartender over for another round; if he was going to talk to Tad, the more lubrication his friend had, the better.  _Though he can probably still drink me under the table, so I’d best be careful.  If I’m not,_ I _might wind up in bed with him, and Gina would flay me alive!_   Not that Robin was particularly attracted to Tad, or ever had been, but he knew how persuasive his old friend could be.  Still, that wasn’t the point.  “So, tell me about the land who adopted you.  The Land of Music itself sounds rather awful, but I’m sure the people aren’t…?”

“No, they’re actually quite…charming, really.” 

It didn’t take much to get Tad to launch into a few dozen stories, and Robin just listened.  He was fairly sure that Tad knew what he was up to, and when Tad asked for some tales in return, Robin obliged.  They were both careful not to air the dirtiest laundry, of course, but at least they got a feel for one another’s worlds.

 

* * *

 

Bae was a little surprised that Emma had let him in without going all Dark One and grumbling about it, but he wasn’t going to take any chances on that front.  Emma’s moods could change faster than the weather, just like his father’s had in the beginning.  Bae understood why that happened, but it didn’t make the mood swings any easier to deal with from his end.  Still, they didn’t have a lot of time before Henry got out of school, and Bae knew that Emma had promised to spend the afternoon with their son.  So, he needed to get in quick.

“Is something wrong?” Emma gave him a suspicious look, and Bae had to fight against the urge _not_ to tell her.

“Yeah.”  Grimacing, he decided just to plunge right in.  “I’ve got Isaac’s death on video.  The security system had a magical firewall to keep it from actually getting wiped.”

The room went _very_ quiet, and Emma’s eyes darkened immediately.  Her voice dropped several octaves, dangerous and low.  “And what are you going to do with that knowledge?”

 “Tell you.  That’s it, so far.”  Bae sighed.  “Well, I told my dad, too, but he’s hardly one to cast stones about Dark Ones doing bad things.”

“True.”  Emma was still a ball of tension, though, and Bae could see how much she hated herself.  He wanted to reach out and hug her, but somehow, he wasn’t sure if that would be welcome or not.

“Look, I’m no hero type, okay?  I’ll keep the secret for your sake—and Pop will, too—but you’ve got to watch yourself.  Did Danns’ make you do it?”

Emma grimaced, but her voice went very small when she answered.  “No.”

“I get it, or mostly, anyway.  You’ve got the most toxic crap in the universe in your mind, and you can’t fight it all the time.”  He gestured helplessly, remembering what it was like living in his father’s head, listening to the voices that tried to overwhelm Rumplestiltskin’s heart and soul on a daily basis.  _All the voices in my head…_   “But you’ve got to be careful, okay?  Most people won’t get it.”

“I know.”

She looked so defeated that Bae had to reach out and take her hand.  Emma jumped, but she didn’t pull away, much to his relief.  Part of him felt incredibly guilty, maybe even a little sick to his stomach.  He’d just promised not to do anything or tell anyone about a murder he knew the truth behind.  It wasn’t right…but watching some mob go after Emma wasn’t right, either.  And Isaac had done his dead level best to ruin everyone’s lives, too.  That didn’t make his murder any type of justice, but the real truth of the matter was there was no fairness at work here.  Being the Dark One wasn’t fair to Emma, and Isaac hadn’t deserved his death, either.  _The only answer is to make sure that no one ever has to be the Dark One ever again.  Then at least we can spare the future victims of that damned darkness._

“Y’know, doing this alone is probably still one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.  I know you’re scared that Danns’ is going to drag the rest of us—”

“Stop.”  Emma swung to face him, glaring fiercely.  “Just stop.  I can’t, all right?  You should understand what the cost could be.  I’m not risking _anyone_ else.”  Suddenly, her lower lip trembled, and Emma looked away.  “She killed my dad because of me, Neal.”

Tentatively, Bae reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.  “He’s okay, you know.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know.”  The point was that Danns’ had clearly wanted to punish Emma, and now Emma was afraid of putting a foot wrong.  “Just…just promise me that, when the time comes, you’ll be ready to get rid of that darkness, okay?”

Emma nodded brokenly.  “I can do that.”  He watched her eyes close as she held back tears.  “I promise.”

“And I promise I’ll be here.  Good, bad, or ugly, I’ll be here when you need me.  Or I’ll get lost if you don’t.”

She just nodded again, but she looked like she needed a hug, so Bae took a chance and gave her one.  He was well aware of the fact that she could turn him into a toadstool if she wanted to, but Emma only leaned into him after a moment, and he held her in silence.

* * *

 

Everything was _foggy_ when Rumplestiltskin woke up, though his body didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had when he’d laid down.  Had he lain down?  He vaguely remembered Belle coaxing him into bed, but he didn’t really remember falling asleep.  There was a faint taste of magic on his tongue, of magic not his own, and after a moment’s concentration, he realized that Belle had healed him.  _My budding sorceress._ He tried to smile as he opened his eyes, but the expression came off wan.  Everything still felt so heavy, and there was a burning tiredness behind his eyes that he couldn’t quite shake.

He coughed before words formed properly.  “Belle…?”

“Hey!”  His wife turned towards him immediately, shoving her book onto the nightstand and taking his hand.  “How do you feel?”

“Better.  I think.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t really want to tell her that he still felt like he’d been smashed up by a tornado; he could feel that Belle had healed everything that _could_ be healed.  The rest, the tiredness and the burning feeling of having used _too much magic_ , was his doing.  And he’d known he was doing it at the time.  He’d been born a rather regular human, after all, if one discounted the fact that his mother was a half power.  That fact probably contributed to his being awake now, instead of sleeping through a week or so, but Rumplestiltskin still only had himself to blame. 

“You look like that’s a partial truth.”  Belle gave him a searching look.

“When did you get to know me so well?” Rumplestiltskin grumbled, struggling to sit up.  Fortunately, his body obeyed his commands, even if his muscles were still so damned tired.

“When we finally started talking to one another.”  Her blue eyes watched him carefully, and Rumplestiltskin could only sigh.

“True.”  He managed a better smile this time.  “I have to admit that I don’t regret that.”

“Good.”  She grinned briefly.  “You’d better not.”

“I promise that I do not.”

Belle reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, and he almost melted clear into her touch.  The idea of going back to sleep was so very tempting, particularly with Belle there.  “You had me worried.  You used so much magic…”

“I’m sorry.”  There was no lying to her about this; Belle knew too much about magic now for Rumplestiltskin to make light of the risks he’d taken.  And yet…he was _proud_ of himself, in a new and frightening way.  “That portal needed to be closed, Belle.”

“I know.  I just don’t have to like it when you drain yourself like that.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t very pleasant.  I didn’t like it either.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to chuckle, but it came out as another cough.  “There’s no danger of me playing hero too often.  It’s too unpleasant.”

That finally made Belle laugh.  “There are some bright sides to it, you know.”

“Are there?”  He meant the question as a joke, but it came out too seriously for his tastes.  Rumplestiltskin tried to cover that with a shrug, but he had a feeling Belle saw through him.  _I’m still getting used to being ‘good’.  Or helping.  Or…just not being the villain of the piece.  Changing is harder than I would have thought, even if_ doing _the right thing is easier._

“How about I bat my eyes at you and tell you how handsomely heroic you looked?”  Belle chose to answer lightheartedly, despite what she probably knew was going through his head, and Rumplestiltskin could not have loved her more than he did in that moment.

“You don’t need to bat your eyes to win me over, sweetheart.”

“Then how about this?”  Leaning in, Belle kissed him gently, but the shock of _power_ to his system hit like a thunderbolt.  And the suddenness with which it chased some of his weakness away was breathtaking.

“Can you feel that?” he whispered against her lips, and Rumplestiltskin felt more than saw Belle’s smile.  “Kiss me again.”

_It’s working._   True Love was the most powerful of all magic, more powerful than even that of an original power.  It could heal what spells could not, and although True Love’s Kiss could not cure all of his body’s weaknesses, Rumplestiltskin realized that Belle’s love could help keep the worst of it at bay.

As cures went, it was certainly the most pleasant medicine he’d ever tasted.

* * *

 

She hadn’t meant to run into her sister in City Hall.  In fact, Zelena was probably the _last_ person Regina wanted to see, lower on her list than even the Black Fairy or the mob of hecklers who seemed to crop up from time to time to remind her of her worst moments.  After the antics Zelena had demonstrated at Regina’s wedding, she really didn’t want to see her at all.  Regina had tried to reach out to Zelena at least a dozen times, but Zelena’s reaction had ranged from attacking her to impersonating Regina and killing others.  Regina didn’t _want_ to hate her sister—not now that she was a little further away from Zelena’s murderous envy, anyway—but Zelena seemed determined to hate her.

So, when she felt the _swoosh_ of magic and knew that Zelena had teleported behind her, Regina only turned around with a sigh, hoping that the hallway outside her office wasn’t about to be demolished.  “What do you want, sis?”

“I want my child!  I want someone who will love _me_ , and you don’t deserve her.”  Zelena’s blue eyes were wide with fury, but Regina could see the loneliness behind the anger.

“You endangered her, Zelena.  And she’s not just your child.  She’s also the child of the man you _raped_ to have her.  Does that mean nothing to you?”  Regina would never forgive Zelena for what she’d done to Robin—or at least not until Zelena showed genuine remorse and begged Robin for forgiveness.  Then Regina would consider it.

Zelena shrugged.  “He was only a means to an end.”

“He’s my husband!”

“Well, bully for you.  That’s still my child!”

“Not anymore.”  Regina shook her head sadly.  “Not in any way that matters.  And if you ever want to play a part in her life, you’re going to have to reconsider your choices.  All of them.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”  Zelena’s head came up proudly, but even Regina could tell that she didn’t believe that.

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you.  You know what you’ve done.”  She crossed her arms, feeling awkward due to her ever-growing belly.  “But I did plenty of awful things, too, and you can come back from it.  But you have to try.  You have to _want_ to be better, and be ready to have no one accept that.  You have to do it anyway, and be prepared to face the consequences of what you have done.”

“What I don’t have to do is listen to you,” her sister sneered.

Regina snorted.  “Then why did you come find me?  You want to pick another fight, endanger the baby again?  Because that’ll prove to _everyone_ that you’re so strong and scary.”

“I don’t need you!  I don’t need _anyone_!”  Zelena’s face was growing red, and for a moment, Regina actually worried about her.  But she dismissed the thought a little sadly.  Zelena had made her choices, hadn’t she?  Now her sister sneered again, her eyes flashing dangerously.  “You’ll see.  I’ll _take_ the power I need, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“You’ll see!”  Zelena teleported away in a mess of green smoke, leaving Regina to frown in her wake.  She wasn’t sure if anyone could understand what was going on in her sister’s head, but whatever it was, Regina was pretty sure nothing good would come of it.

_Would I be where I am if I’d been rejected as many times as she had?_ she wondered to herself, staring at the empty hallway where Zelena had stood.  But she’d tried to reach out, hadn’t she?  Regina knew she’d fed Zelena’s vendetta almost as much as her sister had, but that still didn’t mean she wasn’t genuine.  This hadn’t even been the first time she’d tried…but something told her it might be the last.

* * *

 

Her son had inherited her stubbornness, of course.

“There’s no reason to change what we planned now.”  Rumplestiltskin had gotten out of bed shortly before her arrival, according to Belle, and he was dressed and in the kitchen, now.  He was pale and a bit shaky, but even Morgan had to admit that he looked worlds better than he had that morning.  Still, the tiredness was obvious in his eyes, as was the fact that he really hadn’t been ready to do what he did.  _I doubt he will ever be.  There’s a reason Merlin never dug so deeply into that power—doing so is dangerous, even under the best of circumstances._   

“There’s every reason.  You used more power than ever in your life, and you’re paying the price.”

He only shrugged.  “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“That’s hardly the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said.” She snorted.  “You’re already paying it.”

“That’s not your finest bit of wit, Mother.”  His smile was as sharp as his tone was dry, and Morgan had to crack a smile.  How had she ever _not_ thought Rumplestiltskin was her son?  Though it was probably a good thing that Mordred wasn’t here for this argument.  He would have found a way to strike more sparks with his brother, and they’d been doing so well lately.

“My point stands.”  Morgan crossed her arms, forcing herself not to fret.  Her son was a grown man, and the Sorcerer.  Rumplestiltskin knew magic, and he knew himself.  He would be fine, she knew. 

But she was his mother, and she worried.  Belle clearly did, too, watching them both in silence.  Morgan half-wondered if Belle and Rumple had already had this argument, or if Belle was just waiting to see who won before she entered the conversation.  The facts were simple, though, and Belle knew them as well as she did.  Rumplestiltskin would heal with time, but the more he used such magic, the longer it would take.  There was a bone-deep weariness in him that made Morgan want to wrap him in blankets and keep him away from the world, to coddle him and just keep him safe until he felt better.  A quick glance Belle’s way revealed that her daughter-in-law felt the same.  Yet Rumplestiltskin clearly was not prepared to be babied.  _Maybe things would be different if I hadn’t abandoned him. Perhaps then I’d feel I have the right to strong-arm him into doing what is right for his health._

She had not been there, though, and that meant Rumplestiltskin had grown into who he was absent her influence.  Morgan was proud of him, terribly proud, but she was a little frightened, too.

“As does mine.  Even with your newly re-found powers and Mordred holding the Sapphire, Danns’ may judge the odds in her favor.  If I’m there, she won’t.”

“And if she realizes how weak you are?” 

“She already knows that.”  He shrugged again, but the movement wasn’t as smooth as it should have been.   “She would be the same, had she done what I did.  Besides, it’s a physical weakness, not a magical one.”

“Yes, but if you use such magic again, it will only make things worse.”  Morgan reached out to touch his hand, grateful that Rumplestiltskin didn’t pull away.

His frown was a tad petulant.  “I do know that.”

“And I’m allowed to worry, before you tell me not to.  It’s what mothers do.”

As she’d expected, that made Rumplestiltskin soften.  In many ways, he was still a motherless little boy at heart.  Then he cocked his head.  “And isn’t family supposed to help one another?”

_He’s also your son,_ she reminded herself with a sigh.  _He loves as fiercely as a hurricane, but he manipulates as easily as he breathes._ And how could Morgan hold that against him, when she was the same?  So, she just sighed.  “Yes.  Yes, family does.”

Hopefully, things would go according to plan, and they wouldn’t need Rumplestiltskin’s power.  _Hopefully._

* * *

 

Morgan had been a distraction, of course.  Danns’ realized that the afternoon after Rumplestiltskin had closed the portal.  She wondered, briefly, if the new Sorcerer’s actions had also been in the same vein, but she doubted it.  Rumplestiltskin was cagey and smart, but he wouldn’t have used so _very_ much magic if he had only been trying to distract her.  No, his handiwork with the portal—and the way he’d shored up the collapsing realms—had been too well-crafted to be a mere distraction.  It had even made her wonder at first if that was what Morgan had been keeping her away from, particularly how using that much magic could seriously weaken even an original power.

Then she realized that Arthur’s heart had been taken.

It was a clever move, to be certain, although she was positive that Morgan—for who else would be behind such a move?—had not meant for Danns’ to find out so quickly.  Arthur was able to say nothing about it, and although she didn’t think he was under current control, there was no way to be certain.  Someone could be watching her even now, a thought that was far from pleasing.  Yet she doubted Morgan would go to such work simply to _spy_ on her.  Would she?  No, knowing Morgan, there had to be something else.

Her anger led her down several pathways, but Danns’ immediately contemplated summoning her Dark One.  Sending Swan after Mordred would be pleasant; there was no telling what a Dark One imbued with Savior magic could do, even against a half-fae sorcerer who possessed the Greater Sapphire.  That would be a neat little piece of revenge, a reminder to Morgan that Danns’ held the cards and could very easily hurt her family.  Danns’ might not be inclined to hurt Belle’s husband, son, or grandson, but Mordred was certainly not safe.  _Perhaps that is what I will do.  It is high time I punished Morgan for her many actions against me, and it’s not as if Arthur will mourn his quasi-incestuous son._

There was an undeniable bonus in how miserable it would make Emma Swan, too, and Danns’ did enjoy that thought.  She could also gain the Sapphire through Mordred’s death, and if Emma’s Savior powers were not enough to break through the wards Reul had put around the Lands of the Fae, the Sapphire would be.  That was certainly a useful reason to indulge in a bit of vengeance, and Danns’ was hardly one to resist when utility and revenge coincided. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter-Ninety-One—“Together Well Might Change the World”, where a bargain is made, a road trip is planned, Emma tries to sort out her own feelings, Killian realizes a few things, Danns’ discovers Galatine is missing, and Jefferson finally goes home.


	91. Together Well Might Change the World

“You sure you’re okay with this, Pop?” Bae asked, looking at him worriedly enough that Rumplestiltskin wanted to strangle someone.  _Or rip a heart out.  There are times when I think being evil was rather cathartic, particularly when I didn’t have a pesky conscience to remind me how_ wrong _I was._

“I’m fine, Bae.”  Keeping his voice level took an effort, but Rumplestiltskin managed. 

“You still look like hell.”

“Well, I feel fine.”  There was no need to mention that his son had mostly carried him back from closing the portal; Bae clearly remembered that all too well.  But Belle _had_ healed him, and Rumplestiltskin was sure the weakness and general lethargy he felt was only temporary.

Or at least he sure as hell hoped it would be. 

Bae crossed his arms.  “You’re still a crap liar.”

“I’m not lying.  Belle healed me, and my mother is already fretting like a mother hen.”  Rumplestiltskin scowled, disliking how sloppy that sentence sounded.  He _liked_ being precise, but his tired mind still wasn’t entirely cooperative.  “There’s no need for you to do the same.  Henry needs you…and Emma needs you to be safe.”

“If Danns’ was going to come after me, she probably would have done it already.”  Bae remained stubborn, but Rumplestiltskin he could see his own words sinking in.

“Possibly.  There’s no knowing, and frankly, do you really want David wandering around outside Storybrooke alone?”

“Okay, point.”  Bae snorted.  “Though Henry’s pretty world-savvy.  He did live in New York for a year with Emma.”

“He’s also thirteen, _and_ he’s not on my bank accounts.” 

Bae started, and Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a grin as he handed a debit card over to his son.  Bae, however, immediately protested.  “I don’t need this.  I’ve got money, and—”

“And I have several fortunes, between real estate and all the gold I’ve spun in the past.  The _only_ thing I want to use that money for is my family, which you—and Henry—certainly are.  So take it.”

Bae took the card reluctantly.  “Will, um, this even work outside Storybrooke?”

“Yes.  After my last…experiences, I made sure to have accounts that aren’t restricted by this little town.”  Rumplestiltskin resolutely pushed away the memories of limping away from Storybrooke, exiled, penniless, and alone.  One of the first things he’d done upon waking up was make sure _that_ could never happen again, which had led him to making investments and buying property outside town.  He’d done quite well on that front, even better than he’d expected.

“I feel bad enough that I’m taking your car.  I don’t need this.” 

“I failed to take care of you for years when I should have.”  Stepping forward, Rumplestiltskin put a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “Please let me do it now.”  His voice cracked, even though he tried not to let it.  “I know it can’t make up for things I haven’t done, but…”

“All right.”  Bae nodded.  “I guess I just got used to roughing it, y’know?  But I suppose I can deal with having money to spend.  Particularly since David probably is going to bring a wad of cash, and I really don’t want him flashing that around just so we can get robbed.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t pulled off balance when Bae hugged him.  His son wasn’t fooled, but at least Bae left the subject alone.  Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin managed to push back his own butterflies; he hated the thought of losing Bae, even for a little while, but at least this time, they both knew he’d be back. 

“Call me if you have trouble.  Please.”

“I will, Pop.  Though no promises on calls every night or anything.  Henry’s going to have to call Regina and Emma pretty often, though, so I suspect you’ll hear things from them, too.”  Bae grinned crookedly.  “Regina’s gonna flip out, I bet.”

“Remind me to steer clear of that.”

* * *

 

“You’ll antagonize her more than I will, Mother.”

Morgan sighed, turning to take in the glare her eldest son was giving her.  Yes, Mordred did have a point, even a good one, but she also knew how abrasive he could be.  Mordred had never excelled at diplomacy, or even at encouraging others _not_ to pick a fight.  Her own presence might have been even more distasteful to Danns’ than Mordred’s, but she didn’t trust Danns’ not to try to hurt her son.  And the fact that Mordred was wearing the Sapphire hadn’t escaped her, either.

“Perhaps.  But I want her to attack me if she’s going to attack someone.”

Mordred frowned; if there was one thing her sons definitely had in common, it was a dislike of being protected, even by their own mother.  Rumplestiltskin had certainly proven that an hour earlier, when she’d tried to convince him to stay home.  It hadn’t worked, of course.  Her younger boy was even now lurking in the shadows, waiting to provide backup Morgan devoutly hoped would not be needed.  Yet his sense of family wouldn’t let Rumplestiltskin sit this out any more than Mordred’s would let him quietly watch his mother take the lead.  Mordred was a good son in so many ways, yet this one was one in which he drove her mad.

“And you think that’s a _good_ idea?  You’ve barely gotten power back, Mother, and—”

“And I will not have you using that Sapphire again.  Not when you’re finally free of its ill-effects,” she cut him off sternly.

Mordred had the grace to look a little embarrassed.  “I don’t lack power of my own.”

“Neither do I.”  She had for so long that it was nice to be able to say so, and she could see that Mordred was mostly glad that she could again properly defend herself.

“I didn’t mean to imply you did.”  Mordred fidgeted.  “I just…I just want to help.”

“I know.”  Morgan reached out and squeezed his arm, seeing the desperate need to _belong_ on Mordred’s face.  He’d been a loner all of his life, and she knew that he had a hard time fitting in with others.  Lancelot had been his only real friend after Gwaine’s death, and now Lancelot was dead.  Mordred didn’t want to admit that he wanted this new family they’d found, but Morgan knew him well.  “We’ll do this together.”

As they were almost at Danns’ door, there was no more time to argue, and Mordred just nodded.

Morgan knocked on the door.

* * *

 

“Is this really a good time to go to Boston, Dad?”  Henry looked up at him as they walked up the stairs towards David’s loft, making Bae almost stop cold.

“What, are you getting cold feet?”

“No.  I just think that there’s a lot going on.  And Mom might…well, she’s not doing so great.”

“Your mom—both of them—is fine with you coming along.  I think Emma is actually glad that you are.”  Bae had discussed this with Emma just that morning, actually, and she’d seemed really relieved.

Henry, however, looked like that thought hurt him.  “Why?”

“Because she wants you to be safe, and she doesn’t trust herself.”  That was about as honest as Bae could get on that front; no way was he telling Henry that Emma had murdered Isaac.  Everyone was still blaming that on Danns’, and as far as Bae was concerned, the ultimate fault _did_ lay at the Black Fairy’s door, so they could just keep on doing that.

“She’d never hurt me.”

“I know that.  You know that.  Even _Emma_ knows that.  But she’s not in control of herself right now, y’know?”  It hurt to even say that, but Bae was determined not to lie to his son.  Protect him, yes—Bae would do that with his dying breath—but he wouldn’t coddle him.  Henry was thirteen, and old enough to know the truth.

“Yeah, I know.  I still think we should be trying to help her, and not going to Boston.” Henry made a face.  “Even if I really do like the idea of going to Boston.”

“If there was something we could do this instant, I’d agree with you.  Except there really isn’t.”  Bae glanced around, but there was no one in sight.  “And your mom’s worried that you might be targeted because of her.”

“Or you, Gramps, or Baby Neal?”

“Yeah.”  He grimaced, and then knocked on the door.  “The fact that David’s alive is bound to piss the Black Fairy off, and my dad closing the portal probably isn’t going to help, either.”  _Neither is the fact that Morgan and Mordred are about to bait Danns’ in a really hardcore way,_ he didn’t add.

Henry picked up what he was trying to say right away.  “So the timing of the roadtrip is kind of on purpose.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

David and Bae had talked about it that morning, right after Bae had left Emma’s.  Emma had told them _both_ that she was worried about the Black Fairy seeking revenge, and that wasn’t something they could ignore.  Besides, they’d been planning on this road trip for a bit, and Bae had been able to borrow his father’s car (plus a good bit of money), which meant the drive would be pretty comfortable.  Rumplestiltskin promised to call him if things went south, and even though Bae didn’t want to stay outside Storybrooke…he’d do it if it kept Henry safe.

* * *

 

Arthur answered the door, scowling immediately at Mordred.  “If you’re here to cause more pain and suffering—”

“Do shut up,” Morgan cut her stepbrother off.  She had wanted so badly to love him, once, and had thought he was a better man than one who would join Danns’ knowingly.  Yet he had never been deceived by Danns’, and that put him right on Danns’ level.

“Why don’t you fetch your wife, Father?” Mordred suggested innocently.  “We all know she’s the one who is going to make all decisions around here.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened.  “You are no son of mine.”

“Proudly so, these days.  You turned out to be such the disappointment.”

Sighing, Morgan chose not to intervene in their little sneering contest.  Mordred probably needed to face off with his father one last time, and at any rate, she could feel the swirl of power as Danns’ approached.  Arthur and Mordred were still busy glaring at one another, but Morgan turned her attention to Danns’, stepping back from the door to allow Danns’ room on the doorstep.  She rightly guessed that Danns’ would not care to have this conversation inside her home; why invite two powerful sorcerers behind her wards if she didn’t have to?

“What a lovely family reunion.”  Danns’ lips curled up in a cold smile, but her eyes twinkled with mirth.  “Am I interrupting?”

“You know why we’re here.”  Morgan wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Do I?”  A soft laugh.  “I suppose that since dear Arthur isn’t dead, you must want something in exchange for his heart.”

Mordred snorted.  “I’m surprised you care enough to even ask.”

“Of course I care.  Arthur and I have a partnership, which is more than I could ever have said for either of you.”  Danns’ eyes still held that dangerous glint, though, so Morgan laid a hand on her son’s arm.  The last thing they wanted was to start a fight.

“You hold a man prisoner,” she said coldly.  “You will set him free, and swear not to recapture him, or harm him or his loved ones in any way.  And then I will return Arthur’s heart.”

Danns’ eyebrows rose theatrically.  “But I hold no prisoners.”

“Your so-called ‘toy’, then.” Morgan grated the words out.  She’d never met Jefferson, but she didn’t have to know the man to be disgusted by what Danns’ did.  She knew Danns’ tricks, after all, and could easily guess how much Jefferson was suffering.  If he was smart, Jefferson was doing all he could to keep Danns’ happy and lessen his own pain, but if Danns’ had merely wanted a lover, she never would have taken someone unwilling.

“Oh, him.  I’d nearly forgotten.”

“You really are quite sick, aren’t you?” Mordred asked, almost conversationally.  But Morgan did notice how his hand drifted up to grasp the Sapphire. 

“No.  I simply am what I am.”  Danns’ playfulness vanished as she turned back to Morgan.  “As such, I have little reason to give in to you.  I know you will not kill your brother.”

Turning to study Arthur, Morgan noticed that his reaction was half smug and half worried.  _Does he not trust his dear wife, or has my little stepbrother finally realized that she views him as expendable?_   No doubt Danns’ would tell Arthur she was merely bluffing, but Arthur was the only one present who would believe that.  It was almost sad, but Morgan had moved past worrying how Arthur felt about things.  He had chosen this fate, for better or worse.

“Why would I not?” she asked curiously.  “I always thought you’d fooled him, you know.  That the Great King Arthur had no idea what kind of monster he had married.”  Shaking her head, Morgan withdrew Arthur’s heart from inside her jacket.  It was more black than red, these days, and surprisingly darker than her own heart.  “But he has always known.  And I will do what I must to save an innocent from your nonexistent mercy.”

“She means it,” Arthur said to Danns’ in an undertone.  He’d been watching her face carefully, and Arthur had once known her so well.

Danns’ only smiled.  “Of course she does.”

“Danns’…”  Arthur trailed off, but his wife ignored him to meet Morgan’s eyes.

“Tell me, why should I submit to this blackmail?  Why should I not merely _take_ my husband’s heart back?”

“Do you think you can defeat both of us so quickly?” Mordred spoke up, his fingers growing white around the Greater Sapphire as power began moving in the air.

Morgan watched the threads swirl in the air, silver-gray at first and then going darker and darker as Danns’ anger grew.  She could feel the slight tremble of the world around them, could feel the awesome terror of an original power dipping deeply into the bottomless ocean of magic she possessed.  Morgan was a half power herself, and Mordred had inherited power from both sides of his family, yet neither of them could match that.  Not even together.  _She knows that, of course.  And I was a fool to think she would not risk Arthur’s life by choosing the safe path._ Danns’ never chose the safe path, did she?  The Sapphire might be enough, but if Mordred used it again, he would burn.  Yet she could already feel her son reaching for the power, knowing that he needed it to survive.

Now, Danns’ flashed Mordred a smile.  “Your little trinket will destroy you long before you destroy me.”

“It’s not the trinket you should be worried about.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped out of the shadows, striding up the walk.  For the first time in her life, Morgan saw Danns’ jump in surprise—and it was a beautiful thing to see.

Almost as beautiful as Mordred pulling away from the Sapphire before it could begin to consume him.

“You would stand against me?”  Danns’ eyes narrowed as she stared at Morgan’s youngest son.  “Your own wife’s grandmother?”

“Belle told you that Jefferson was her friend.  She asked you to free him.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was flat, and if his face was still pale, that was overshadowed by the coldness in _his_ eyes, which matched Danns’ ice for ice.  “You refused.”

“I did no such thing.  I made you an offer.”

“Yes, to free your favorite psychopath in exchange for a good man’s freedom.”  He snorted.  “Don’t be surprised that I didn’t take you up on that, dearie.”

“Release Jefferson.”  Morgan spoke up again, regaining control of the conversation now that both of her sons were present.  “Then I will return Arthur’s heart to you.”

Danns’ glared, but she did not bother to ask if Morgan would keep her word.  They all knew she would, even Arthur.  Then the Black Fairy sighed, smiling lightly.  “Of course.  I do put my beloved husband’s life above such things.”

Arthur seemed to breathe again; Mordred snorted.  Morgan merely watched impassively, feeling Arthur’s heart beat steadily in her hand.  _Thump, thump.  Thump, thump._ The anxiety on Arthur’s face wasn’t reflected in his heart, but it never was, was it?  Arthur could be nervous, even a little concerned, without his heart in, but where a normal man would be terrified, a heartless one didn’t feel as much.  _Either that, or a man willing to marry Danns’ just doesn’t feel that much anymore._ Arthur hadn’t always been like this.  He’d been such an affectionate child.  But the boy Morgan had once called brother was long gone.

A long moment passed in silence, and then Danns’ finally twitched her fingers.  A cloud of silver smoke twisted into a tornado at Morgan’s right, and suddenly a handsome but wan young man appeared.  Morgan recognized him, but she’d never paid particular attention to Jefferson and wasn’t sure if it was him or not.  So, she turned to Rumplestiltskin, raising one eyebrow in question, only for Jefferson to drop like a bag of rocks.  A quick spell from Mordred kept him from hitting his head on the steps, and Rumplestiltskin helped him down into a sitting position.

Jefferson blinked confusedly, looking up at everyone else like he hadn’t seen them before.  “What’s…what’s going on?”

“We’re getting you home.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was even when he spoke to Jefferson, but when his eyes snapped up to meet Danns’, they were ice cold. 

“After Arthur’s heart is returned.”  Danns’ smooth expression didn’t even hint at regret, despite how thin Jefferson was or the dark circles under his eyes.  Morgan could feel magic filling the air, tendrils working outwards from Danns’—and then Rumplestiltskin’s magic rose to meet hers.

_Stalemate._

Yet Morgan had made a promise, and breaking it now would mean there would be no chance of any further agreements with Danns’—even if she was tempted to remove Arthur from play.  Doing so might make the world a better place, but it wasn’t really an option.  Not without consequences she did not care to bear, anyway.  So, she extended the heart as coolly as Danns’ had demanded it.  “As promised.”

“Tempted, aren’t you?”  Danns’ took the heart with a slight smile. 

Morgan met her gaze steadily.  “No.”

They both knew it was a lie, but some lies needed to be told.

* * *

 

It was for the best, Emma knew.  Danns’ had been watching her ever more closely, and every instinct Emma had—as well as those of Nimue and the other Dark Ones—told her that something big was coming soon.  Danns’ had made it obvious that she was not above hurting her family if Emma displeased her, and that meant Emma wanted to get her loved ones as far from Danns’ as possible.  _Love is weakness,_ Nimue whispered as Emma walked towards where Baelfire, Henry, and David were loading overnight bags into Gold’s car.  _But if you must love, make sure it is not someone who can be used against you._   The bittersweet tone of Nimue’s thoughts hinted at memories Emma couldn’t quite make out, and that made her turn her thoughts inwards.

_You loved Merlin._ Nimue didn’t answer, but Emma could feel the ghosts of other Dark Ones shifting uneasily.  _Did you leave him, or did he leave you?_

Disgust rose so quickly that Emma felt bile bubbling in her throat.  _He could not accept what I became._   A long moment of heated silence.  _And I could not accept him wanting to_ save _me._

Emma’s eyes drifted to Bae almost on their own.  He understood what she was and didn’t try to change her—but he also didn’t accept her darkness wholeheartedly.  Was she lucky, or was this all just a lie?  Did he say what he did for Henry’s sake?  Emma knew that Bae would do anything for their shared son.  Did he think that keeping her happy, helping Emma hold back the worst of the darkness, helped keep Henry safe?  If he did, he wasn’t wrong…but part of Emma really hoped that she was wrong.  Once, she’d told Bae that it would be easier to have him dead than to accept everything they were to one another, and she hadn’t been lying.  She wanted him back, even now.  Even like this.

Maybe she was just being paranoid.  For once, even Nimue didn’t argue with that thought—or encourage her.  Emma wasn’t sure what to make of that.  So, she turned to her son, her father, and her ex-boyfriend, forcing a half smile onto her face.

“All packed?”

“Yeah.”  Henry grinned.  “I mean, we only have a day’s worth of clothes and all, but babies apparently need a _lot_ of stuff for traveling.”

Bae turned towards them both, smiling easily.  “It’s what they call being high maintenance.” 

“Oh, and you wouldn’t know anything about _that_ ,” Emma retorted before she could stop herself.  She almost felt normal, almost like herself.  If she pretended really hard, she could think that it was her, Neal, and Henry going on a road trip, that they had always been a family and that—

_You keep wishing for stupid things like that, and you’re going to get them killed,_ she told herself firmly as David came over.

“You don’t have to worry, Emma,” her dad said with a smile.  “We’ll be safe.”  _For now,_ he didn’t add.

David wasn’t the type to run from a fight, Emma knew.  In fact, he pretty much defined the stereotype of someone who would do the exact opposite.  But he was also a father, and they’d both paid the price for being overconfident on that front.  Emma now understood that Danns’ would kill _anyone_ who got in her way, and she was determined to keep her family out of it.  She still wasn’t sure why Danns’ hadn’t gone after Henry, but she was no longer going to take chances.  _I already lost my mother.  I’m not losing my dad, my brother, or my son, either._

“Thanks, Dad.”  Emma managed a weak smile.  “I know you don’t like this.  I know you’re just doing this because I asked.”

David grimaced.  “We can’t stay away forever, but if a little time helps…”

“I know.”  She swallowed, not wanting to think about how Danns’ would react if she tried to go after her family and they weren’t there.  So, she just hugged her father as tightly as she dared, comforted by the way his arms wrapped around her in turn.

Then it was time to look at Bae again, who was giving her that same old crooked grin.  “You know Boston better than I do.  Anywhere great we should take Henry?”

“The Boston Museum of Science.  He hasn’t asked you about that already?”  Talking about something so normal was nice, particularly since Henry was busy saying goodbye to Regina.

“He’s been on about the Freedom Trail so far, or those Duck Tours with the car things that drive in the water and on the ground.”  Bae shrugged.  “David’s voting for the first one, since he’s all about hiking and all that fitness stuff.”

“Sounds good enough.”  Sounding natural was hard.  All Emma wanted to do was look over her shoulder and make sure no one was going to appear to _force_ her to stop them from leaving.  But there was only Regina, who was listening to Henry’s pleas for a new computer.  That, at least, gave Emma something to ask about.  “You’re going to get him that computer, aren’t you?”

Bae smiled a little sheepishly.  “Only if he’s good.  If I do, it’ll be a laptop, so he can use it no matter whose house he’s at.”  But his brown eyes focused on her despite Emma’s attempt to sound normal.  “You okay?”

“Just…waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Nothing new.”  Emma bit back the sudden desire to snarl.  “I _hate_ being like this.  I’m paranoid, I’m illogical, and I hate everyone.”

“Nah, you don’t hate everyone.  Just almost everyone.”  He laughed, and Emma wanted to punch him.

Or kiss him, which would have been an even worse idea.  _I wish you weren’t going,_ she almost said, and then kicked herself.  If Danns’ had any clue how badly she’d once been in love with Baelfire, she might—

“Careful you don’t earn yourself a place on that special list.”  Emma tried to say the words jokingly, but they came out as a growl.

Bae, however, just grinned.  “I’m already on all of your special lists, and I know it.”

Emma tried to glare, she really did.  But she felt a little more like herself when he was around, and damn it all…she was going to miss him.  “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I usually—”

On impulse, Emma leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, cutting Bae off midsentence.  She pulled back before it could get too deep, and headed over to talk to Henry before Bae could say anything.  _Just do what you want, girl.  If he’ll have you the way you are, you’re better off than most of us have been,_ Nimue said, her silent voice almost approving.

_Just don’t screw it up, dearie.  We all know how_ that _works out._

Taking a deep breath, Emma glanced over her shoulder for a split second, just to see the gobsmacked look in Bae’s face.  He did look pretty surprised, but happy, too.  Of course, his questioning expression only made Emma’s nerves twist into a tighter knot, and she looked away quickly.  She had to get this damned darkness out before she could decide what she really wanted.  Anything else wasn’t fair to anyone.

For the first time, Nimue didn’t scream at her that she’d _never_ be free, but Emma didn’t realize that until much later.

* * *

 

He’d noticed that kiss, and it didn’t burn as much as Killian thought it should.

Yet, not too many months ago, he’d been ridiculously in love with Emma Swan.  He’d sacrificed his beloved ship to get to her—though he’d been clever and lucky enough to get the _Jolly Roger_ back, at least—and he’d been prepared to go to the ends of the earth to win her heart.  He’d even _done_ that, only for her to become the Dark One and for everything to change.  Emma had said that she hadn’t left him for Baelfire, and he knew she believed that, but the proof was in front of his eyes.  _She said that she didn’t want_ any _relationship, but she’s giving him awkward kisses and looking at him in a way she never looked at me._

With Killian, Emma had been hungry and seductive, at least when she wasn’t closed off and avoiding emotional attachment.  But with Baelfire, she seemed more relaxed than she ever had with him.  She looked _younger_ and more innocent, even though she was the Dark One.  Oh, there was undeniable darkness in her that left a mark, but she was a different woman with Baelfire.  Jealousy reared up in him, hot and angry, but it fizzled out surprisingly quickly.  Yes, he’d wanted Emma desperately, but he’d survived without her, hadn’t he?  Killian had thought Emma was his happy ending—in fact, he’d thought of little else for far too long.  But he was doing fine, wasn’t he?

Emma glanced over her shoulder at Baelfire as he watched, a shy smile touching her face.  Once, he would have raged and been crippled by heartbreak.  Now…now he only blinked and shoved his hands into his pockets.

_I think I was holding onto a dream of a woman who never really existed,_ he thought to himself.  _I wanted a hero, a woman who would keep me honest by sheer force of her goodness._ The thought of loving the Savior had been intoxicating, but he had barely known Emma when he started chasing her.  Then she’d become the Dark One, and everything Killian had felt had suddenly been…different.  He’d wanted to love Emma Swan for Emma Swan, but somehow, life had gotten in the way.  And he barely felt a twitch in his heart when he watched her kiss another man, too.

There was an inescapable truth in that.

Just like he couldn’t ignore the way his mind tended to turn towards someone else.  Could things have been different if Emma hadn’t become the Dark One?  Perhaps.  Perhaps they might have even made one another happy, for a while.  But maybe Killian would have grown bored with her goodness.  Maybe Emma would have grown disgusted with his dark streak.  He would have tried to be a hero for her, and she would have compromised her morals for him.  In the end, they might have told one another they were happy, but Killian wasn’t sure they would have been.

Lily, on the other hand…Lily was dark where Emma was light.  She was every bit as strong and every bit as determined, but she was _real_.  Lily wasn’t some hero whose life’s purpose was to bring back everyone’s happy endings.  Lily was a woman, with flaws and sharp edges—maybe too many, but Killian could live with that.  In some ways, Lily almost reminded him of Milah.  She was younger, less jaded and maybe more bitter.  Lily shared Milah’s desire to grab life by the throat and _take_ what was hers, and Killian found that unbelievably alluring.

He was so busy trying to figure out if Lily wanted him in return that he didn’t notice Gold’s car drive away and Emma disappear in a cloud of smoke.

* * *

 

“You’ll be weak for a few days, but everything else is healed.”  Rumplestiltskin felt weak himself, though his magic had healed Jefferson easily enough.  It actually responded better to commands than his body did; Rumplestiltskin’s vision wanted to swim in and out of focus, and he felt like his limbs were heavier than lead.  Yet that didn’t matter.

He certainly wasn’t going to complain to the Hatter about how _he_ felt.  Jefferson had suffered as Danns’ prisoner for almost a month and a half, and would win any competition over who had suffered most.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t feel that it was a contest, anyway.  _And I’m not sure it’s smart to let anyone outside of Belle know how terrible I still feel._   His mother had guessed, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly want to advertise to her, either.  As much as he’d grown to trust Morgan, some old habits died hard.

“And I’m supposed to just go back to my life like everything’s normal?”  Jefferson gave him a skeptical look.

“She won’t come after you again.”  Rumplestiltskin said the words with more confidence than he felt; he _thought_ Danns’ would keep her promises, but if she didn’t, they wouldn’t find out until it was too late. 

Jefferson snorted.  “Your bedside manner still sucks, man.”

“Says the man keeping company with Doctor Whale?”

“Is he all right?”  Jefferson suddenly seemed nervous.  “You said Grace was fine, but—”

“They both are.  And Victor never stopped harassing me to do something about you.”  Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a slight smile.  Victor and Jefferson had hit it off quickly as friends back in the Enchanted Forest; the fact that they’d grown closer still was no surprise.  “Grace has been staying with Victor, I believe.”

“Good.”  Jefferson slumped in relief, and then blinked again.  “Why…why the hell did you risk anything for me?  I know you’re turning over a new leaf and all, but this is a bit unexpected.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged uncomfortably.  “It wasn’t a terrible risk.”

“Rumple.”  Jefferson was one of the few people who’d ever been invited to use that nickname, and he rolled it on his tongue now, managing to sound sarcastic, exhausted, and doubtful all at once.

“Perhaps I’m simply tired of being the beast.”  The words snapped out before Rumplestiltskin could stop himself, although he immediately regretted them.  _I must be tired._ “And you deserved better.”

“That never much motivated you to do anything before.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  This was getting awkward, and he was going about this all in the wrong order.  Saving Jefferson hadn’t been about his own desire not to be the villain of every piece, or at least it shouldn’t have been.  He really wasn’t sure what he felt, and putting it into words was even harder, particularly with how out of sorts he still felt.

For a moment, he contemplated simply teleporting Jefferson to the Hatter’s own home and ending the conversation that way.  It would be the coward’s way out, but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to such roads, now, was he?

“I get that you’re the Sorcerer and all, and I know enough about magic to get what that means,” Jefferson said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.  “I guess I shouldn’t be demanding answers as much as I should be saying thank you.”

“No.  Don’t.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head, forcing himself to be honest.  “We—I—could have acted sooner, but I wasn’t willing to start a war to save you.  So don’t thank me.  We took long enough about it.”

“I do have a _bit_ of an appreciation of how dangerous she is, you know.”  A shadow crossed Jefferson’s face, dark and pained.  “I get it.”  The Hatter laughed uneasily.  “And maybe I’m selfish, too, ‘cause Grace lives in this town, and any war would scoop her up, too.”

“That it would.” 

“So, yeah, then.  She’s a pretty scary piece of work, isn’t she?”  Jefferson’s smile was too strained, but Rumplestiltskin understood.

He’d seen that face in the mirror too many times after escaping Zelena’s clutches.  He’d never gotten help for his issues, but he hoped that Jefferson would.  _He’s always been more sensible than I, less full of stupid pride._ Then again, Rumplestiltskin’s pride had been a hard won thing, scraped together out of years of being beaten down and trod upon.  Only power had given him anything to be proud of, and then that same power had nearly destroyed everything he loved.  Finding a balance between the two was hard, and had only really been possible when he’d finally learned to let the darkness go.  _Not that it saves me from the nightmares.  No more than it will save Jefferson._

“Danns’ a’Bhàis is powerful, but not unbeatable,” he answered Jefferson’s fears as evenly as he could.  He couldn’t deny that Danns’ was dangerous; no one could.

But Rumplestiltskin was the one who would have to face her, wasn’t he?

* * *

 

Something Rumplestiltskin had said the night before kept echoing through her mind.  Arthur’s heart being stolen had distracted Danns’ temporarily, but now she bent her mind towards what her grandson-in-law had snapped at her in a moment of weakness. 

_“I think you’re missing a required tool to do the job, dearie.”_

She had truly been tempted to kill him, even with Belle standing right there.  Belle would probably have never forgiven her for it—they were True Love, which Danns’ had seen with her own eyes—but the opportunity had been hard to ignore.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had been right; Danns’ did not have a secondary power at hand, and even in his weakened state, one was required to slay Rumplestiltskin.   Yet she knew where she could find one, didn’t she?  Using the dagger on _Rumplestiltskin_ might be a dangerous idea, given the fact that part of the darkness clearly still resonated with him, but Danns’ had gone to great pains to gain a second weapon that would do the job.  And although only someone of Viviane’s line could truly—

She was a fool.

A twitch of her fingers took her to the basement of Emma Swan’s home, to where she knew that the Dark One had stored Galatine.  She had commanded Emma to hide the sword, the only secondary power available to them aside from the dagger Danns’ preferred to keep hidden…but the sword was not there.  Galatine was _gone_.  She looked once, and then again, but the truth did not change.  Rage boiled through her, snapping the dagger to hand and forcing the magical command out before Danns’ could even consider playing this differently.

“Dark One, I summon thee!”

A tremor ran through the ground beneath her feet as Emma Swan appeared before her, scowling.  Emma seemed not to notice the potent power in the air, nor the fury feeding the slight wind sweeping around Danns’.  “You called?”

The mulish expression on Emma’s face reminded Danns’ briefly of Nimue, of a hero turned Dark One she had known—and corrupted—so many centuries before.  But that did not matter.  What mattered was that Danns’ prize was _gone_.  “What have you done?” she snarled.

“Done?” Emma eyed her warily.  “I didn’t do any—”

A flick of Danns’ wrist sent Emma crashing to her knees, and Danns’ allowed herself a slight smile as the Dark One gasped in pain.  Twisting the dagger sent pain roaring through Emma, and although the young woman fought it as best she could, soon enough she was panting and struggling not to scream.  Her courage, of course, only made Danns’ maintain the onslaught still longer.  She did dislike being out-stubborned, after all.  So, she let the moments tick by, let Emma suffer, until Emma finally screamed and Danns’ decided she had finally had enough.

“Galatine is gone,” she said very softly.  “Where might my sword be?”

_Galatine is not yours and will never be,_ she could almost hear Morgan saying.  Damn her old enemy!  Had Morgan somehow stolen Galatine when Danns’ had been distracted?  She had assumed Morgan’s antics had merely been to allow Mordred time to steal Arthur’s heart and Rumplestiltskin time to close the portal, but was there a third game afoot?  Had Morgan outplayed her _again?_

“I don’t know.”  Emma looked up, blinking in confusion.  She hadn’t seemed to notice that Galatine was missing—had she not even _checked_ on it?

“You. Don’t. Know.”  Danns’ repeated the words slowly, her fury boiling hotter and hotter.

Something defiant flickered in Emma’s eyes, but it was gone almost too quickly for Danns’ to follow.  “Nope.”

“And you don’t care, do you?”  She had not counted on Emma’s loyalty, but she had thought that Emma was wary enough of her to act properly.  _Does she not think that I won’t harm someone else she loves?_   Yet it was her own doing, wasn’t it?  She hadn’t told Emma to guard the sword well, or to check on it.  Danns’ had dealt with many obstinate Dark Ones in her time, and she should have known better.

“I thought you just wanted me to hide it to remind me of how I’d failed to kill you.”  Emma’s flat voice made Danns’ blink.  Had she given Emma that impression?  If so…well, she would simply have to reevaluate her own dealings with the Dark One.

“Nonetheless, you lost the sword, and I do not tolerate ineptitude any more than I tolerate disobedience.”  She would punish Emma even if Emma hadn’t been intentionally incompetent—but one did not punish defiance when one’s servant had not acted out.

They both knew that Emma preferred being hurt to having anyone she cared about hurt, but Danns’ decided that the lesson should stick well enough when she was finished thirty minutes later.  Emma had tried so very hard not to scream, but she’d failed in the end.  She hadn’t begged, though; the young woman was still strong.  There was still a great deal of Savior in her…and Danns’ intended to use that.  Provided she could find the appropriate lever.

* * *

 

Jefferson was probably one of the few people in Storybrooke who’d never found being teleported disconcerting; compared to travel via Hat, it was comfortable and smooth.  He almost disliked it for the quick and easy ride, particularly after growing accustomed to the bumpy rollercoaster of a journey that his Hat tended to provide.  Today, however, he was just grateful to have been dropped inside his own front door, feeling better than he’d felt in what seemed to be forever.  _I’m home._   He almost couldn’t believe the thought.  How many times had he wished for this, only to be told that he would only survive if he _behaved_ himself?  How many times had he dreamt of coming home, only to wake up knowing that he would never be free of the Black Fairy? 

Too many.

Yet here he was, bumping into the coat rack as he started forward.  Victor had moved the damn thing again, because the mad scientist in him always wanted to move things and improve things, and now the stupid coatrack was attacking him.  Metaphorically speaking, anyway.  It wasn’t magical, or at least Jefferson didn’t think it was, but he had managed to get his arm tangled in a long leather coat and his foot wrapped in some scarf or another.

“Who’s there?” A familiar voice called from upstairs, making Jefferson grin like a madman as feet thumped towards the stairs.  “I warn you, I’m armed and dangerous!”

“With what, a cattle prod?” Jefferson called, only to hear the footsteps become hurried.  “Or are you going to hack me up and reassemble me out of spare parts?”

“ _Jefferson?”_   The shocked look on Victor’s face made his battle with the coatrack worth every moment.  His friend-turned-lover stood halfway down the stairs, as pale as a sheet and absolutely frozen.

“Honey, I’m home,” he quipped, finally managing to step away from the coat rack.

“Grace!  Put down that iPod and get down here!”

Jefferson’s heart skipped a beat, but before his daughter could appear, Victor had somehow managed to fly down the stairs and wrap him in a bear hug.  From anyone else—excepting Grace—Jefferson might have shied away from too much physical contact, but he _needed_ this.  This was home.

“Daddy!”

Grace shrieked his name before crashing into the pair, and the hug became a three-way embrace that left Jefferson laughing and on the verge of crying.  He wouldn’t, though.  Not in front of his little girl.  He’d gotten ahold of his madness a long time ago, once his memories had mostly been sorted, and Jefferson was going to cling to sanity if it was the last thing he did.  Besides, being sane was probably the best revenge he could afford to get against the fairy who’d tried so hard to destroy him.  Trying anything else would be suicide, and Jefferson wasn’t interested in fighting in this war to come.  He just wanted to be home.  Finally.

“Are you okay?  Are you here to stay?” Grace asked, looking wise beyond her thirteen years.  She’d seen too much in this insane town, and if Jefferson thought there was a safe realm to take her—to take them all!—to, he would have done it already.  But there wasn’t.  Not now.

He could feel the realms drifting closer in his very bones, even if the slide had nearly been stopped.

“I am, and I am.”  His smile earned him another hug, and Jefferson squeezed his daughter tightly.

“I’m not going to believe you’re fine until I get a chance to check you out.”  Victor tugged them both towards the living room, gesturing at a chair.  “Sit down.”

“Rumplestiltskin already—”

“I don’t care.  He’s a damned witch doctor, even if he’s playing for the ‘good’ side these days.  I don’t trust that magical crap, and you shouldn’t either.  So _sit down_ so I can take a look at you.”

Jefferson scowled. “You know, when I was dredging up fond memories of you, I didn’t remember you being this stubborn.”

“Faulty memories sounds like a concussion to me,” Victor countered, nonplussed.  “Let me get my bag.”

“You still can’t tell a joke from seriousness, can you?”

Victor snorted, opening a drawer and pulling out one of the eight or nine medical bags he had stashed _everywhere_.  “Of course I can.  I just choose not to.”

“We were worried, Dad.”  Grace sat down next to him.  “Can’t you please let Victor look at you?”

Her pleading look made him give in, of course, though he tried to smile normally for his daughter’s sake.  “There’s nothing to worry about, sweetie.  I’m fine.  Really.”

“Uh huh.  I’ve been doing a lot of reading with Henry, and I know what the Black Fairy is like.”  She grimaced.  “Or at least some of it.”

“And living in this town tells us the rest of what we need to know,” Victor added, coming back over with a stethoscope and other medical devices Jefferson had long since forgotten the names of.  “So, stop arguing, okay?”

If Victor hadn’t looked almost as pleading as Grace, Jefferson might have argued.  And if he’d cared less for either of them, he might have found a hole to hide in and tried to push the world away.  But Jefferson had always been a tactile person.  He’d never been someone to hide from his loved ones, and he’d often worn his emotions on his sleeve.  Both Grace and Victor could probably tell that he wasn’t okay, but Jefferson was all right with that.

He was home, and that was what mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Ninety-Two—“Its Shadow Fled Before It”, where Belle has an unexpected encounter, Mordred and Rumplestiltskin team up, Danns’ is done playing nice with her sister, Mal runs into Tad Cooper, and Emma is sent to face off with Rumplestiltskin.


	92. Its Shadow Flew Before It

It was a little early to look at baby furniture—and Belle really did want to have Rumplestiltskin there before they picked anything out—but she still found herself wandering down the aisles in Storybrooke’s one department store.  Things had been quiet since David, Bae, Henry, and Baby Neal had headed to Boston the day before, and she’d headed out to do a little shopping after closing up the library for the afternoon.  Hopefully, Rumple had headed home to get a little rest, since he still looked miserable and exhausted, but Belle was bursting with energy.  She was in her twelfth week of pregnancy, the morning sickness had _finally_ gone away, and she was just starting to _feel_ like she was really pregnant.  Belle hadn’t had to buy new clothes yet, not like Regina, but she was starting to think that she should.  And she _had_ snuck a bit of resizing magic into her pajamas, though so far all of her dresses and skirts fit all right.

This crib was somewhat cute, covered in pink flowers and what looked like misshapen birds, but Belle wasn’t sold on that.  Still, she gave it one last look as she turned away—only to run right into what felt like a wall.

“Oof!”

The wall jumped back, grumbling.  “Watch where you’re going, Bookworm.”

“Regina.”  Belle took a step backwards, grimacing at her own clumsiness.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No, you were looking at the truly hideous crib.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “I keep doing it, too.  Something about it catches the eye, even if it’s ugly.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Belle argued reflexively, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend a crib she didn’t even like.

“It is.  Roland thought it was _perfect_ for his little sister, but there’s no accounting for taste.  Though that might be because he has an airplane fixation these days.”

“Airplanes?”  Belle peered at the crib again. “I thought those were supposed to be birds.”

Regina laughed.  “It’s always a bad sign when no one can tell.  They’ve got nicer stuff around the corner.”

“Oh, I wasn’t—I mean I was just—” Belle felt her mouth flapping uselessly as her stomach turned over nervously. 

“Just looking?”  For once, Regina’s smile was actually kind.  “Same here.  Though I think you have more time to decide than I do.”

For a moment, all Belle could do was stare.  She and Rumplestiltskin still hadn’t decided if they were going to announce her pregnancy.  Of course, Bae and Henry knew, and she’d told her father, too.  Morgan might have told Mordred, but that thought wasn’t as frightening as it might have once been.  _Even if he’s my uncle and brother-in-law all at the same time,_ Belle thought wryly.  Her strange relationship with Mordred was still more comfortable than her current one with her grandmother, though Belle had never asked how Danns’ had learned she was pregnant.  Despite the rather disparate group of people who already knew, they hadn’t yet decided when they were going to let the rest of their extended family know.  Belle had been oddly hesitant to share, but she supposed her reluctance was out of place, now.

“Henry told you?” she asked after a moment.

“No, he’s good at secrets.  Too good.”  Regina grimaced.  “But it’s easy to guess, at least when I’m in the same boat myself.  And _feeling_ like a boat.”

“You’re not that bad.”  Truthfully, Belle only hoped that she wore her pregnancy half as well as Regina did.

“No need to be nice about it.  You’ll be right on my heels in a few months.” The older woman’s smile was crooked.  “Believe me, it feels worse—and better—than it looks.”

“I think I’m starting to show.”  The words blurted out before Belle could stop them, but she didn’t really regret it.  So far, she’d really only talked to Morgan about her pregnancy—and Rumple, though not in the same ways—and it felt kind of nice to have someone else understand.

“Maybe a bit. Though it would keep people from noticing if you stopped staring goo-goo eyed at baby stuff.”

“So says the _other_ woman wandering the baby aisles.”

“Touché.”

* * *

 

“A little birdy told Mother that Reul Ghorm is missing,” Mordred said, peering curiously at Rumplestiltskin’s handiwork. 

They’d met again to talk about creating a secondary power.  It was less crucial now that Galatine was back in their mother’s hands, but having multiple weapons of that type would still serve them well.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t liked admitting that he was too drained to do the required magic, particularly to _Mordred_ , but his half-brother seemed to take that in stride.  He hadn’t even mocked him.

Much.

“Astrid?”  He waited for a nod before adding: “Regina told me the same.  Can Danns’ hold her, do you think?”

“I believe so.  She has a set of bands that she intended for Merlin—nasty things that would block even your magic.”  Mordred’s eyes narrowed on the last bit; they apparently weren’t past sibling rivalry, but at least they were no longer trying to kill one another.  “Of course, I doubt it would take so much, now.  You’re as weak as the proverbial kitten.”

Rumplestiltskin glared.  “ _You_ try holding the collapse of realms off and see how you feel.” 

“Oh, I’d be drained dry.  And probably dead.”  Mordred shrugged.  “Of course, I wouldn’t be so stupid as to try it.  Where did you get that strangely heroic streak?  It certainly wasn’t from the Cornwall side of the family.  Must be your father.”

“Hah!”  Rumplestiltskin snorted, and then wished he hadn’t.  An odd pain started in his chest, right around his sternum, and then radiated upwards hotly.  “You clearly never met him.”

“Can’t be worse than mine.”

“Oh, believe me, he’d have given Arthur a run for his money.”  Rumplestiltskin contemplated not saying more, but maybe he was just too tired to clever his way out of this unexpected conversation.  _Besides, this is more productive than puzzling out how to dismantle the darkness was becoming._ “You heard of Pan?”

Mordred looked at him like he was stupid.  “I _did_ travel realms, despite time being stopped in Camelot, yes.  Half child, half demon, they said.  I never did make it to Neverland—or at least not until _you_ sent me there, which I never did _appropriately_ thank you for—but there was always talk of him.”

“Well, then.  There you have it,” he said flatly, and watched Mordred blink.

“That ridiculously psychotic manchild was your father?” 

“Unfortunately.  He convinced that demon to make him young and give him magic, and he got rid of me in the process.”

Mordred sat back in his chair, his face suddenly unreadable.  “A high price.”

“Not for him.”

“Ah.  Well, it is a good thing we share one good parent, then.”  Mordred looked a little hesitant before adding: “It is a pity we did not know sooner.  It might have saved us a great deal of trouble.”

“Hardly.”  Rumplestiltskin surprised himself by chuckling.  “You would still have tried to destroy me when I was the Dark One.”

“Obviously.”  Mordred gestured at the notes Rumplestiltskin had been scribbling.  “Though you appear to be leaning in a different direction.”

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin decided that bouncing ideas off of Mordred couldn’t hurt.  Mordred _had_ yearned to destroy the darkness for centuries.  Perhaps he might think of something that Rumplestiltskin had missed.

“Merlin’s notes indicate that the darkness as it currently exists was not a naturally occurring phenomenon.  Nor did it originally have a complete consciousness; that came from Nimue merging with the elemental demon of darkness.”  He gestured at his notes.  “A group of fools amplified the demon, but the demon _itself_ isn’t the problem.  Elemental demons of darkness exist without destroying worlds.”

Mordred nodded slowly.  “So you think that you can break it apart, thus freeing the host and returning the elemental demon to its wild state.  It might work.”

“The problem is the souls of the previous Dark Ones.  There are too many of them, and their bond with the darkness—with all of it—is strong.  If they’re not willing to move on…it won’t work.”

“You lived with them for centuries.” Mordred snorted.  “How do you convince them?”

“I have no idea.  They never liked me very much.”

That was probably the understatement of the century.  Rumplestiltskin had not been a normal Dark One, not by any stretch of the imagination.  He’d clung to love desperately, even when he knew he shouldn’t, but that wasn’t really the problem.  He’d also been far too insecure to actually bond with any of his predecessors; he’d shouted at them, ignored them, and pretty much shoved them into corners they didn’t want to be in.  That method had worked for him for centuries, although it had failed in the end when the darkness—and his fellows—didn’t even _want_ to use him to do something dramatic.  They wanted free of him, at all costs, and it had almost destroyed everything he cared about.

Emma, on the other hand…Emma was the Savior.  Could that help, or hinder?  There was only one way to find out, but with Danns’ controlling her, talking about this would be…complicated.

* * *

 

“I’m not going to ask you again, sister.”

Reul blinked primly.  “Then perhaps we should change the subject, as there is nothing further to be discussed on this front.”

“Is there not?” Danns’ bit the words out, half-wishing—not for the first time—that she was willing to kill her sister.  She wasn’t, of course, not any more than Reul was willing to kill her.  They had spent centuries at war, but had always respected one another’s power and prestige.  But there were times when Danns’ wished she could simply dispose of the obstacle her sister posed.

Of course, if she did so, Reul’s magic would likely become unbreakable, so that would not get her what she wanted, either.

“I will not tell you where the fae are.”  Brown eyes met hers evenly, and Danns’ throttled her temper down.

Rumplestiltskin had stalled the slide of the worlds towards one another.  He might even have stopped it permanently, and Danns’ lacked the power to _re_ start the shift without additional help.  She needed her fae, particularly since Storybrooke had not proven as easy to control as she had hoped.  Her sister’s intransience—in addition to Nuckelavee’s unfortunate Hatting—had kept her from the fae for so long that Danns’ had intended to free them when the collisions between worlds made it easy.  Now, however, she needed them.  She needed the power they represented, particularly with another original power in town—and willing to oppose her.

“Then I will take other actions.”  Danns’ shrugged.  “Be it on your own head.”

That made her sister scowl.  “I will not be held responsible for your actions.”

“Of course not.”  She snorted.  “I always hold myself accountable for my choices.  I merely meant that you will not like them.”

Reul watched her warily as Danns’ withdrew the Dark One’s dagger, and they both watched the blade glint softly in the light.  The dagger could kill either of them, and it could also do incalculable damage short of death.  More importantly, the dagger had incredible magical properties…and it would serve the purpose Danns’ most desired.  A wave of her hand brought a map to the table in Reul’s room, and she could see Reul’s eyes go wide as what was on that map registered.

“Yes.  This map shows every known realm and their relations with one another.”  Danns’ smiled; Reul swallowed hard.  “Your contribution will show me where the fae are located—and what pathway to take to get there.”

“I will not.”  But Reul’s voice was surprisingly small.

“Well, not if you can put the location out of your mind…and out of your magic.” Stepping forward, Danns’ grabbed her sister by the wrist, wrapping magic around Reul to keep her from resisting overmuch.  The bands kept Reul’s magic in check, but it still existed.  Nothing could erase an original power’s magic, and in their case, blood was the gateway to power.

“Danns’, you can’t—”

“I _will_.”  Pulling her sister over to the map, Danns’ raised the dagger.  “Remember, this is your choice, sister.  You could have simply answered.”

“I’m not—you _can’t!”_   Reul was starting to panic, and Danns’ would have been lying to say that she didn’t find it sweet.

Slowly, meticulously, she raised the dagger, finally bringing it down on the outside of Reul’s right forearm.  Reul screamed as the blade touched, digging deep into skin, but Danns’ did not let her pull away.  Instead, she focused on the blood dripping down from Reul’s arm, warming it and shaping it.  The blood shimmered in the air, hovering above the map like a low hanging cloud, swirling back and forth as her magic slowly drew the truth out of the Blue Fairy’s blood. 

Reul gritted her teeth harder and harder as more blood flowed, making distressed sounds of barely suppressed pain.  Danns’ ignored her, pulling again and again as her sister twitched and cried out.  _You had your choice, Sister.  Now I make mine._ She could feel the tug, could feel the power growing as the dagger trembled slightly in her hand.  Magic _thrummed_ through her, both her own and her sister’s, coiling over the map until suddenly threads began shooting away from the center and forming lines.  _Pathways._   There it was.  The Land of the Fae slowly bled into contrast on the map, and Danns’ felt herself smiling.

She didn’t even hear Reul’s gasp as she released her sister and let her fall to the floor.  She had what she wanted.

* * *

 

Mal left the Black Fairy’s home with a sinking feeling in her stomach.  She hadn’t dared lie to Arthur, not when he’d probably been able to guess the answer to what he was asking, anyway.  So, yes, she knew a little about realm-hopping; she’d done it as a young dragon, though  never with particularly pleasant consequences.  The more Maleficent developed as a sorceress, the more she realized how foolish and dangerous such pursuits could be…but Arthur didn’t seem to care about that.  _He_ wasn’t volunteering to carry his wife across realms, of course, but he seemed determined to foist the journey off on Mal and Lily.  _I should have told him that I’d do it, but Lily couldn’t._

But that lie wouldn’t have flown, either.  To cross realms, a dragon had to have some specific magic of their own.  Arthur didn’t have much, but Lily took after her mother, and was quite the blooming sorceress.  No matter how inexperienced she was, Lily would fare better than Arthur, something they both knew all too well.  Still, Mal didn’t have to like the facts—and she didn’t have to like he damned allies, either.  Not one bit.

Snarling to herself, Mal transformed took to the skies, figuring that a few laps around Storybrooke would do her good.  That always helped clear her mind, and Mal definitely needed that right now. 

She didn’t expect to almost collide with another dragon less than a half hour later.

* * *

 

She needed more power, and Zelena knew how to get it.  After all, power was always a negotiation, wasn’t it?  Getting it from someone was simply a matter of having something _they_ wanted, and she knew exactly who she needed it from.  She knew what spell to use; all she needed was an appropriately magical weapon to bind her prey to.  Then she’d be able to equal any original power, even the Black Fairy.  Now was the time to move, too, particularly since rumor said Rumplestiltskin had (temporarily) put himself out of the game by playing hero.  _How ironic.  He’s weakened himself to save people, which is an absolute idiocy I thought Rumple would never stoop to committing._  

But it didn’t matter.  She would enslave him, and she was certain that the Black Fairy would help her do it.  Zelena knew _just_ what buttons to push, and then Regina and the others would _have_ to see her for who she was!  She wasn’t going to be ignored any longer, tossed aside like so much trash.  Zelena was sick of it.  First Mordred had pushed her away, and then Arthur had told her that she wasn’t good enough to leave his wife for.  But she’d prove them all wrong.  She’d bind Rumplestiltskin to her will once more (using, ironically, a spell of Merlin’s that she’d found in Arthur’s home), and then she would be unbeatable.

First, she just had to deal with Rumple’s little wife.

* * *

 

“Have you no ability to watch where you’re flying?” Mal demanded once they were both on the ground—and human, of course.  Conversations as a dragon tended to be primitive and emotion-driven, and if she listened to her emotions today, she would have tried to burn the handsome green and red dragon to ash.

Her heart was hammering as he transformed into a rather handsome looking man, however, with dark eyes and darker hair.  She’d never seen his human form, though Mal _did_ recognize the dragon form…unless her memory was faulty. 

“I do, actually.”  His smile was a winning one, but that only got under Mal’s skin.  “I was hoping to get your attention.”                                                                                                                                  

Mal drew herself up, smiling coldly.  “Hasn’t anyone told you how _dangerous_ that can be?”

“I’m hardly afraid of fire.”

“Of course you aren’t.”  Maleficent rolled her eyes.  Dragons in human form weren’t exactly fireproof, but transforming _did_ shield them from being burned.  Scales and magic covered that; there was no way to light a dragon on fire, and no way to burn its human form to death faster than they could transform.

He held his hands up, clearly signifying innocence.  “I mean you no harm.  I only…I only wish to know if we’ve met before.  Long ago, in another land.”

Mal’s heart hammered against her chest, and she felt her breath grow a little short.  Whether it was from annoyance or a more positive emotion, she could not tell.  She raised her chin defiantly.  “I have been to many lands.”

“As any dragon has.  Are you avoiding my question on purpose, My Lady, or do you not know that of which I speak?”

“No.”  A heartbeat passed.  Maleficent could lie, of course.  Lily had finally come to the point where she wasn’t worried about who her father was, and Maleficent herself had long since decided that she didn’t care to find the mystery dragon whom she had once spent time with.  And yet…here he was.  She had recognized him, and lying to him didn’t feel right.  Not for his sake—two nights together as dragons didn’t exactly endear anyone to Maleficent—but for Lily’s.  “No, I remember you.”

“And?”

Clearly, he was expecting a more positive response, but Mal wasn’t in the mood.

“And you _left_ ,” she snarled.  “I awoke on the second day to find you gone.”

He frowned.  “You did not seem the romantic type.”

“Based on _what_?”  Mal contemplated cursing him; she couldn’t feel any strong magic resonating from this other dragon—whatever his name was—and he looked like the type who could do for a very long nap.  “I came back.  _Five_ times.  But you never returned.”

“I, uh, may have been…intemperate in my youth.”  He shrugged eloquently, waggling his eyebrows, but Mal snorted.

“It wasn’t that long ago.” 

“I also may be an intemperate adult.”  His smile was downright sultry, however, and Mal was willing to bet that line worked on a lot of women, particularly when he bowed over her hand and kissed it so gently.  “I recognized your beauty in your dragon form, though I will admit that I did not anticipate such a stunning human.”

She let her eyebrows rise.  “Romancing me is a dangerous idea.  You had your chance when you decided to leave without warning.” 

“I live for danger, My Lady.”  He grinned.  “And I am Tad Cooper.  I believe you are the legendary Maleficent, are you not?”

“I am.”  Only then did she remember to snatch her hand away from his loose grip.  Damn it if the man wasn’t terribly handsome, even if she was annoyed with him.  _Lily inherited those looks, though she does have my cheekbones._ “And I am dangerous.  Make no mistake about it.”

“And I hear that you are a mother of another beautiful dragon.”

She cocked her head.  “Do you even care about that?”

“Of course I do, assuming she is my daughter.  Dragons mate—”

“If you tell me that dragons mate for life, I will slap you with a sleeping spell so fast that your head will spin.”  Mal gave him her sweetest smile.  “That lie only works on the unwashed masses.”

Tad laughed.  “Of course.  Forgive me—I forget that my usual tricks will not work on you.”  His eyes danced.  “You’re far more interesting than that.”

“No, I’m just the only female dragon you’ve ever met,” she said dryly.  “Excepting our daughter.”

“Certainly.  But you’d be the most beautiful, regardless.  Excepting our daughter.”

Well, he had a sense of humor, at least.  That much had been evident in dragon form, where Tad had been an excellent playmate; they had plenty of fun with one another.  Maleficent had returned once before she laid her egg, hoping for a sequel to their first encounter.  Her disappointment had been mild until she realized she did not even know the name of her child’s father, after which she’d been a tad more desperate to find him.  That, however, had not lasted long.  Mal had been abandoned enough times that she’d quickly made the decision that _her_ child would be hers alone, and she didn’t need some fool of a father complicating things.

Now, however, everything had changed.

“I would like to tell her who I am,” Tad said after a moment.  “If you will permit it.”

“You’re leaving me to decide?”  That said better things about this giant adolescent playboy than she’d expected.  She had always known that she had several decades on her erstwhile lover, but he did seem able to _stop_ acting like a teenaged sack of hormones when necessary.

This time, his shrug seemed a little sad.  “I left her long enough that I do not feel I have the right.”

“Lily will want to meet you.”  Maleficent fought the urge to cringe.  “And…you are not the only one who is new to her life.  She was taken from me as a newborn.  We have only recently been reunited.”

“Then it looks like we have something in common after all.”  His eyes gleamed.  “I can serenade you with a song of sadness and love, if you like.  Though I do warn you that my voice is terrible.”

Mal rolled her eyes.  “Don’t push it.”

“I would never dare, My Lady.”  His laughing eyes said otherwise, though, and Mal thought she might enjoy this challenge. 

Perhaps she would sleep with him again.  Perhaps they’d fly and wreak havoc with their daughter.  Perhaps she would end up cursing him, after all, particularly if he proved to annoyingly flirtatious.  There was only one way to find out, but if nothing else, Lily deserved to know her father.  That was what mattered most.

* * *

 

“That’s a _television?_ ”  David probably thought he was speaking in an undertone, but the question sounded way too loud to Bae’s ears.

Henry, of course, did not help.  Not one bit.  “‘Course it is, Gramps.  It’s called a flatscreen, and normal places have them.  Normal, as in, not like at home.”

“But it’s so—”

“Thin, yeah.  Technology changes fast, particularly when you’re not paying attention.”  Bae jumped in as people started giving them odd looks, probably due to Henry calling a (apparently) thirty-something year old man his grandfather. 

_Hopefully, someone took that ‘Gramps’ as sarcasm, and not an actual relationship…_   Bae had known that bringing Henry into Microcenter—Boston’s biggest electronics store—could be dangerous, but he’d expected that would be due to how much money his son wanted to spend.  He hadn’t figured David would be an issue, but he really should have thought of that.  _Oops.  At least people just think we’re weird.  That’s not too abnormal for Boston._

“It’s huge,” David objected, peering around the back of the T.V. on display, like he expected it to have a big old tube on the back.  Then again, he probably did.

“You should get one.  It’s _great_ for gaming,” Henry put in, and at least that sounded more normal.  At least until David frowned at him in confusion.

“Gaming?  Like Nintendo?”

Even Henry grimaced that time.  “Um, yeah.  Like that.”

“Hey, kiddo, why don’t you go look at the laptops?” Bae asked before Henry could dig them in any deeper.  It did the trick, too; Henry’s face lit up.

“Okay!”

The thirteen year old sped away as David shot Bae a dubious look.  “I thought you were trying _not_ to buy him a new computer?”

“Eh.”  Bae shrugged.  “I always knew I’d end up getting him one, and my dad gave me access to one of his accounts.  I figure I can spend Pop’s money on worse things.”  _Like things from stores I am_ not _taking Emma’s father into._

Though the thought of how an adult novelties store would break David’s brain was still absolutely hilarious, and Bae had to work really hard to keep a straight face.  _Not going there._ So _not_ _going there._   Fortunately, David had no idea what he was thinking when he continued on the previous subject:

“So, would a T.V. like this actually work with our cable at home?”

* * *

 

_Steal the Stone of Giramphiel.  Do_ not _lose this trinket as you did the last._

The words echoed painfully in Emma’s mind, bouncing back and forth madly.  She had to obey, but how the hell was she supposed to steal from the damned Sorcerer?  She thought she could probably get through his wards—the Dark Ones in her head knew him pretty well, and even Rumplestiltskin had patterns to his magic—but if he was home, she was screwed.  Was this the day when she found out how excruciatingly painful it was to be _unable_ to fulfill a command?  Emma knew enough to know that would be bad, but she had a feeling that the scope of the suffering she’d experience currently eluded her.

_The less you know of that, the better,_ Nimue advised her.  The original Dark One had been surprisingly helpful, lately.  Maybe it was because she hated Danns’ with a fiery passion, too, or maybe Nimue was just trying to lull Emma into a false sense of security.

_What is the damn Stone of Giramphiel, anyway?_ Emma asked the voices in her mind, curious to see which one would answer.  Interestingly enough, it was Ladon, who was usually one of the most quiet.  He had only been the Dark One for a decade or so, but he had been of Maleficent’s kind—a shapeshifter.

_It protects the bearer from most enchantments, but specifically from dragonfire_ , Ladon’s strangely high-pitched voice said.  _She’s clearly hunting someone.  Best make sure it’s not someone you like._

Emma swallowed, walking quietly up the road towards the Sorcerer’s House.  At least Lily was on Danns’ side, which meant it probably wasn’t her or Maleficent.  That left Arthur—not likely—and Mordred, who Emma didn’t give a rat’s ass about.  He’d tried to kill Henry and Baelfire both, which meant he could rot in hell as far as Emma was concerned.  So, at least she wasn’t going after something that would hurt someone in her family.  That wasn’t so bad.  Or, on the scale of crappy to world-destroying, it ranked as middlingly crappy, anyway. 

The house came into sight, and Emma started watching the magic on the place.  She’d never been really good at _seeing_ magic, but having a dozen plus Dark Ones rattling around in your head made for quick learning.  Sometimes they were more helpful than others, but she’d finally started to understand how some of this magic worked, anyway.  And that meant she could tell after a few moments’ study that Rumplestiltskin was the only one home.   _At least I know Bae is in Boston with Dad, Neal, and Henry.  But I really didn’t want to have to deal with Belle.  She’s too nice to get mixed up in this, and she’s pregnant.  I’m not hurting an unborn baby._   The fact that Danns’ had expressly forbidden her to hurt Belle or the baby was actually kind of nice, in this case.

Not that she really wanted to treasure any of the commands she’d been given.  Even if she had no choice but to follow them.

“How the hell do I get through _that_?” she muttered, studying the wards around the house.  They weren’t designed to hurt anyone, but anyone with ill intentions towards the residents would definitely be knocked down for the count.  Emma didn’t really want to hurt anyone inside, but something told her that her predecessor had included her in the ‘not good’ category.

_There’s a fold.  See it?_ Nimue drew her eyes to a corner of the wards, one right by the wall surrounding the back courtyard.  Cocking her head, Emma studied it, wondering if it was a trick—and then she realized that Rumplestiltskin had learned a lot of magic the same way she had.  From Nimue.

_Don’t discount the use of books, dear.  He learned a few other tricks, too,_ the ghostly almost-voice of Rumplestiltskin pointed out.  His soul, or what was left of it, seemed to be drifting further and further from the darkness, and Emma had to say that she wasn’t sad to see him go.  The others were bad enough, but having the voice of someone who was still alive—and her son’s grandfather!—echoing in her head was just plain weird.  Still, despite the advice, the opening Nimue had pointed out was the best option available, so Emma steeled herself and stepped through.

* * *

 

Mordred had a few interesting theories, but he’d left an hour ago while Rumplestiltskin continued to puzzle over how to _free_ the darkness.  Worst case, he thought he could trap the elemental demon in the Sorcerer’s Hat; the Hat was powerful enough to hold that, so long as he could split the rest of the darkness, not to mention the other Dark Ones, away from it first.  That last part was the hardest part, because he knew it wasn’t something _he_ could do.  Then a twinge came at the edge of his consciousness, and Rumplestiltskin realized that the person he needed to talk to had arrived.

“Your timing is impeccable, Miss Swan,” he said without turning.  His eyes traced over the diagram he’d made one more time, and yes, he was about ready.  A few more days, and they could actually make this work.

“That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting to breaking into your house.”

When he turned, Rumplestiltskin could see the miserable expression on the Savior-turned-Dark One’s face as she lurked in the doorway, looking guilty and angry at the same time.  “Well, provided you didn’t break anything, I think we can make allowances.”

Emma grimaced.  “You so sure about that?”

There was something miserable in her voice, something broken and darkened, that Rumplestiltskin knew all too well.  She hated herself, hated what she was and what she was forced to do, and he felt terrible for her.  “Thus far.”

“Well, you should know better than anyone that you can’t trust the Dark One.”

“What if I said that I could help with that?”

“You’ve said it before.  It hasn’t happened yet.”  Emma shrugged as if it meant nothing to her, but he could tell that it didn’t.

“Now I know how.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t see any reason to be evasive.  “Though you’ll have to play your part.  You’ll have to want it.”

Emma perked up, hope flickering in her eyes for the first time.  “Tell me what I have to do.”

“Come look.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured at his notes, at the meticulous diagrams he’d constructed.  If Emma could do her part, they could truly—

Rumplestiltskin never saw the snow globe that crashed into the back of his skull.

* * *

 

The snow globe had been the closest object Emma could find as she stepped close enough to look over Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder.  It had just been sitting there, all innocent and innocuous, and so easy to grab.  She’d had to do _something_ —the command to steal the Stone of Giramphiel was echoing louder and louder, all but blocking out her own thoughts.  Emma wanted to know what Rumplestiltskin had to say, wanted to ask questions and find out what his plans were, but she didn’t have a choice.  She’d tried to delay, but her hands almost started moving on their own, and next she knew, Emma had smashed the snow globe right into the back of Rumplestiltskin’s head.

His head bounced off the desk, a weak rattle coming out of his throat.  For a moment, Emma thought she hadn’t knocked him out—could it really be that easy to fell the Sorcerer?—but then Rumplestiltskin slumped, sliding bonelessly out of his chair.  He hit the floor with a _splat,_ lying still.

Emma thought she smelled blood, but her feet were already moving.  She could _see_ the stone over to her right, sitting on a shelf and not even hidden.  Did Rumplestiltskin trust his defenses so well, or did he not care if the thing was stolen?  With him, you never could tell.  _He always has a trick up his sleeve,_ she reminded herself.  But what was it this time?

_Steal the Stone of Giramphiel._

Crossing the room, Emma yanked the stone off the shelf.  It was black with red highlights, and filled the palm of her hand.  It was heavier than it looked, too, but Emma didn’t really care.  She’d done as she was told and taken the damned thing.  Now she just had to deliver it, and maybe Danns’ would leave her alone for a while.

_Fat chance of that, dearie.  You’re her slave, now,_ the not-Rumplestiltskin voice told her.  She could hear a chorus of agreements echoing through her mind, but Emma tried to block them out.  Maybe she could talk to Rumplestiltskin later, assuming he wouldn’t bash her head in as payment for what she’d just done to him.  After all, she’d promised Baelfire that she would do her best to get rid of the darkness…and Emma intended to keep that promise.

So, she stole one last glance at Rumplestiltskin’s notes before teleporting away.  Maybe there was something she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Ninety-Three—“ Think Not That I Come to Urge Thy Crimes,” in which Belle runs afoul of someone sinister, Killian asks his uncle for advice, Emma has a heart-to-heart with Nimue, and Henry shows his father something special.
> 
> Sorry for the later-than-usual update; I’m on a new schedule for work (again!) and life’s a bit in flux.


	93. Think Not That I Come to Urge Thy Crimes

The world swam back into focus slowly, and the first thing Rumplestiltskin noticed was how much the back of his head _hurt_.  For some reason or another, he was _lying_ on the most painful part of his skull, too, which left him puzzled for a long moment before it occurred to him that he should roll onto his side and lessen the pressure.

He was on the floor.  How had he gotten there?

Rolling to his side was harder than he’d expected; Rumplestiltskin felt like his limbs were weighed down and ridiculously heavy.  He finally made it there after a long moment, his head swimming and breathing hard from the effort.  _What in the world is wrong with me?_ he wondered, and was immediately struck by the utter silence that greeted him.  Another minute ticked by as he remembered that he wasn’t the Dark One, and there was no chorus of voices to comment on his every move and thought.  Rumplestiltskin had thought that he’d grown used to the unnerving silence, but right now he could have done with someone to keep him company.  Even if that someone had—

Emma.  Emma had been here, and now his head ached.  Touching the back of his skull gingerly told Rumplestiltskin that he was bleeding; his fingers came away red and sticky as he hissed in pain.  Whatever had happened, it was courtesy of his old ‘friend’ the darkness.  _Or, more likely, my wife’s grandmother._   He’d been a fool to turn his back on the Dark One, hadn’t he?  Emma had even tried to warn him, in her own antagonistic way.

_“Well, you should know better than anyone that you can’t trust the Dark One,”_ she’d said to him, and she had been right.  He had trusted her, and now his head was bleeding.  But why?  _Don’t be an idiot,_ he could almost hear Nimue sneering.  _Why would_ you _smash someone in the head with a…a what?_ Sitting up slowly, Rumplestiltskin twisted right and let his eyes drift around the room.  After a moment, he spotted the broken glass and the warped base of the snow globe, and sighed.  The Sorcerer had been felled by a holiday decoration.  Fantastic.

How long had he been on the floor?  There was no way to know, but it was still light outside.  That meant it might have been minutes, or it could have been hours.  Emma was long gone, of course, and she could have gone anywhere.  Done anything.  _Trusting her was_ stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Rumplestiltskin should have known better.  Was this what playing hero did to him?  Did it turn him into a blundering idiot who couldn’t sense a threat when it walked right up to him?  He couldn’t let that continue, but for now, he had to get up and moving.  He had to know what was going on.

Groaning, Rumplestiltskin lifted his right hand again, glancing briefly at his bloody fingers.  He didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly, but he needed to heal himself before he got up.  He still felt weak, weak enough that there was a slight tremor in his fingers that Rumplestiltskin desperately wanted to deny.  He had to fix that, and fast.

But when he summoned his magic, his mind went fuzzy, and the healing sputtered out.

* * *

 

Emma handed over the Stone of Giramphiel with a grimace.  “As commanded.”

If Danns’ noticed the dry sarcasm in her voice, she did not comment.  “Well done.  You may leave.”

“Good.” 

Emma swept herself away in a cloud of smoke as black as her mood, scowling to herself.  Part of her—the good part—wanted to go make sure Rumplestiltskin was all right.  Maybe she could even talk to him about his ideas for getting the darkness out of her.  Heavens knew that she needed that more than ever, now…but she couldn’t quite bring herself to go play nice with the man whose head she’d just smashed in with a snow globe.  _Besides, I need to figure out why she wants that damned thing, and if it’s more dangerous than her suddenly deciding to go after Mordred._ That was a reasonably easy way to rationalize her inaction, and it sated the voices inside her, too.

_He won’t help you now,_ Nimue said, sounding almost sad.  But that very idea was ridiculous; Nimue relished the darkness.  Emma knew that.

_You never did know me very well, did you, dearie?_ the ghost of Rumplestiltskin tittered, and Nimue didn’t answer.  Neither did Emma, of course, because she didn’t know her predecessor very well, either.  Figuring out right from wrong with this darkness clouding her mind was so damned hard, and it was easier to do nothing.

* * *

 

Her conversation with Regina in the baby aisle of the store had been surprisingly friendly.  They’d laughed a little, mostly at their own hormones and how kooky everything felt, and then commiserated over overprotective husbands who meant well but drove them crazy.  Belle hadn’t ever thought she’d find herself having something in _common_ with Regina, but the woman she’d spent over two hours with wasn’t the same woman who had locked her in a tower and then in the asylum.  She wasn’t even really the same woman who had taken Belle’s heart a few months earlier.  Or, perhaps more importantly, Regina still _was_ that woman, but she had grown.  Regina really had changed, and Belle was glad to see it.  She’d never expected to like Regina, not even for a moment in all the future years of her life.  Maybe she still wouldn’t, but at least now there was a chance.

So, Belle left the store in a good mood, stopping briefly at Granny’s to visit with Ruby.  She would have stayed longer if the dinner rush hadn’t started.  After that, she headed home, enjoying the long walk.  It was a nice day, and Belle liked seeing the town.  Things were still a bit tense, particularly with a third world’s worth of people in Storybrooke, but overall, everyone seemed to be doing all right.  Arthur had grown quieter ever since David and Robin had made a fool of him, and King Richard didn’t seem interested in contesting leadership of the town.  All in all, things could have been worse, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still quite a bit of work to be done.

She passed Marco and August as she walked past Standard Clocks, waving hello to both.  August scowled a little, but Marco waved back cheerfully.  Belle started to cross the street to talk to them, only to find someone stepping right in front of her.

“Hello, doll.”  Zelena cooed, pursing her bright red lips.  Her blue eyes were dancing as Belle stumbled a surprised step backwards, almost tripping in her heels. 

“I’m not your doll.”

“Oooh, does the little librarian want nothing to do with the Wicked Witch?”  Zelena laughed, flashing her a smile that chilled Belle down to her very bones.

“Of course I don’t.  No rational person would want to spend time around you,” Belle shot back before she could stop herself.  She believed in forgiveness, of course, and always would, but Zelena seemed determined to make herself beyond redemption.

It wasn’t just what Zelena had done to Rumplestiltskin that turned Belle’s stomach, though her husband’s still prevalent nightmares about his treatment in the witch’s hands certainly made her furious.  No, Zelena’s treatment of Robin, the way she’d _used_ Belle’s friend to have a child just to hurt a third party, really sickened Belle.  That didn’t even take into account the people Zelena had murdered, or the fact that she’d allied with anyone and everyone who might hurt the rest of the town.  Basically, Zelena made Belle’s blood boil, because here was a woman who had talent and a second chance at life, and she’d wasted all of that.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?”  Zelena laughed.  “I’m disappointed.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.  I was just stating a fact.”  Belle met the other woman’s wild blue eyes and refused to back down.  “What do you want, Zelena?”

“Oh, now _that’s_ the question, isn’t it?  But for now, the answer is you.  You’re going to give me exactly what I want.”  White teeth flashed as Zelena grinned maliciously, but Belle only snorted.

“I’m not giving you _anything._ ”

“Don’t worry so much.  It won’t be _you_.”  Zelena waved her hand dismissively.  “You’re just the bargaining chip.”

Belle blinked.  “Excuse me?”

“That’s all someone without magic can be, _dearie,”_ was the mocking response.  “Didn’t your darling husband ever teach you that?  You can’t stop me, and your grandmother will give me what I want in exchange for your safety.”

For a moment, all Belle could do was stare.  Did Zelena really look at people like that?  _Like she’s the predator, and I’m nothing but prey_.  All her life, Belle had survived by her intelligence and her wit, but this psychopath really did believe that only magic mattered.  Yet Belle wasn’t very good at lying to herself, and she knew that if she _hadn’t_ had any magic of her own, she really would have been nothing but a pawn in whatever sick game Zelena wanted to play.  Still, she had to take a moment to swallow her incredulity before she could respond.

“Let me get this straight.  You’re going to try to use me against the _Black Fairy_ , without taking into consideration the fact that the _Sorcerer_ won’t stand for it?”

Zelena’s eyes gleamed hungrily.  “Oh, he’ll have a part to play, and it won’t be with you.  I can assure you of that.”

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but you’re not going to touch my husband.”  Goaded into anger, Belle stepped forward, calling up her own magic.  Somehow—she wasn’t sure how—Zelena managed not to notice, but Belle could feel it boiling through her bones.

_Focus on who you want to protect, not your anger,_ she told herself firmly.  Belle wanted nothing to do with dark magic, but that didn’t mean she had to roll over and let this happen.

Zelena giggled.  “And what are _you_ going to do to me?  You’re a librarian.  And a pretty little thing, I’ll give you that, but I am _far_ superior to you.”

“Are you going to do something, or are you just full of talk?”  Belle knew that taunting Zelena was a bad idea, but she also knew that she was far less experienced with magic than her opponent.  Rumplestiltskin said that she was doing well in their lessons, but Belle was a realist.  Her husband loved her, and he was a little biased.  So, the more overconfident she could get Zelena, the better.

“You little brat!  How dare you talk to _me_ like that?”

“I dare because I’m getting bored with your babbling,” she said brashly.  “You’ve interrupted my walk home, so unless you’re going to do something, I’ll just be going.”

That did the trick.  Zelena’s hands came up, and magic shot out of them, predictably green in color.  It was fast but not deadly; as angry as Zelena was, she clearly had _some_ plan in mind that didn’t include killing Belle.  Still, the magic would have hurt like the dickens, and Belle had no desire to get hit by that spell.  So, she did exactly as she’d been taught, untangling the spell with hands that tried to shake while her heart beat wildly.  The spell fell apart a little closer than Belle had intended, forming an arc of green ash around her feet.

“What did you—?” Zelena cut off, looking furious, and Belle finally let herself smile in relief.

She could do this.  She hated letting other people fight her battles, and pregnant or not, Belle wasn’t about to hide behind her husband or her grandmother.  She was going to fight for herself, and if the battleground was magic, so be it.

“Leave me alone.  I don’t care what you want. _Go._   I’m not warning you again.”  Belle wasn’t sure if she could beat Zelena in a knockdown fight, but she also knew that she didn’t need to.  They were in the middle of town, and she could stand up for herself long enough to let Rumplestiltskin arrive.

“You’re not going to ‘warn me again’?  You have no idea what you’re dealing with, little girl!”

Streaks of green fire shot towards Belle from Zelena’s hands, but she had Zelena’s measure, now.  Zelena was impatient and careless; she had loads of power and was perfectly capable of crafting complex and unbreakable spells, but only when she wasn’t angry.  When something ticked her off, Zelena got rash and sloppy, and Belle knew how to counter _that_.  She’d always been good at minutiae, and magic was full of small details.  Having been trained by one of the most meticulous sorcerers ever didn’t hurt, either, and Belle dismantled the jets of fire just like she had the last spell.

Suddenly, something stirred in her, something deep and heartfelt.  It made Belle miss a beat; she’d intended to strike back at Zelena, but instead her attention turned inwards.  She wasn’t feeling her own magic, but it was so close… _Is that you?_ Belle silently asked her unborn daughter.  She received no words in response, just a warm pulse of love and light.

It took Belle’s breath away.

“Are you even _paying_ attention to me?” Zelena demanded, which made Belle’s head snap up just in time to see the spell that was quietly arcing around behind her, seeking to knock her unconscious.

Belle didn’t have time to fully dismantle that one, so she destroyed it in a shower of sparks.  “Enough to stop you, yeah.  Are you going to stop this pointless fight, or what?”

“I’m going to get what I want!”

“Then why don’t you work for it instead of trying to kidnap someone?  Did that ever occur to you?”  Frustrated, Belle reached out with magic, forming an invisible rope that she yanked forward from behind Zelena, cutting the witch’s legs out from under her.  Zelena landed hard on her rear.

_“Oompf!”_ She started to get up, but Belle had the drop on her, and slammed her back down with magic.  Hard.  “I’ll get you for this!  I’ll—”

“Stop it!  I don’t want to fight you.”  Belle batted away the next spell Zelena tried, but the witch still managed to get to her feet, snarling.

Zelena’s glare was ugly.  “Well, that’s too bad, because I’m not done with you.”

Taking a deep breath, Belle gathered her magic once more, glancing around to see what she might use to knock Zelena unconscious.  She didn’t want to use someone’s car, but the other option was to tear a street lamp out of the ground, and she really didn’t want to damage public property, either.  Using the traffic light was an even worse idea, and Belle really didn’t want to hurt anyone.  She didn’t want to hurt Zelena, either, but it didn’t look like she had any choice on that front.  _Street lamp it is_.  Raising her hand, Belle reached out—

“The hell you aren’t, sis.”

Regina’s voice made them both jump, and Belle twisted to watch the Evil Queen storm up with Ruby right on her heels.   Part of Belle wanted to snap at Regina, to tell her that her help wasn’t required, but she stepped on the prideful impulse.  Together, they were enough to make Zelena think twice about doing anything stupid, and then Belle wouldn’t have to hurt her.  _Rumple is going to be so furious.  He might not be the Dark One any longer, but he’s still going to want her dead._   The thought made Belle a little sad—she didn’t really think that anyone deserved death, at least not without a fair trial—but she did know her husband.  _Maybe I can talk him into just locking her away._   Zelena was plenty guilty to deserve that, and everyone knew it.

“Regina.”  Zelena’s upper lip curled disgustedly.  “No one invited you to this little party.”

“ _You_ might not have, but I’m plenty happy to see her.”  Belle got in before Regina could reply, giving the dark-haired sorceress a nod. 

“Not that you need the help.”  Regina’s shrug was friendlier than Belle expected.  “You’re handing my dear sister her ass rather handily.  Consider me the moral support.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Belle couldn’t help laughing.  “Oh, you’re welcome to her.  She’s your sister, after all.”

“You’re hardly one to talk, bookworm.  You’ve got nasty relatives, too.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Zelena broke into their banter, looking insulted.

“I’m sorry.”  Regina looked so falsely innocent that Belle choked back another giggle.  “Would you prefer we drop a lamp post on your head?  That’s what Mrs. Gold here was about to do.  Or maybe we should just call her husband.  I’m sure he’d have something _far_ worse in mind.”

That seemed to jerk Zelena up short, and the redhead went pale.  “This isn’t over!”

She disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving Belle to face her husband’s former pupil, who was looking at her with new eyes.  Regina put her hands on her hips.  “When in the world did you get so good with magic?”

“I’ve been working on it.”

Regina snorted.  “I bet _your_ lessons with Rumple are different than mine were.”

“He’s different, now—” Belle started to say, not wanting to get in an argument over Rumplestiltskin’s role in creating the Evil Queen, but Regina just waved a hand to cut her off.

“That’s not what I meant.”  Regina threw a significant glance at Belle’s stomach, and Belle found herself blushing furiously.

“We’re not—I mean, it’s not…” She really didn’t know what to say.

“Save it.” Regina laughed, not unkindly.  “What you two get up to is your business, and it’s clearly worked out well enough for both of you.”  She shrugged lightly before her expression turned serious.  “Though I think we all need to have a talk about my ‘dear’ sister before your husband rips her to shreds for this one.”

“Yeah.”  Belle swallowed, feeling very sober all of a sudden.  “His temper is better than before, but he’s still going to be angry.  I know she’s your sister…but enough’s enough.  She needs to be stopped.”

“Zelena has had her chances.”  Regina’s expression turned hard.  “We keep ignoring her because she’s the lesser of the evils wandering about, but she needs to be stopped.  We’ll lock her away.  We have to.  It’s the only way to keep this town safe.”

Belle nodded, glad to hear that.  She’d been afraid that Regina might dig her heels in, might argue that Zelena needed a chance at redemption.  But she should have known better.  Belle remembered a conversation she’d had with Regina months ago, concerning the nightmares Robin had from the time he’d spent with Zelena.  Belle hadn’t quite confirmed that Rumplestiltskin had nightmares of his own from his experiences as Zelena’s prisoner, but those nightmares said exactly what kind of person Zelena was.  She was selfish and hurt others because she _could_ , and Belle was not going to become her next victim.  Particularly not when she had a child to protect.

* * *

 

“Do you have a moment, Uncle?”

Killian could remember the last time he’d talked to anyone about a woman he wasn’t paying for, and it had been literal centuries.  Once, when he and his brother had been inseparable, they’d talked often of their loves and their lusts, but after losing Liam, he’d stopped opening up to anyone.  Milah had been the only person after that who had worked her way into his heart, and he’d thought that her death had cured him of loving—and of trusting!—forever.  Then he’d met Emma Swan, and his heart had started working once more.  He’d thought she was The One, his True Love, yet maybe, just maybe, they’d served similar purposes for one another.

Maybe they’d both been warming up for something better.

Mordred turned to face him from where he’d been studying the outer walls of his own castle.  “What, no Uncle Monomaniac, today?”

“You do know that’s a joke, don’t you?”  One could never tell with Mordred; Killian was rather fond of his father’s brother, but Mordred wasn’t always that great at social cues.

“Of course I do.”  Mordred chuckled.  “Though I’m absolutely touched that you thought to ask after all this time.”

“Well, I’ve never been accused of being overtly kind.”  Killian shrugged.  “Dashing and handsome, certainly, but a kind pirate is a dead one.”

“Are you always going to define yourself as a pirate?” Mordred cocked his head curiously.  “By blood you’re royalty.  Gwaine was heir to Orkney and Cornwall, and while Cornwall is off limits since Mother’s still alive, that technically makes you a king.”

“A king of a destroyed kingdom.”  Orkney had been a neighbor of Camelot, Killian knew, but if he remembered correctly, it had been destroyed when he was very small.  Something about an elemental darkness—

_Oh, lovely.  I could be a king, but the darkness that inhabits my ex-girlfriend destroyed the place.  This just gets better and better._

“It’s the thought that counts.”  Mordred shrugged.   “My point is that you’re more than a pirate, assuming you want to be.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known.”  Killian tried not to look uncomfortable, and knew he failed.  “The last time I was a man of honor, I was too bloody young to know better.”

Mordred snorted.  “Honor is overrated.  It only brings bloodshed and pain, in the end.”

“Aye.  That it does.”  They were both silent for a moment, until Killian screwed up the courage to talk to the only person he really knew to turn to.  _At least about this._ “Have you ever wanted something so terribly that you believed it was all you could _ever_ want, only to find out that you’ve changed too much to want it any longer?”

Mordred studied him in silence for a long moment.  “Yes.  I wouldn’t have admitted that a few months ago, but…yes.”

Killian arched an eyebrow.  He hadn’t expected that.  Mordred’s smile was crooked.

“I thought it was my destiny to destroy the darkness.  I spent centuries telling myself that I knew the _perfect_ way to destroy the demon that had annihilated my best friend.”  His sigh was heavy.  “It turns out that I put more work into believing a prophecy than I did into actually solving the problem, and now I find myself realizing that prophecies are never what you believe they are.”

“I’ve been grateful to give them a wide berth, so far.  My life has been complicated enough without them.”

“Then what is your desire that you no longer desire?  The new Dark One?”

Being read so easily made Killian grimace.  “Aye.  I was in love with her—or perhaps, with the idea of her.  I am no longer so sure.”

“She has a marked preference for your cousin these days, it seems.”  Mordred smiled tightly.  “Is this going to cause a feud between you?”

“No.  Emma’s choices are her own, and I…I think I may be on a different path.”  He swallowed.  “I’ve grown fond of another woman, and I think it’s not in my usual way.  I used to be happy to seduce any woman I came across, but now—now I want more.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No!  Of course not.  I simply don’t know how to convince her that I don’t view her as a rebound.”

“Rebound?” Mordred cocked his head in confusion.

“It’s one of the confounded terms of this world.  A substitute, if you will.  Someone you desire simply because you’ve lost someone you love.”

“Ah.”  His uncle gestured helplessly.  “I’m hardly the one to ask for romantic advice, I’m afraid.  I’ve made a mess of my own love life, and I’ve come to accept that I’ll be alone on that front.  I have more important things to consider, anyway.”

There was something worrying in Mordred’s tone, and Killian felt his chest grow a little tight.  “Such as?”

“Revenge.”  Mordred’s brown eyes went dark.  “For Lancelot.”

* * *

 

_All the voices in my head…_

Listening to the various Dark Ones was going to drive her mad, so Emma decided to get ahead of the problem.  She was sick and tired of talking to herself, and who was to say that she couldn’t _force_ one of the former Dark Ones into something resembling a human form and just ask what she wanted to know?  It would certainly be less insanity inducing to talk to someone who felt real, even if she was the only one who could see them.  So, Emma concentrated, dredging up power and darkness both, and shaping it until the blob of liquid blackness finally resolved into the form of a woman she had never seen before.

_Nimue._   She had almost summoned up Rumplestiltskin, but she thought that he would have been harder to reach.  Whatever bits of his spirit remained with the Dark Ones was fading, and it wasn’t as if he’d really know what his future self was planning.  Emma knew enough to know that Rumplestiltskin the Sorcerer was a different man from Rumplestiltskin the Dark One.  After all, the Dark One would never have let her get so close as to smash him in the back of the head.  Nimue, on the other hand…well, she was prickly and she was always furious, but she had the knowledge that Emma needed.  Even if she did look surprised to find herself with a solid-looking body.

“Nicely done.”  Nimue gave her a sharp smile, her green-gold skin shining strangely in the light.  “You wanted to talk, so you brought me out.  Clever, particularly if you think the others will be quiet with me gone.”

“Will they?” Emma asked curiously.

A soft laugh.  “Quiet _er_ , anyway.”

“Will it work?”  Emma didn’t see a reason to avoid the topic; she needed to know.  “You saw Rumplestiltskin’s plans.  _Can_ the darkness be disassembled like that?”

Nimue’s lips pressed together, and Emma saw the glint of defiance in her eyes before she uttered a word.  “It could.  _If_ we let it.”

“You want out of this, too.”  A few months ago, Emma wouldn’t have believed that.  Part of her didn’t believe it even now.  But she’d _felt_ Nimue’s sadness, had felt the longing for something more.  For freedom, maybe?  Or perhaps Nimue just wanted peace.  She’d been trapped with the darkness longer than any other, after all.  Nimue was the one person who had _always_ been there, whose soul had shaped the Dark One as much as it had shaped her.

“Do I?”

“Yes.  Don’t forget that I can feel you almost as well as you can feel me.”

“Point.”  Nimue’s eyes drifted off to the side, and the original Dark One finally sat down on Emma’s leather couch.  “This is quite comfortable.  I see why you bought it.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

After another bitter chuckle, Nimue finally looked back Emma’s way.  “Fine.  Yes, I want this to end.  I am sick of it all.  I want to live or to die.  At this point, I’m not particular about which.”

Emma had suspected as much.  “That’s why you wanted the Hat.  Because it would free the darkness, and then you’d be in control.”

“That or any other method.”  Suddenly, Nimue lunged forward, grabbing Emma by the front of her jacket.  “But if you even _think_ of dumping us in the Vault of the Dark One to spare yourself, you have another thing coming, Emma Swan.  We _will_ drag you down with us if you try such a trick.”  Nimue only held her more tightly when Emma tried to jerk away.  “I saw his plans.”

“Then you weren’t paying much attention, were you?” Emma growled back, prying Nimue’s hand free.  “Because he wrote that putting you in the Vault wouldn’t work, and I have a better idea.”

“Like what?”

“Freedom.  Peace.  You detach your souls from the darkness when it’s pulled apart, and it _ends_.  All the misery, the darkness, and the madness ends.  You get to be free.”

“Dead, you mean.”  Nimue sneered.  “Dead while you’re living happily as the Savior.”

Emma snorted.  “If you think anything about being the Savior is _happy_ , I’ve got some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell you.”

“In what?”

For a moment, Emma had to treasure the confusion on Nimue’s face.  The Dark Ones picked up a lot about the modern world via their hosts, but none of them really understood the Land Without Magic and its myriad of references.  Emma felt petty for liking that, but she’d long since learned that any advantage she could take over the other Dark Ones was worth cherishing.  Still, she only shrugged, waving away the question as unimportant.

“I can’t get you the Sorcerer’s Hat.  You know that.  And your asinine plan to wake open a portal to the Underworld probably won’t go very far.  Not with two original powers in town who aren’t as shy about acting as the Blue Fairy.”

Nimue scowled.  “You _could_ have taken his blood.”

“Yeah, and watched Rumplestiltskin and the Black Fairy unite?  No thanks.  Besides, I don’t have the dagger, and that would mean she controlled _all_ of us.”  Emma sneered right back.  “Yeah.  Great plan.”

“Fine.  You have a point.  You would free us?”  Nimue peered at her closely, looking like she was terrified to hope.  “Why?”

Emma swallowed hard, and her answer finally came in a whisper:  “Because someone once told me I was supposed to bring back the happy endings.”

* * *

 

“Zelena did _what?_ ” Rumplestiltskin yelped as soon as Belle came home and told him about the fight.

“Forget that!  What happened to your head?”  Her hands reached for his head immediately, touching oh so gently—but Rumplestiltskin still winced.

He’d managed to make the wound close properly, but the skin around it was still so tender.  He thought he’d try again later, after he managed to shake some of the miserable tiredness.  Being knocked unconscious—and the resulting concussion—had only made his physical weakness worse, and Rumplestiltskin _hated_ that.  He had spent years being bullied and belittled for his former physical disability, and that horrible feeling of being helpless had never quite left him.  Even becoming the Dark One hadn’t made those memories go away, and the fact that Merlin had permanently healed his leg hadn’t banished them, either.  Experience had taught him that any physical weakness would be exploited, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t bear being this off-balance.

“It’s fine.”

The answer had been automatic, born of an old habit of secrets and self-protectiveness, but Belle still gave him a hard look.  “Rumple.”

“Emma hit me in the head with a snow globe.”  He scowled, and then forced himself to shrug more casually than he felt.  “I of all people should know better than to turn my back on the Dark One.”

“But why?  Did my grandmother order her to?  Or is she just…embracing the darkness?”  Belle frowned thoughtfully, and Rumplestiltskin could see her reflecting on all of the questionable things _he_ had done as the Dark One.

“I think she was commanded to do so.  Emma stole the Stone of Giramphiel, which I would suspect to be Danns’ doing.”

“I didn’t even know you _had_ that.” 

He shrugged again.  “I have for years.  It was always nice to have around in case I wound up on Maleficent’s bad side.”

Belle didn’t argue that point, instead returning her attention to his still-tender skull.  “Why isn’t your head healing properly?”  Her fingers brushed hair away from the healed wound, and Rumplestiltskin bit back a hiss of pain.  “Is it because of the way you overextended yourself?”

“That was two days ago.”  Rumplestiltskin let her poke a little before pulling away, not liking the way it made his head spin.

“Which is not very long in the grand scheme of things.”

He scowled, not wanting to acknowledge what a good point that was.  Yet Rumplestiltskin didn’t _like_ this weakness; there had to be some way to overcome it.  He knew what he’d become, knew that somehow—against all logic and sanity—he’d become the one person who could stop Danns’ a’Bhàis.  So he couldn’t afford to be weak.   _Storybrooke_ couldn’t wait for him to feel better, and the responsibility was crippling.

“Rumple, you need to rest,” Belle said, this time more quietly.  Her hands left his head and transferred to his shoulders as a pair of worried blue eyes studied him.

“ _I_ need to?  You were just attacked—and you’re the one carrying our child!”  Maybe his exhaustion was making him overreact, but Rumplestiltskin _burned_ to strangle Zelena with his bare hands.  She’d attacked Belle, all so that she could use her against _Danns’_?  Rumplestiltskin’s temper boiled at the very thought, and he just wanted to hold Belle close and protect her from the world.

“We’re both fine.  You taught me well.”  She squeezed his hands, but that didn’t keep Rumplestiltskin’s stomach from tying itself into further knots.

“Still…”

“Why don’t we both rest a little, then?”  Her gaze turned pleading, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t argue when Belle pulled him towards the living room.

“I just worry, sweetheart.”  _I just want to destroy that witch for trying to hurt you._

“So do I.  We’re a partnership, remember?  I get to help you, too.”

He didn’t want to need help, and he didn’t want to make Belle have to take care of him.  She’d already done that enough.  “It’s only—”

“If you even finish that sentence, Rumplestiltskin, I swear that I’ll borrow Maleficent’s sleeping spell to knock you out for a day or two.”  Belle met his eyes fiercely, and even though he thought she was joking, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t be positive.  Then Belle smiled, and he felt his heart buoy a little. 

“All right.”  His return smile was a little wan, but he managed.  “I surrender.”

“Of course you do.  I always knew you were a smart man.”

* * *

 

Bae had called his father the night before to make sure that things were quiet enough back in town, but David was chomping at the bit to get back into Storybrooke, so it probably wouldn’t have mattered if something had exploded.  Still, he’d managed to drag his heels for one extra day and keep them out of town after exchanging a few texts with Emma, who came off as a weird mixture of reluctant and wordy.  Something was wrong, but she wouldn’t say what.  Talking to Belle—after his father had abruptly nodded off to sleep, which was worrying in itself—let Bae in on that secret, though.  Learning that his ex-girlfriend (if she was an ex-; they were sort of working on being something else) had clocked his father in the head with a snow globe made him ready to go home, too.

Still, that didn’t keep them from pulling the Cadillac into Chantey's Lobster House for dinner before they headed home, where Henry promptly dragged Bae out to see a tree.  A very _specific_ tree, if Bae’s thirteen-year-old son was to believed.

“This was it.”  Henry gestured at the tree, which seemed pretty normal to look at.  “This was where Mom came through.”

“You sure?  I’m not even this type of tree actually exists in the Enchanted Forest?”  There was also no evidence that this particular tree was anything special.

“Yeah.  August emailed me a picture of it.”  Henry held up his phone, and after studying the tree for a moment, Bae did have to agree that the one in front of them matched the picture.

“And you’re certain he’s telling the truth?  August is kind of a professional liar and all.”

Henry rolled his eyes.  “I’m _sure_ , Dad.  This is where Mom came through from the wardrobe, and it’s where August brought her to try to get her to believe in magic.”

“Which didn’t work, resulting in you having to eat a cursed apple turnover to get through her hard head.”  As a parent, Bae should probably have chided his son for doing something so ridiculously reckless, but he really couldn’t.  Firstly, because he hadn’t been there, which meant he had no right to criticize the choices Henry had made, and secondly, because he would have been that same rash kid, who believed so strongly that he would do _anything_.

“Pretty much.”  Henry’s grin was cheeky, and Bae had to chuckle.

“Okay, I give.  What’re we doing here, bud?”

Henry turned to face him, suddenly serious and looking older and wiser than his years.  “I think we need to help Mom believe again.  She’s losing hope because of what the Black Fairy makes her do.”

“And because of the way the darkness eats at her.”  Bae remembered seeing how that dragged his father down; it wasn’t just being controlled, it was the way the darkness _mocked_ you for being helpless, the way it ate at your soul and consumed your hope. 

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, neither really knowing what to say, before Henry finally asked quietly:

“You still love her, don’t you?”

“I always will,” Bae admitted.  “But I’m not gonna push her.  If she just wants a friend, I’ll be that.  Or if she wants more, I’m in for that, too.”

“I know.”  Henry’s smile was warm, and it made Bae feel more like a father than he ever had before.  “And I think that’s great.  It’s a lot more, um, respectful than chasing her until she gives in.”

Bae couldn’t help barking out a laugh.  “Well, that’s never been me.  I was raised to be more respectful than that.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine Grampa chasing someone like that, either.  I think Belle had to chase him.”

That made Bae snort.  “I’m _sure_ she had to, but let’s not talk about their love life if you want me to have an appetite later.”

Henry laughed with him, though, and for a moment, they could pretend everything was all right.  If Bae pretended hard enough, he could think they were just father and son, out at a roadside lobster house with family.  Then Emma wouldn’t be back in Storybrooke, fighting against the horrible darkness that tried to corrupt her soul, or under the control of an evil fairy.  For a moment, Bae wondered what might have been if he hadn’t been such a coward and run away from the fact that Emma was supposed to fix the very world he’d been so scared to go back to.  Things might have been so different if he’d stuck by her side and helped her…but he couldn’t change the past.  He could only fight for the future.

“We can help her,” he promised Henry.  “You and me.  We’ll help Emma have reasons to believe again.”

Henry hugged him, and Bae just held his son tightly.  They could do this.  Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Ninety-Four—“My Doom is I Love Thee Still”, in which Emma is again sent to steal something, Regina tries to figure out what to do with Zelena, Rumplestiltskin has an attack of self-doubt, Maleficent indulges in dangerous revenge, and Emma finds herself forced to attack people dear to her.


	94. My Doom is I Love Thee Still

“You will fetch something else for me tomorrow,” Danns’ had told her the night before, leaving Emma scowling.  She’d _wanted_ to spend the day with Henry and Baelfire—and probably Regina, given that Regina had to miss Henry as much as she did—but of course Danns’ had something else to say.

_Let her think you are loyal,_ Nimue counseled her.  _Acquiesce.  Do not fight foolish battles.  You have a bigger plan in mind._

So Emma did.  She kept her mouth shut and nodded, careful not to look _too_ obedient, because Danns’ would never be fooled by that.  Yet she didn’t argue, and listened with mounting horror to the commands she was given.  The game had definitely changed; Danns’ no longer cared who knew she was controlling Emma or if others saw Emma act.  In fact, she’d been expressly _forbidden_ from going during the night…and commanded to savage anyone who stepped in her path.

Emma could only pray that no one would be in Regina’s Vault when she went to steal a ridiculously multi-colored chain that had the even weirder sounding name of Gleipnir.

* * *

 

Waking up with Henry in the house made Regina feel so much _better_ about life.  She’d tried so hard not to go to pieces while he’d been in Boston with his father and grandfather, and for the most part, she’d succeeded.  In some ways, Regina had even been better off than she’d expected, which she credited to Robin’s easy way of calming even her most cranky moods.  _And Roland.  Having a curious little boy in the house did a lot to ease my feeling of having an empty nest_.  Regina still wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve this second chance at love and a family, but she knew that she wasn’t going to waste it.

Even if her sister seemed determined to do just that.

“Thinking of Zelena?” Robin asked her quietly, glancing over at where Regina leaned against the kitchen counter, savoring the few quiet minutes they had before the boys woke up.

She loved the chaos, she did.  Even if Roland had been so excitable last night that it had taken _three_ bedtime stories to get him to go down, and only then because Henry read them to him.  The way Roland had bonded with his older stepbrother warmed Regina’s heart, but it did make Roland impossible from time to time.  She supposed it was just a phase, but there were still better times for it.  _Then again, maybe it’ll make them both sleep later, and I can have some alone time with my husband._  That wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.

“How’d you guess?” she asked after a moment, having decided that denying it was useless. Robin always saw through her lies, anyway.

“The death grip you have on that poor green dishtowel is a dead giveaway.”

Regina flushed.  “Right.  I didn’t even notice.”

“I know you pretty well by now, ‘Gina.”  Robin smiled, coming over to wrap an arm around her waist.  “And I know that you’re torn.  She’s your sister, and you always wanted a sister…but she’s rejected every chance she’s been given, and she just continues to hurt people.”

“Like Belle.”  Regina couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t gone that same route herself—multiple times!—but she’d learned a lot since then.  It had taken a long time for Regina to understand how wrong it was to target someone’s loved ones to manipulate them, even if that was the easiest way to do the “right thing”.  _I think even what Zelena did to Robin didn’t make me see the truth until it was too late._

Robin chuckled.  “I hear that one bit her in the ass pretty thoroughly.”

“Yeah, it did.”  Even she had to smile.  The bookworm had teeth, and Regina was, for once in her life, glad for that.

“And now you worry that she’s gone beyond the pale.”

“I don’t know.  In many ways, I think she has already.”  Regina took a deep breath.  “How many people did she kill disguised as me?  How many families haven’t gotten justice because we’ve all been looking at the ‘big picture’ of defeating the Black Fairy?  I worry that I’ve given her a pass because she’s my sister, and because I want so badly to fix the mess between us.”

He pulled her close gently.  “That’s only human, you know.”

“Maybe.  But it’s crap leadership.”  Regina hadn’t ever taken an actual class on how to lead people, and she’d never bothered to read a book on the subject, either.  But casting the first curse—and seeing what happened with the second—had taught her a lot of things, mostly the hard way.  The people of Storybrooke deserved better than leaders who only fought for their own families and happiness.

“So what will you do?”

“Lock her up again, I guess.”  Regina sighed.  “Hopefully, Emma won’t let her out this time.  Or the damned Black Fairy.”  That made her scowl.  “I can’t imagine _anyone_ wanting to put up with Zelena’s antics for long, though, and now that she’s attacked Belle…well, I can’t think that’ll endear her to even that psychopathic fairy.”

“Good point.”  Robin grimaced.  “We really don’t have much of a legal system in this town, do we?”

“It’s worse than the Enchanted Forest.  Back there, everyone let absolute monarchs be as tyrannical as we wanted to; people only revolted if they were starving or we got them into wars they couldn’t win.  Here…here we’ve got this idea of democracy and modern justice, but none of us really know how to _do_ that.”  She shook her head.  “Especially me.”

“I think you’re on the right track.  Honestly.”  His smile warmed her heart, and seeing Robin’s confidence in her made Regina feel a little better about the way she’d been trying to change Storybrooke.  She’d been working with a group to look at the town’s laws, trying to figure out how to modernize some things while still keeping their core traditions intact.  That effort took up a _lot_ of her time, but Regina was pretty sure it would be worth it in the end.

“I hope so,” she whispered.

“Have some faith, ‘Gina.  I’m not the only one who believes in you.”  Robin kissed her on the cheek, and Regina let herself melt into his embrace, just for a moment.

Or maybe it was more than a moment, but the sound of small feet pounding down the stairs still cut into their peace rather quickly.  And then a whining, teenaged voice shouted:

“Mom!  Roland woke me up by jumping on my bed!”

It took all of Regina’s self-control not to snicker while Robin lectured Roland (again) about not jumping on people’s beds—or people’s legs.  Her family was a little wild, and _so_ much bigger than she ever could have hoped for, but it was hers.  And she was…happy.  Truly happy, for the first time since she had been a little girl.  _I wish you could be here for this, Daddy,_ she thought, watching her father’s namesake grumble his way into the room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and glaring at Roland half-heartedly.  _You’d love them all, too._

That was all the reflection Regina had time for, though.  She was a working mother, after all, and if she got the kids through breakfast quickly enough, she could head over to the Law Committee meeting before she dropped by her vault to do a little research on worlds colliding and what it might do to Storybrooke’s stability.

* * *

 

One day in bed had made her husband grouchy and irritable; two would have made him _impossible_ to live with.  Belle desperately wanted to keep him there, because she’d never seen him this weak—or this jumpy!—but she knew that, short of tying him down, there was no way to convince Rumplestiltskin to stay in bed.  She’d seen enough of his nightmares about Zelena to know what an _awful_ idea that was, so Belle contented herself with babying Rumplestiltskin as best she could.  She ordered from Granny’s to stop him from cooking, threatened to call his mother when he tried to bury himself in some spell or another, and talked Bae into playing four disastrous chess matches against his father.  Then she’d watched three movies with him, pretending not to notice when Rumplestiltskin nodded off right after his five minute lecture on how ‘fine’ he was.

On the bright side, no one had interrupted their alone time, which Belle found a bit of a relief.  Bae had offered to open the shop, which had made Belle giggle and Rumple grumble; the image of Baelfire running the pawn shop was too cute for words, though her husband only took it as another example of his current weakness.

“Everyone’s entitled to a day off from time to time,” Belle tried to tell him after the second movie.  He only scowled.

“I feel _weak_.  Weakness is—”

“Perfectly permitted when you saved the entire town—and maybe more than just this realm!—from what would happen if the worlds collapsed into one another.”  She gave him a hard look, but softened it by squeezing his arm.  “Rumple, no one thinks you’re weak.  I think even my grandmother was impressed by what you did.”

That was the wrong tactic to try.  “Impressed enough that she sent Emma to bash my head in.”

His head had finally healed, at least; even Belle had had to try three times to make the concussion vanish, since Rumplestiltskin’s body didn’t seem to want to cooperate on that front.  But he was doing better enough to be cranky, and that had to count for something.

“You know what your mother said.  If you rest, everything will be—”

Now it was his turn to cut her off.  “Fine.  Yes, I heard her.  And you.”  He wasn’t really angry with her, Belle knew, but listening to him be so testy was still trying.  “I’m not prepared to wait on this, Belle.  I _can’t_.  If I hadn’t been so stupid, turning my back on Emma, I’d probably be better by now.  So, it’s my fault, and I can face the price of my mistakes.”

“Trusting people isn’t a mistake.”  Belle thought she could see where this was going, and she wanted to head off that argument right away.

His scowl told her she was right.  “It is if you trust the wrong people.”

“You told me yourself that you think it’s my grandmother’s doing, not Emma’s.  You _just_ said that.”

“My point still stands.”

“Your point is so limp that it’s a puddle on the floor.”

Rumplestiltskin’s attempt to bite back a groan utterly failed.  Belle knew that he just wanted to be up on his feet again, to feel fine and be normal.  She knew that being weak was something he’d promised himself he’d be never again, but it was her job to help Rumplestiltskin understand that physical disabilities—even temporary ones—were not weaknesses.  Yet the way his face suddenly fell took her by surprise.

“I can’t do this, Belle.  I can’t pretend to be some hero when I’m really just the same old weak coward inside.”  Rumplestiltskin turned away, his shoulders slumping.  “I can feign courage when I have power, but without it, I’m nothing.”

“You are _not_ nothing.”  Moving closer, she took his hands, ignoring his half-hearted attempt to evade her.  “Even without magic, you weren’t nothing.  Don’t you _dare_ forget the courage you showed then.  You sacrificed yourself to save everyone from Merlin’s magic when it went wild.  You thought it would destroy you, but you fought back.”  Belle brought his hands up to her heart, gripping them tightly.  “I’ve always known what kind of man you are, Rumplestiltskin.  You are flawed and you are beautiful.  You are full of kindness, even in your darkest moments.  You’re not perfect, but you don’t _have_ to be.”

“I’m not what these people need, either.  I’m terrified of being weak, of my magic or my body failing…”

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear, you know,” she cut in gently.  “Courage is acting _despite_ your fear.  And you don’t need to be some perfect hero, either.  I think this town has had enough of those.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted out a bitter laugh.  “Yeah,” he said after a moment.  “Probably.”

“You’re the one who has always told me that magic comes at a price.  The magic you have now demands that you be better—but it also seems to be drawing on you.  I have to wonder if it’ll keep doing that until you finally accept who you are.”

“I _have_.”

“Not when you’re still calling yourself a coward, you haven’t.”  Letting go of one of his hands, Belle cupped Rumplestiltskin’s face in her palm and drew him around so he looked her in the eye.  “You’re the Sorcerer, now.  That means you have responsibilities you never asked for, but you can meet those.  I’ve seen it.  I watched you stop _worlds_ from colliding.  That’s magic on a scale like no one else can dream of.  And you know what you’ve done with that power?”

“What?” His tone was a little petulant, but Belle could tell that she had his attention.

“You’ve refused to abuse it.  You’ve _helped_ people, Rumple, like you once told Bae you would do.  Do you remember that?”

He swallowed hard, whispering: “Of course I do.”

“He does, too, you know.  And he’s terribly proud of you.”  Belle leaned in to kiss him gently.  “As am I.”

* * *

 

Emma might have made it there in time if Henry hadn’t called her during lunch, full of stories about Boston and some store that his dad had taken Gramps to.  Whatever it had been, “Gramps” had come back embarrassed and a little awed, but Henry hadn’t been able to finagle details out of either of them.  Emma had her suspicions about what kind of store her father had been to, and she’d actually found herself laughing—until she’d had the unfortunate experience of describing to Nimue what a ‘porn shop’ was.  That hadn’t been nearly so enjoyable.

Still, she’d managed to capture a few moments of happiness that morning, which was better than Emma fared most days.  If she hadn’t been lurking outside of Regina’s vault right now, Emma might have even counted herself as ahead of the game.  Nimue was mostly cooperating, eager to be free—even if that meant death—and whispering malicious nothings in her mind less often.  Emma wasn’t sure if she wanted to label the other Dark Ones as _hopeful_ , but they seemed to be willing to wait and see what happened.  They didn’t hate her, at any rate, and she thought that had to count for something.  Unfortunately, no amount of progress with her ever-present passengers could mask the fact that they were all still being controlled, and Emma had a task that she couldn’t ignore.

_Take Gleipnir.  Savage anyone in your path._

_Send a message.  Do not spare your friends._

_Nor even your family._

The effort of trying to force that echo back made Emma’s hands shake spastically; she couldn’t block it out, couldn’t make it go away.  _Not even your family._   She didn’t want to be like this, she’d never even _imagined_ being the Dark One could be such a heavy and cruel burden.  _Do not spare your friends._ She had to do it; there was no way out.  Emma had learned that already.  She knew that the commands were inescapable, and if she delayed too long, the darkness would take over and force her hands.  The only consolation was that she hadn’t been commanded to kill anyone, which meant that Emma could still control the situation.

A little.

_Nor even your family._

Squeezing her eyes shut, Emma teleported herself into the vault.  She couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t risk losing control by trying to delay.  _Just do what you have to,_ Nimue told her, sounding almost sympathetic.  Then again, Nimue had been controlled by Danns’, too, hadn’t she?  She understood, even if Nimue was probably the least reliable shoulder to lean on in the entire universe.  _We all have lines we don’t want to cross,_ the first Dark One told her, even as the darkness coiled up inside of Emma, dangerous and sharp. _Savage anyone in your path.  Send a message._

Emma just braced herself.

* * *

 

“What is it that you’re looking for again, love?” Robin asked, dropping a kiss on the side of Regina’s neck.

“Anything to make sure that expanding the town won’t hurt people.  Or have dangerous consequences in the long run.”  She smiled despite the seriousness of the topic, looking away from the boring tome she’d been flipping through to glance at her husband.  “I thought you were out on patrol?”

“David took it.  Now that he’s back, he’s anxious to _do_ things, he said.  Poor bloke must have been going crazy outside Storybrooke.”  A faint red tinge touched Robin’s cheeks.  “He said something about winding up in a strange store in Boston and being glad to be home.”

“A strange store?”

Robin’s blush deepened.  “Don’t ask.”

“Is this some ‘boys only’ secret?” Regina felt her eyes narrowing.  “If it’s the kind of thing I _think_ it is, and you got Henry involved—”

“Oh, definitely not.  Nothing like that.  I just asked Bae for a favor, and David tagged along.”  Robin looked mortified, but Regina rather loved teasing him like this.  _Particularly since I know what kind of weird places there are in Boston!  When I went there to pick up Henry, I was, well,_ enlightened. _Not to mention a little horrified._

“Good.”  She couldn’t stop her smirk.  “Should I be looking forward to a good Christmas gift, then?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“You have _terrible_ poker face for a life-long thief.”

“I’m still not telling you.”

Regina grinned playfully.  “I know your ticklish spots.  In fact, I know—”

A black swirl of smoke interrupted her sentence, and suddenly magic slammed Regina backwards.  Knicknacks and magical items cascaded around her as Regina struggled to clear her head; the blow had been powerful enough to knock her flat on her ass, and for a moment, Regina felt like she was drowning.  Her limbs were tingling, and her eyes refused to focus.  A small corner of her mind _knew_ that she’d been hit by something dark and nasty, but overcoming it was another matter entirely. 

Until she heard Robin talking to Emma.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re here for, but you can’t just—”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Not if you’re trying to hurt Regina.”  Robin sounded fierce and protective, but it was the love underlying those words that finally gave Regina the strength to haul herself to her feet.

“I don’t _want_ to hurt anyone.”  Emma’s voice was a snarl, vicious and hurting at the same time.  “But I will if you don’t move.”

Magic crackled in the air, thick, dark, and dangerous.   Regina stepped forward, summoning up every counter spell she could think of.

“Why don’t you stick with the big kids, Miss Swan?” she growled, power sparking in her hands.  “Leave Robin out of this.”

Something dark crossed through Emma’s eyes.  “I can’t.”

_Oh, great._   Regina knew what that meant, and she brought her hands up as quickly as she could—only to have another wall of dark magic slam into her.  This time, however, she was ready, and Regina staggered with the blow, flinging a fireball into Emma’s face in response.  Of course, using flammable magic in her vault might not be the smartest idea, but at this point, Regina would settle for a fire if it chased the Dark One off.  Robin, fortunately, had dodged out of the way quickly, ducking both Regina’s fireball and then Emma’s answering wave of sharp, pointy darkness.  Regina twisted away from that, too, only to have it tear into the book she’d been reading, which promptly showered the room in confetti-like scraps of precious knowledge.

“I was using that!”  Throwing up a shield, Regina used Emma’s slight distraction to pick up a large metal urn, sending it sailing towards Emma’s head.  Knocking her out would be safest and easiest—

But that wasn’t going to happen.  Emma blasted the urn into pieces, flinging _those_ at Regina after turning them lava hot.  Regina managed to block most of them, but a few got through, singeing the sleeves of her dress shirt and burning through to Regina’s forearms.  She yelped, and then transformed the pained sound into a snarl of fury.

“Not any more, you’re not.”  Emma sounded as sad as she did deadly, and Regina did feel sorry for her.  Really, she did.

“Look, I get that you’ve been ordered to be here, but unless you’re supposed to kill me, can’t we talk about this?  Or are you just going to fling curses as moodily as you can?”

“I wasn’t ordered to _kill_ you.”  But Emma’s glare could have incinerated Regina on the spot, and the fury behind it made the wind inside the vault pick up ominously.

“Then what?  You’re here to hurt me?  Congratulations, you’ve already done that.  Mission accomplished.”  It was worth a try; maybe she could convince Emma’s compulsion that Emma had done what Danns’ had ordered her to.  “Look, I’m even bleeding.”

Emma just scowled, and Regina _felt_ the Dark One gathering more magic to herself.  Her heart skipped a few beats, tight in her throat.  _There are fates worse than death._

“Robin, get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“The hell you aren’t, just _go!_   Get help if you have to, but get out of here!”  She spared him a glance, and Robin finally nodded, giving her one last glance before he bolted for the stairs.

Magic settled over them even as Robin’s foot settled on the bottom step, throwing him back and into the far wall.

* * *

 

“You really are an uppity little brat, aren’t you?”  Zelena leaned in threateningly as August scratched his sides idly, but Lily didn’t plan on backing down.

“You really are a gigantic green bitch, aren’t you?” she countered, smiling as sweetly as she could.

“How dare you!  Why, I’ll—”

“Do you think that she’ll melt if I roast her, or will she just wind up charred like a normal person?” Lily turned to August-the-monkey, feigning innocent curiosity.   “I just can’t decide.”

August didn’t answer, but that was no surprise.  _You want to turn my friend into a flying monkey?_ she didn’t ask Zelena, but Lily could feel every fiber of her body tingling, _hoping_ for battle.  Zelena was a crazy bitch, and they’d been lucky that Lily had been nearby when Zelena had decided that August would make a good flying monkey.  Lily hadn’t managed to stop that—though she’d texted her mom, who was on her way to help with that particular problem—but she had stopped Zelena from stealing August away.  _You get what you deserve._

“He’s mine now!” Zelena grinned, her eyes wild.  She really was a little unbalanced, and even though she was planning something, Lily didn’t give a rat’s ass what it was.

“Only if you want to turn into a puddle.  I bet I can top Dorothy’s little water trick.”

“I will curse you so fast that you won’t know what hit you.”

Lily didn’t bother to reply.  She just started transforming—only to stop when she heard a very particular screech, one that would send chills down someone else’s spine but was music to her ears.  Maleficent swooped down, claws extended and reaching for Zelena.  The horrified expression on the witch’s face was one that Lily would always treasure, even if she hadn’t gotten to roast her personally.  Zelena, however, had sharper reflexes than she did wits, and she disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, gesturing for August to follow her.

Grabbing her friend only got Lily bitten, but she was willing to pay that price. 

* * *

 

Regina was staggering, and she’d be out of it soon.  _Not fast enough,_ Emma thought grumpily, slamming more dark magic into her friend.  _Why can’t she just stay_ down _?_ Emma had knocked Regina off her feet six or seven times, but the former Evil Queen always managed to get back up again.  She was as stubborn as she was powerful, and even pulling Nimue’s darkest tricks out didn’t take Regina down as fast as Emma wanted.  Regina was bleeding fairly badly, both from a head wound and a nice gaping hole in her side, but she was still up and fighting.

“Will you just _give_ up already?” Emma snarled in frustration.

“Will you just leave already?” Regina countered annoyingly.

“I can’t!”

“Then do your worst!”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but her hands were moving on their own, flinging deadly magic at her friend.  Regina dodged quickly, but the edges of it caught her enough to make Regina cry out in pain.  Emma started to smile—hating herself for it—and then something hit her in the back of the head.  Hard.  “ _What_ the—?”

Shattered glass rained down around her, and Emma whirled to face Robin as stars flashed in front of her eyes.  She didn’t think; she just reacted, her hands coming up and magic slamming out of her.  Darkness swept outwards like a giant scythe, catching Robin right in the midsection as he screamed in pain.  Emma managed to stop it before it cut straight through him, but blood and guts still bubbled out of his stomach as the former outlaw dropped like a rock.  _Savage anyone in your path_ , the darkness whispered gleefully.  _Savage him.  Now._   Again, her hands moved on their own, magic erupting outwards and hammering _down_.  The first blow laid Robin out flat even as he tried to curl up, picking him up and slamming him back down.  Emma heard his back crack, and had just enough time to pray that it wasn’t broken before Regina threw the exact same spell back at her.

It hit Emma hard, tearing into her back and making _her_ cry out as Regina rushed to Robin’s side.  The spell even sent crashing Emma to her knees, making pain sear up her legs and almost knocking her to the floor.  But she was the _Dark One_ , not just some ridiculously courageous outlaw, and even if she hadn’t been bound to follow the commands roaring around in her head, the darkness would have kept Emma moving.  But oh, god, it hurt.  Emma’s head spun wildly, and she couldn’t see very well.  Whatever words Regina was saying to Robin were meaningless and far away, and she really just wanted to sleep.  But she couldn’t, could she?  _Take Gleipnir.  Savage anyone in your path._

_Heal yourself, you fool,_ Nimue spat.  _Use the darkness to make yourself whole.  It won’t do it for you._

Blinking hard, Emma willed her power to focus inwards.  She’d already savaged Robin and Regina both, hadn’t she?  She didn’t have to kill them.  They were both wounded; Robin grievously so.  She shouldn’t have done that—but how could she not?  _Focus on yourself.  Heal your body._

A few moments of heady power later, and Emma staggered to her feet.  Dizzily, she looked around the vault, searching for Gleipnir.  Regina was distracted healing Robin, so Emma had time.  After a moment of looking around blankly, she spotted a thin chain peeking out of a chest to her right.  At first, Emma was certain that the silky smooth chain couldn’t be the one she sought, but when she reached out to touch it, Emma could feel power radiating from the chain.  Moving slowly, she lifted the chain into her hands, admiring the beautiful way it was woven together.  This chain wasn’t just made of links; it was made of six colors, representing six wonderful ingredients.  Nimue had told Emma the history of it, the legends about how Gleipnir had bound the wolf Fenrir and was as strong as creation itself.

Emma didn’t want to know what Danns’ wanted it for; she only knew that her head hurt less now that it was in hand.

“Robin?  Robin, can you hear me?”  Regina sounded broken and worried, and she was so very pale.  How much blood had she lost?

_She’s pouring everything she has into saving her love._ Nimue’s observation wasn’t quite as dispassionate as Emma had expected; she sounded almost sad.  And Emma felt an ominous ache in the vicinity of her heart, remembering being in a position like that with a man she loved, helpless to save him and praying for a miracle.

She almost opened her mouth to say something, but what was there to say?  Then the pull of _command_ started again, and Emma took the excuse it offered.  _Bring the chain to me_ , Danns’ had commanded, so bring the chain she did.

* * *

 

Maleficent had never been shy about taking revenge when the opportunity presented itself.  In fact, she’d defined a large portion of her life via vengeance, and she saw no reason to stop that now.  Not when the punishment would be so _very_ richly deserved.

Of course, Danns’ would not care at all about Zelena having attacked Lily.  The Black Faery would rightly point out that Maleficent had dealt with that threat herself, and that Mal and Lily were welcome to roast the witch if they so desired.  Why Danns’ hadn’t killed Zelena yet was no mystery, either; they all knew that Danns’ was enjoying the spectacle of Zelena annoying the town’s heroes.  Zelena thought herself a player in a game that even Maleficent wasn’t qualified for a seat at the table, and she was trying to grab power where there was none available.  If Zelena hadn’t threatened Lily, Mal might have sat back and watched with amusement, but now she had a better idea.

“I heard something that you might be interested in.”  One did not beat around the bush with Danns’; Mal had learned to be direct with the terrifying faery she’d allied with.

One far-too-perfect eyebrow arched.  “Oh?”

“Zelena attacked Belle two days ago.”

“She _what_?” Danns’ did not come out of her chair, nor did she shout, but the quiet words radiated danger and power.  Mal could feel the air around her simmering, and found herself very glad that she was not Danns’ target.

“According to my informant, Zelena said she wanted to capture Belle to blackmail you.”  August had proven very helpful after Mal had turned him back from being a flying monkey, though in fairness to the leather clad biker, he was Lily’s friend.  He might have helped anyway.  “She didn’t manage.”

“What _exactly_ happened?”

“Zelena attacked her, and Belle fought her off.  Apparently, Regina arrived towards the end, and Zelena declined to fight both of them.”

“Belle fought her off?  Alone?”  Danns’ looked absurdly pleased until a shadow crossed her face.  “And the child?  Her child is well?”

Maleficent shrugged.  “As far as I have heard.  I imagine that Rumplestiltskin would have torn Zelena to pieces if anything else were the case, even given his current weakness.”

“True.”  Green eyes narrowed, and Mal was quite certain that she didn’t want to know what dark thoughts took place behind that slightly smug expression.  Still, Danns’ inclined her head politely.  “Thank you for the information.”

“I would offer to deal with her, but…”

“I will ‘deal with’ Zelena, thank you.”  The words were ice cold, and Maleficent did not argue.  She didn’t need _personal_ revenge; watching Danns’ destroy Zelena would be plenty of satisfaction.

For a moment, she contemplating warning Regina, then thought better of it.  If Regina hadn’t figured out the pile of trouble her half-sister was in by now, Regina was far stupider than Mal thought.

* * *

 

She couldn’t lose him.  Not like this.  Not _ever_.

Regina knew that she’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, done evil for which she could never atone.  No matter how hard she tried to make up for the things she had done, Regina knew that she would probably never manage to do so.  She had made her choices, and she had always known that she would have to live with them.  That was the life she lived, and Regina had accepted that.  Evil was made, not born, and she had made herself into what she was.  The consequences of her long ago choices simply _had_ to catch up to her someday…but Regina was not going to let Robin pay the price.

If a price had to be paid, a life had to be sacrificed, it would be hers.  He was fading fast, even though Regina had stopped the bleeding.  Emma’s spell had almost cut him in half, had torn open vital organs and done more damage than normal magic could heal.  Regina was a powerful sorceress, but even she had her limits, and she knew that she was out of time.  _Robin_ was out of time.

_All magic comes at a price._   Regina knew what to do; she’d just never imagined she _could_ do something like this.  Light magic like this was special, and for a moment, she doubted that she could summon this type of love and power—but the magic filled her hands with a thought.  Heart pounding, she paused for just long enough to shield Robin’s daughter— _their_ daughter—from the consequences of the magic she was about to use.  _I’m sorry,_ she told their child silently.  _I love you both, but if you’re going to have one parent, it should be your father._

Their child would be safe.  Regina could make sure of that.

“I’m sorry, Robin,” she whispered, making flowing through her hands.  Regina’s vision was already blurring by the time his midsection began knitting together, but she had the strength to see this through.  She’d always been stubborn.

Today would be no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Five—“Red Ruin,” in which Emma tries to do something right, Henry goes looking for Regina, Tad tries to figure Maleficent out, Baelfire forces Rumplestiltskin to face a few hard truths, Henry corners Emma, Arthur plots against Mordred, and the Black and Blue Fairies have one last talk. 
> 
> Sorry for the lack of update last week—my bronchitis is getting worse, and I’m kind of a lump on a log at the moment.


	95. Red Ruin

She should have done more.  She should have told Regina and Robin to run, or _something_.  Emma had delivered the stupid chain, but Danns’ had dismissed her right away, leaving her to hate herself more and more by the moment.  Regina was her _friend_.  She was Henry’s other mother, and she and Robin were both family.  _Do not spare your family,_ Danns’ had ordered, and Emma hadn’t.  She’d wanted so badly to stop herself, but her worst nightmare had come true.  She’d hurt her family.

_Don’t just stand here hating yourself,_ a voice that sounded a lot like her old self said. _Do something._ But what?  Emma had already screwed things up, had already hurt them.  She couldn’t go back and heal them; there was a better than even chance that Danns’ would summon her again, and what if that happened when she was trying to help them?  _She’s also likely to command you to kill them if you try,_ Emma thought gloomily.  Her stomach was rolling with self-disgust, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever hated herself more than she did in that moment.  Just when Emma had thought she was getting a handle on things, just when she’d started to hope and the other Dark Ones had started to cooperate—

Oh.  Of course.  _That_ was what she could do.

Quickly, Emma yanked her phone out and dialed a number she’d called depressingly many times back in her days as sheriff.  After three rings, the recipient picked up.

“This had better be better than that snow globe you brained me with, dearie.”

  _Great.  I knew this was a bad idea._ But Emma overrode her own grimace to answer.  “Regina needs your help—she and Robin do.  They’re in her vault.  I…I hurt them.”

“By command?” She could hear the tone of his voice change; at least he _got_ it.

“Yeah.”  Emma bit her lip.  “Like the snowglobe.  But worse.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

_Click._

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Emma reflected that at least Rumplestiltskin didn’t waste time bitching about things he couldn’t change.  She could only hope that he’d do what she couldn’t, and help her friends.  _And isn’t that a swap.  A year ago, who could have imagined we’d be_ here _?_

* * *

 

“Mom?” 

Getting the door above the stairs open took two tries, and by the time Henry headed down into Regina’s vault, he could tell that something was wrong.  Dark magic had a distinctive _smell_ to it, something burnt mixed with something spicy, and there was an awful lot of that coming from the underground portion of the Mills Family Vault.  He could feel the truth in his bones before Henry even started down the stairs; something was _wrong_.

“Mom?  Is everything all right?”

“Henry!” Robin’s voice sounded like a croak, and Henry almost didn’t recognize it.  But when he did, he rushed forward to see his stepfather cradling Regina in his arms.  She wasn’t moving, and was barely breathing, with blood splattered on her face, her left arm, and her left side.

“What—what happened?”  The words tried to stick in Henry’s throat.  He wasn’t sure he could breathe.

Was Regina even breathing?  What about the baby?  He hadn’t felt so young and afraid in a long time, but Henry felt like a little boy again.  Regina had _always_ been there in his life, the one constant that never left, and he wouldn’t know what to do without her.  Robin looked like he was in rough shape, too, but he was in better shape than Regina, despite the big bloodstain around his midsection.

“I don’t know.  Your mom—Emma—came in looking for something.  I think she’d been ordered to hurt us.”  Robin grimaced.  “She hit me with something, and I don’t remember much before waking up.  Your mom healed me.  I don’t…I don’t know how.  I thought I was going to die, and then I woke up.”

“But what about her?”  His voice was so small, but Henry couldn’t care.  _All magic comes at a price,_ he knew.  Had Regina saved Robin at the cost of her own life?  _Could_ Regina do that?  Henry couldn’t bear to think of it.

“I don’t know.”  Robin sounded as lost and as broken as he felt.  “She’s breathing.  I think—”

Sudden footsteps interrupted, making man and boy both wheel around in alarm.  Much to Henry’s surprise, his paternal grandfather came down the stairs.  Rumplestiltskin’s dark eyes took the scene in quickly, and then he grimaced. 

“Let me see what I can do.”  Rumplestiltskin wavered a little as he dropped into a crouch at Henry’s side, but the hand he passed over Regina was steady enough.  After a moment, he glanced up and spared Henry a quick smile.

“Will she be all right?”  Henry couldn’t wait before asking.  He couldn’t.

“She’s in a coma, but yes.”  The simple words made Henry go weak from relief; a glance showed him that Robin had done the same.  But the time he managed to contain his excitedly racing heart, Rumplestiltskin had turned to face Robin.  “Regina used everything she had to heal you.  She drained herself dry to do it, and then protected your daughter at her own expense.”

“But you _can_ heal her, right?” Robin asked worriedly.

“I can.  And I shall.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was crooked.  “She’ll need a few days to recover her full strength, but she’ll be all right.”

“I can offer whatever you want in payment.  I just—”

Rumplestiltskin cut him off with a wave of his hand.  “I’m done with that.”  His eyes flicked to Henry, who found his gaze strangely warm.  “And besides, as someone once reminded me, we’re all family.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.”  Henry wanted to hug him, but he thought he should probably reserve that for when his grandfather was done healing his mother.

Rumplestiltskin went to work after that, and although Henry _tried_ to pay attention, healing Regina really did take forever.  After a few minutes, he found himself wandering off to look at the various odds and ends in his mom’s vault.  Robin joined him soon enough, after an irate Rumplestiltskin snapped at him to stop being distracting and do something useful.  Henry was actually glad to hear his grandpa say that; Rumplestiltskin helping without demanding something was still weird, and having him do it without being snarky would have been downright creepy.

“Why was Mom here?” he asked Robin quietly.

Robin glanced away from the bookshelf they’d both been staring blankly at.  “Um, which one?  Regina was researching if expanding the town might have had any side effects.”

“I meant Emma.  Sorry.”  Sometimes, Henry thought he really needed to call one or the other mother something other than ‘Mom’, but how could he pick?  Every time the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t come up with a good answer, so he gave up on the idea.

“Oh.  Right.  I’m not sure.  She just _showed_ up, flinging magic every which way.  She and Regina shouted a bit, Emma apologized, and…well, I don’t remember much after that.”

“Ouch.”  Henry wasn’t sure what else to say.  How _should_ he react to the news that his birth mother had attacked his adopted mother and stepfather?  Emma had to have been ordered to do it; Henry knew that she’d been trying really hard to be better.  She couldn’t have wanted to attack Regina and Robin.  He knew that.

But if the Black Fairy had made her do this, what was next?  And would Emma be okay by the end?

* * *

 

“I’m not actually sure if she wants to roast me or jump in bed with me, Richard.”  Tad shrugged, picturing the gorgeous blonde that the sexy black dragon had become.  He found Maleficent intoxicating in either form—oh, she wasn’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever encountered or slept with, but she certainly made the top five.

And she had given birth to his _daughter_.  That counted for a great deal, even if Tad wasn’t quite certain what.  He did want to get to know Lily, of course; she seemed like a lovely young woman, and she was his daughter.  Tad wasn’t sure if he was suitable material to be a father, which was after all a vocation that he had avoided rather assiduously over the years, but he thought he would like to try.  Not that his friend was helping with _that._ But of course Richard wouldn’t.  At least he wasn’t bursting into song here in Storybrooke.

“That is a bit of a conundrum you’re facing.”  The former king (or was he still a king?  Tad found this supposedly modern world terribly confusing) chuckled.  “I don’t suppose you could just _ask_ her.”

“Yes, because you achieved much success in speaking to your lovely lady during your not-so-courtship phase.”

“Hey!  I’m merely suggesting you learn from my mistakes.”  Richard snickered.  “Not that you seem to need much help with the ladies.”

“You are _not_ helping.”

Tad had plenty of romantic experience, of course.  He’d rarely met an attractive individual whom he wasn’t attracted to, and he was blessed with a face that others seemed to like (at least when he wasn’t a bearded dragon, courtesy of that damned witch whose husband he’d been having a lovely time with).  He’d stopped counting his conquests years ago, and while Tad thought he’d mellowed a bit with age, he certainly wasn’t looking to do something silly like _marrying_ Maleficent.  Not that he thought she’d like the idea.  He was fairly certain that she’d roast him for suggesting they do so, particularly since the only common bond they possessed was a child and—perhaps!—a mutual attraction.

Still, she was a beautiful woman and a dragon of unsurpassed elegance, which meant she’d undoubtedly be worth the work.

Richard shrugged.  “Well, I don’t have a lot of experience with women who are likely to light me on fire, I’m afraid.”

Tad rolled his eyes.  “Neither have I, to be honest.  Women, yes; I have plenty of experience there.   But Maleficent is not my usual type.”

“I think you’re just nervous on account of the magic part.”  Richard studied him, narrowing his eyes.  “You worry she might decide to turn you into something unnatural.”

He really couldn’t argue that.  “I have _been_ something unnatural already.  I did not relish the experience.”

“Well, then I recommend not pissing her off.”

Richard’s casual shrug made that sound easy, but how in the world was Tad supposed to _not_ anger the ‘Mistress of All Evil’?  He’d committed some gigantic faux pas in his day, but this one really did take the cake.  _Of all the dragons for me to meet and spend a pleasant two days with, it had to be_ her?  _And I left because I thought she wasn’t looking for anything special!_ Maleficent hadn’t indicated if she would have wanted to stick it out with him or not—and she did seem rather independent, which was a point in his favor—but she had been rather irritated by way he’d left.  It was a little surprising that Maleficent hadn’t decided to curse him the first time they spoke.  Was he really foolish enough to try for round two?

Yes.  Yes, he was.

* * *

 

Regina woke up in her own bed, with her head pounding and everything fuzzy.  _How did I get here_?  Then a vague shape caught her eye, making her blink wildly.  “…Robin?”

“You’re awake!”  Her husband immediately turned to her, taking her left hand in both of his.  “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly alive.”  Regina swallowed hard.  She felt weak, but far more coherent than she’d expected.  _I know what I did.  I made my choice.  I shouldn’t be awake._   And if she was…well, Robin shouldn’t have been there.

“Rumplestiltskin said you’re going to hurt for a few days, and that you should probably stay in bed until at least the end of the week.”

“Rumple… _Rumple_ healed me?  What happened, did the world end?  Or are we actually—?”  A cough ate the next snarky remark Regina intended to utter, but Robin got the point.  

“We’re not dead.”  Chuckling, Robin bent briefly to kiss her hand.  “He seemed quite willing, actually.  Said something about family.”

“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“Much to my surprise, I’m not.  You’re not the only one who’s turned over a new leaf, ‘Gina.”  Robin’s smile faded.  “Though I do wish you wouldn’t demonstrate it by almost dying to save _my_ life.”

Regina swallowed hard.  She’d known he was going to bring this up, had known that Robin wouldn’t be happy with her choice.  Intellectually, she knew that _she_ would have been raging mad had he tried to do the same for her, but Regina wasn’t used to having someone love her as deeply as Robin did.  _Except Henry, and even he doesn’t argue that it’s his mother’s duty to protect him.  Usually._

“I did what I needed to.”  Emotion made the words come out short and sharp, which made Regina wince.  “I wasn’t going to lose you.”

That wasn’t much better, but it seemed to mollify Robin a tiny bit. 

“But if you died, our daughter—”

“I would have lasted through the birth.  I made sure of that.”  It had been Regina’s last conscious choice, after channeling everything she had into healing Robin.  She’d made sure that her body would survive—albeit in a coma—long enough to protect Robin’s little girl.  There hadn’t been any other option at the time; one of them had been going to die, and Regina knew that Robin deserved life far more than she did.

“That’s not the point!”

“Of course it is!  Only one of us could live, and I was damned well going to make sure it was you!”  Regina didn’t mean to glare quite so harshly, but she couldn’t stop herself.  “Magic has a price, and it wanted _more_ than I had.  So of course I was going to save you.  You didn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did you.”  Robin’s grip on her hands was almost tight enough to hurt, but Regina was grateful for it.  That meant she was _alive_ , and although she’d been ready to die, she really hadn’t wanted to.  For all of her mistakes, for all the evil she’d done, Regina figured that she probably deserved death.  Yet she wanted desperately to live, now more than ever.  She wanted to bring _her_ daughter into the world, to have this family she and Robin had built.  The idea of losing that was almost too much, and for a moment, Regina wanted to cry from sheer relief.

“Maybe,” she allowed.  “I think there are probably a few thousand or so people who would beg to differ.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?  Because it’s true?”  Regina shrugged.  “All I’m saying is that, of the two of us, you’re the better person.  I like that about you.  You might have been a thief, but you’re _good_ , Robin.  And if our daughter was only going to have one parent, I was damned well going to make sure it was you.”

“‘Gina…”

“I love you.  Nothing’s going to change that, or the lengths I’d go to save you.  So quit arguing, all right?”

Robin snorted.  “Not bloody likely.”

Regina opened her mouth to argue, and then found herself smiling instead.  “Well, I suppose that I didn’t marry someone I could walk all over for a reason.”

“Damn straight you didn’t.”  Robin leaned in to kiss her, and Regina leaned into him, treasuring the feel of his lips against hers.  She could have been dead, _should_ have been dead, so she was going to treasure every moment from now on.  Particularly those with her family.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I think you proved that earlier.”  Robin didn’t quite frown, but she could feel his unease.  “Please promise me you’ll never do something like that again.  Not for me.  I couldn’t bear to lose you any more than you can me.”

“I…I’ll try not to.”  That was the best Regina could do; there was a lump in her throat that told her she would never make such a promise, but she understood why Robin was so upset.  She would have been the same in his place.

Fortunately, he knew her well enough to accept those words, and Robin just kissed her again.

* * *

 

He managed to make it home before his hands started shaking uncontrollably. 

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t wanted to let that show in front of Henry; his grandson had been so grateful for the way he’d healed Regina that it left Rumplestiltskin feeling ridiculously warm inside.  Henry had hugged him, and he’d felt, for just a moment, that he wasn’t some fraud.  That his old darkness wasn’t going to taint him forever, no matter what he did or how hard he worked to be better.  Rumplestiltskin had promised Belle that he’d try to be a better man, and he’d found himself actually _liking_ the fact that he could help others—but that didn’t erase who or what he had been.  No matter what he did, there was no changing the evil deeds he had done.  They would always be with him, and that meant he would never be anything more than a fraud.

Belle had argued otherwise, but Rumplestiltskin knew that was why his body was rejecting the magic he’d inherited from Merlin.  He had been the Dark One for three centuries; even with the darkness wiped clean from his heart, it still stained his soul.  _Is this how it ends, then?_ Rumplestiltskin wondered.  He wasn’t getting better.  Belle had managed to heal his concussion, but he was still tired, lethargic, and physically weak.

Stumbling to a nearby armchair, Rumplestiltskin sat down before his legs could collapse out from under him.  He hadn’t hesitated before healing Regina, but now he half-wished that he had; Rumplestiltskin didn’t quite feel ready to pass out again, but he was too damned close.  Even his voice was scratchy as he whispered:

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Rumplestiltskin jumped, starting hard enough to make his head spin for one incredibly uncomfortable moment.  When his vision cleared, he fought to focus on his son, who had apparently been sitting on the couch near the window since before his arrival, and was now watching Rumplestiltskin with concern.

“I…nothing.”  He really didn’t want to talk about it, particularly with Bae.

“C’mon.  Don’t give me that crap.”  If his son’s tone had been less conversational, Rumplestiltskin would have bristled, but Bae’s expression was open and inviting.  “We both know that there’s a great big ‘something’ you can’t keep doing.  And I’m guessing it’s magic.”

Rumplestiltskin scowled.

“Belle told me what you two talked about.  About how she thinks you just need to accept who you are _now_ , and things will get better.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Fighting back the urge to snap at his son was almost impossible, but Rumplestiltskin supposed that Bae had been infected by Belle’s optimism.  _Not that he ever lacked his own strong measure of optimism; even at his worst, Bae has always been more hopeful than I._   So, Rumplestiltskin checked himself and simply sighed.  “Because I can’t just forget what I’ve been or what I done.  It will never leave me, and I’ll never be some ‘Sorcerer’.  Not like Merlin.”

“Seems to me like Merlin wound up pretty jacked up.”  Bae shot him a cheeky smile that did nothing to calm Rumplestiltskin’s irritation.  “That’s not your best argument.”

“What Merlin became as the _Dark One_ isn’t the point,” he snapped.  “People want me to be like him, this magic wants me to be _more_ , and sooner or later I’ll revert and—”

“Close a portal and save the world?  Yeah, that sounds pretty terrible to me, Pop.”

“Baelfire.”

“I’m serious.”  Bae spread his hands placatingly.  “That’s kind of _huge_ , you know.  It’s the kind of thing I know you wanted to do, way back when.”  His smile turned sad.  “I remember you talking about how you could turn the magic to good, how you could save all the kids, and not just me.  You did, too.”

Rumplestiltskin had to swallow hard.  He’d been so naive back then, so blind to the price magic came with.  He’d killed Zoso, had saved the children and ended the First Ogre War…and he’d lost himself because of that.  He’d dreamt of being a hero, only to find himself embracing the way of the villain.  _You hurt people all the time,_ Bae had said to him, so very long ago.  Back then, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t really considered doing anything else.  It had been too easy, that power.  Too seductive, and too dark.

“Why can’t you be that man now, Papa?” Bae asked quietly.  “No—why do you _think_ you can’t?”

“Because I ruined my chances,” he answered thickly, looking away.  “I was a good man, once, but I…I threw that away.”

“No, you didn’t.”  

“Of course—”

“Stop it.  Stop thinking the worst of yourself just because you did terrible things,” Bae cut him off abruptly.  “If I can look at you and see a good man, why can’t you?”

“Because I know what I am.  I’m still the same man who made those choices.  Nothing will erase that.”

“So?”

Incredulous, Rumplestiltskin turned to stare at his son, unable to find words to refute how foolish that sounded.  Bae just snorted.

“Who says it needs erasing?  Maybe what you _did_ makes you who you _are._   You’re still the same man who took on the darkness to save me, and you’re still the same man who decided to let Merlin’s power destroy his soul because you felt you deserved to die for what you’ve done.  Magic has a price, but you’ve paid for what you did with your life.  Twice.”

“It hardly stuck.”  Particularly the second time, when Belle’s kiss had brought him back.  He’d promised her that he’d fight, but even his best hadn’t been enough until Belle saved him.  Even thinking of that made warm love rise in his heart, though, and for a moment, the way his hands were shaking lessened.

“I think you’re going about this all wrong.”  Suddenly, Bae stood and crossed the room, crouching next to Rumplestiltskin’s chair.  “You say that you’re never gonna shake the darkness completely?   Okay, fine.  So, don’t.  Let it shape who you are now.  Let it make sure you don’t make the same mistakes.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, and it isn’t _working_!”  The words burst out of him with enough force to make Rumplestiltskin’s chest hurt.  “This magic wants me to be something I’m not.  Something I _can’t_ be.”

“Something like a hero?”

Rumplestiltskin just closed his eyes.  He knew what he wasn’t, and thankfully, his son did, too.  Bae had seen him fall the first time, and any illusions he’d had back then had long since been erased.

“Papa, you _are_.  You’re not like David.  You’re never gonna be ridiculously optimistic and blind to anything but what you think is ‘right’.  But that doesn’t make what you’ve done less heroic.  Or less necessary.”  Bae’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin jumped again.  “Belle and I are proud of you, you know.  And I bet my little sister is, too, even if she’s kinda underdeveloped at the moment.”

“I—I…”

“You really _are_ the man you wanted to be.  You took a hell of a crooked road to get there, but you’ve done it.  And yeah, you’ve got darkness still with you.  Who doesn’t?  That whole ‘no darkness’ thing was a crap idea when it was done to Emma, and it’s kinda ridiculous when applied to you.”

Wide-eyed, Rumplestiltskin just stared at his son, his mind whirling.  He had spent so many years wanting to make Baelfire proud of him, so many years as the spinner and the coward, unable to even fight to make his son’s life any better when so many people were eager to beat him down.  All he’d ever wanted, back as far as he could remember, was to be a _good_ father.  To be one a son could be proud of.  And Bae _was_ proud of him?  It was almost too much to internalize.  Emotion made his throat close off, painful and heartwarming all at the same time.

“I think Belle’s right, you know,” Bae said gently.  “This magic is only waiting for you to embrace that.  I know you won’t stop hating what you did, but maybe it’s time you accepted that you aren’t that man, now.  You’re better because you _want_ to be, and that’s enough.”

“Nothing’s…nothing’s that simple.”  Rumplestiltskin hated the way he sounded when he stuttered, but this time, he barely noticed.

“Judging from the hash you’re making of this, Pop, it’s anything but simple.”

Could it be, though?  Could he simply have to truly embrace who he was, flaws and all?  Was the magic not attacking him because he hadn’t been born an original power, but because he couldn’t fully accept being one?  Rumplestiltskin knew that he went back and forth on it; some days, he could swallow the fact that _he_ had to be the one to face Danns’ a’Bhàis, and others he found the responsibility crippling.  He could accept the power, but the idea of being someone others looked up to.   _Being despised was so much easier.  Then I never had to care what people thought._

Except he wasn’t that man.  Not anymore.  Rumplestiltskin knew he’d changed; he’d worked damned hard to do it, all based off the unexpected opportunity of having his heart cleansed of darkness, of having a second chance to do things right.  He’d been doing all right until he’d used too much power, dropped too deeply into the magic, and then found himself…what?  Doubting himself?  Had that been what started this?  It was all so foggy now that Rumplestiltskin really couldn’t puzzle out where he’d gone wrong.  _Can I really be both?  Can I be who I was and who I am?_

“Do you really think I can do this, Bae?” he asked shakily.  “That I can be...?”

“Better?  Yeah.”  Bae smiled easily.  “You already are.  I missed this you, you know.  The good man who wanted to help, but didn’t know how.”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced, not wanting to think back on his old weaknesses.  “I don’t miss that last part.”

“Okay, not that part.  But I think this is who you could have been, if war, Pan, and Mom hadn’t screwed you up so much.” 

Was it really that simple?  Belle believed so.  Bae did, too.  _We are both,_ David had said, once, and Rumplestiltskin had accepted that about himself and the darkness, not so very long ago.  _Before it tried to take over, anyway_ , he thought wryly.  But this was different.  This power demanded he be _worthy_ , which Rumplestiltskin had never thought he could be.  Yet…maybe it wasn’t about being worthy.  Maybe Belle was right, and he simply had to accept that he was who he was.  Past and present.  Dark turning towards light.  He wasn’t ever going to be perfect, but Rumplestiltskin had once wanted nothing more than to help people, to do the right thing. 

Maybe…maybe that was enough.

* * *

 

“I’m not going away, Mom.” 

Emma was tempted to ignore Henry, but she knew he meant it.  Even if her son didn’t manage to break in, he’d probably sit on her doorstep all night long if she ignored him.  That…and she really didn’t _want_ to ignore him.  She just felt guilty.  No, she felt worse than guilty.  She’d attacked her friend, and she’d probably killed Robin, too.  Particularly if Rumplestiltskin hadn’t gotten there in time.  Worse yet, Emma was pretty damned certain that Danns’ would give her the same orders again soon.  Danns’ seemed determined to have Emma collect magical items and hurt people, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

Except for talk Nimue into working with Rumplestiltskin’s plan, which really wasn’t as easy as Emma had hoped.  Nimue—and the other Dark Ones—really hated Rumplestiltskin.  They hated that he’d hated them, that he’d refused to listen to them after the beginning, manipulating events to see Regina cast the curse instead of unleashing all the Dark Ones upon the world.  _They_ had wanted to live again, while _he_ had wanted to go to a land where they would be functionally dead.  The very idea of a land without magic disgusted Nimue, and she wasn’t exactly shy about holding a grudge on that front.  Emma was still trying to talk her around on that front, with exactly zero results.

So, she pushed away the other voices in her head and opened the door.  “I know,” she sighed.  “You’re good at this stubborn thing.”

Henry smiled cheekily.  “I get it from every side of my wacked up family tree.”

“Come on in, kid.  No use in you standing outside.”  Emma knew that her compulsion to hurt people who got in her way was gone—for now.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have let Henry come within a thousand yards of her and her damned curse.

Henry crossed the threshold with his hands stuffed in his pockets.  “You look terrible.”

“Occupational hazard.”  _I feel terrible._   Did Henry not know what had happened?  Should Emma tell him?

“Mom’s okay, you know.  So’s Robin.”

Those words slammed into Emma like dynamite.  “… _What_?”

“Grandpa said you called him just in time.  Mom put herself into a coma saving Robin, but they’re okay.  The baby is, too.”

Emma felt her knees go weak in relief, and she had to lean on the wall to keep herself upright.  _I finally managed to do something right_ , she realized, letting out a shaky breath.  She’d barely dared hope.  In fact, Emma had resigned herself to having killed her friends, her _family_.  After all, counting on Rumplestiltskin was pretty ridiculous; every Dark One in her head told her that over and over again until she couldn’t block the words out.  But Henry said that Regina and Robin were both okay.  And so was the innocent child Regina carried.

“Good,” she whispered after a moment, biting her lip almost hard enough to make it bleed.  “I didn’t want to hurt them, Henry.  You need to know that.  I don’t want to hurt _anyone_ , not now.”

The days when she’d been out of control and doing things like turning Will Scarlet into a cat seemed so far in the past, now.  Emma could barely remember being that Dark One, not when the chains of control pressed so closely around her.

“I know, Mom.  And it’s okay. I don’t think Mom blames you, either.”  Henry shrugged.  “Or at least not much.”

Emma grimaced.  “This _is_ Regina we’re talking about, yeah.”

“She’ll figure it out.  I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Me?” She looked at her son incredulously.  “I’m the _only_ one who’s okay.”

“Physically, yeah.  But knowing that she can make you hurt people has to suck.”

Leave it to Henry to put things so bluntly.  Emma couldn’t even argue; all she could do was shrug uncomfortably.  “I made my choices.  I took this on.”

“We’re gonna find a way to—”

“Don’t!” She cut him off as quickly as she could.  Sometimes, the kid was way too much like his father.  “What I don’t hear, I don’t have to tell her, okay?”

Henry’s eyes went wide.  “Yeah.  I get it.”

“Good.”  Emma gave him a strained smile.  “Now get out of here, kid.  I can’t trust her not to order me to hurt someone soon, and I’m not going to let that be you, okay?”

“Mom, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not willingly.  Not if I can fight her for even a moment more, but I _have_ to do what she commands, okay?  And she’s out for blood.”

Henry looked like he wanted to argue, but after meeting her eyes for a moment, he nodded.  “I’m not staying away, though.  Don’t even try to tell me to.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Of course, Emma had been about to say that, but she knew the look on Henry’s face.  Telling him to stay away from her would only make him _more_ likely to come around, which meant she’d just have to avoid him where she could.  _And get this damned thing over with as fast as I can._

Nimue’s laughter was faint in her mind.  _Good luck with that._

* * *

 

“You’re acquainted with my great-nephew, aren’t you?” Arthur asked her unexpectedly.

Lily blinked.  “Killian, you mean?”

“Yes.”  Arthur’s lips pressed into a narrow line.  “He has grown quite close to Mordred, hasn’t he?”

“Um, I wouldn’t know.”  She knew that Killian had mentioned Mordred a few times—mostly as the less crocodile-like uncle—but she could _smell_ the direction this was going, and it wasn’t a good one.  Not for Killian, anyway.  Arthur had that look on his face, the one he wore when someone had offended him personally, and Lily didn’t want to drag her friend down into that mess.

_I’m really glad I’m not related to this shallow, self-serving king,_ she told herself, forcing a casual expression onto her face.  Lily had thought Arthur rather dashing and daring in the beginning, and had thought his romance with the Black Fairy quite interesting.  But now that she was in too deep to get out, she was starting to share her mother’s opinion on Arthur.  _As well as Mother’s opinion about his_ wife _, but the less thought about that, the better._ Arthur was dangerously vindictive, and she could already see that he was plotting against Mordred for taking his heart.  _And it doesn’t seem to matter that Mordred is his son…or that Killian is his great nephew._   Lily suppressed a chill with an effort.

“That’s too bad.”  Arthur frowned mightily, and then turned a calculating look on her.  “Why don’t you talk to him?  See how he feels about Mordred.  Tell him that a time will come when he will have to choose sides, and if he truly _does_ want the Dark One back as his love…well, that can be arranged.”

“I, uh, don’t think he’s still looking at Emma like that.”  Lily barely managed to say the words around the way her stomach was rolling in disgust; she was no kindly fairy, but even she felt sickened at the implication that Danns’ would force Emma into Killian’s bed in payment for his loyalty.  _At least I hope he doesn’t!_

“Ask him.  I doubt he’ll refuse.”

“I’ll bring it up, sure.” Sounding like she didn’t care was hard, but it wasn’t like she could just roast Arthur for being a jackass.  That tactic didn’t really work against other dragons, after all.

“Good.”  Arthur glanced away, clearly deep in thought, and Lily tried not to sigh in relief.

Her mother was right.  They really were mixed up with the wrong crowd, but how the _hell_ were they supposed to get away from the dangerous crazy people without getting killed?

* * *

 

“I don’t need you any more, sister.”

The words startled Blue out of her reverie, and her head jerked up to notice that her sister had—again!—appeared inside her room.  Her _prison_.  Only after watching Danns’ smirk for a moment, however, did her sister’s words sink in, and Blue felt her heart leap into her throat.  She had never thought it would come to this.  Not between them.  They had been willing to hurt one another, yes.  She had exiled her sister multiple times, and Danns’ had tried to do the same to her.  But death?  No, they had never gone so far.  They were _sisters._   Still, she would not shy away from whatever her fate would be.  Not now.

“Have you lost your path so much then, sister?”  She rose slowly, cradling her right arm against her body.  The cut from the kris dagger still burned painfully, and her fingers didn’t want to work properly, but Blue would be brave.

“Lost my path?” Danns’ cocked her head, and then laughed.  “Oh, no.  I’m not going to kill you, Reul.  I’m letting you go.”

“You’re…you’re _what_?”

Danns’ shrugged.  “I don’t need you, and I’m not so monstrous that I would keep you here forever against your will.”  White teeth flashed in a dark smile.  “I don’t need to _exile_ you, after all.  Not with my bands blocking your magic.”

So much for the hope that Danns’ might remove them as well.  Blue knew what they were, knew that none of her fairies would be able to remove them.  It was possible that _no one_ would be able to do so; Emma’s Savior magic might have once done the job, but now that Emma was the Dark One and under Danns’ control, all hope of that solution was lost.  There was one other possibility, but it barely bore thinking of.

“I suppose not.”  Blue squared her shoulders, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

“Don’t look so terrified.”  Her sister laughed easily.  “You’re free to go.”

She felt her eyes narrow.  “On what condition?  I know you, Danns’.  You never give away anything for free.”

“I haven’t.  I got what I wanted from you: the location of my people, whom you have cruelly locked away for so long.  I need nothing else.”

Danns’ waved a hand, and suddenly, a door appeared in the wall closest to the bed Blue had just been sitting on.  It led directly outside, right into the backyard of the lovely house ‘Widow Morton’ had been given by the curse.  Blue had to resist the urge to bolt for it, to run as fast as she could and not look back.  Yet she couldn’t discount the possibility that her sister was merely playing with her, offering freedom only to take it away.  Yes, Danns’ always kept her promises—far more stringently than Blue herself did, even if Blue prided herself on only lying if it served the greater good—so the chances were that this was not a trap.

“Go, sister.  We will see one another again.”

“This is not over, Danns’.”  She had to say it.  She couldn’t just give in.  Not after so many centuries of fighting.  Blue would not admit defeat, even if she was helpless.  _For now._

“Of course it isn’t.”  Danns’ smile was almost sad.  “It never is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Six—“Traitor, Ye Are Trapt at Last,” in which Zelena faces the music for going after Belle, someone gets the drop on Danns’, Regina receives an unexpected visitor, Astrid tries to figure out what happened to Blue, Henry drops by to thank his grandfather, Lily and Killian have a heart to heart, and Emma apologizes to Regina.


	96. Traitor, Ye Are Trapt at Last

“You were right, you know.”  Rumplestiltskin waited until the next morning to tell Belle; he’d needed to be certain, but a good night’s sleep told him all he needed to know.

His wife turned to look at him with an arched eyebrow and a smile.  “This is news how?”

“Oh, very funny.”  He rolled his eyes, but Rumplestiltskin felt too good—too _alive_ —to complain overmuch.  After all, he should know better by now.  Belle was usually right, and arguing with her was foolish.

“Bae told me what you two talked about.”  Belle walked back over to where he sat on the bed, tying his shoes, sitting down and snuggling up next to him.  “And I can tell that you’re feeling better.”

That made his eyebrows rise.  “And you managed not to mention this last night?”

“Because I’m patient.”  Belle grinned.  “Sometimes, anyway.  I know you’re hardheaded enough that you have to work through things on your own from time to time.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Only to me.”  She leaned in to kiss him, though, which took any sting out of that knowledge—not that Rumplestiltskin really minded.  The openness in their relationship these days was no longer so terrifying—in fact, it was amazing.  Much to his surprise, Rumplestiltskin had found that sharing more than just his heart with Belle, sharing his very soul, brought them so much closer.  Every day he thought he couldn’t love her more…only to be proven wrong.

It was the best kind of wrong he’d ever experienced.

* * *

 

Her attempt to catch Belle three days before had failed.  How was she supposed to know that the little chit had _magic_?  Clearly, Rumple had been teaching her, and the nosy little librarian was suddenly a little bit dangerous.  She wasn’t a threat to Zelena, of course.  She _would_ have flattened Belle in three seconds flat if she hadn’t been so damned surprised.  But then Regina—damn her!—had intervened, and Zelena had been cautious enough to leave.  Failure had dogged her steps far too often lately, and Zelena had known that she needed to back off and regroup.  _Perhaps trying to take the Black Fairy’s granddaughter was a bit too ambitious._

Still, she wasn’t stupid enough to miss the fact that that the damage was already done.  Sooner or later, Danns’ would hear about her failed attempt, and Zelena had to be ready.  And _that_ meant that she needed significant power in her corner, which in turn meant she either needed the Greater Sapphire or Rumplestiltskin.  The later, of course, was more powerful…and far more _pleasurable_ of an idea.

Controlling Rumplestiltskin had been extraordinary, even when he’d only been the Dark One.  Now he was more, and that meant that binding him to a significantly magical object.  She already had one in mind; Zelena had brought the Love Magnet from Oz and hidden in Storybrooke after the Second Curse.  It would do perfectly, provided she could force Rumplestiltskin to submit to the spell in the first place.  _And then I can_ make _him love me, too.  That’ll make the little librarian green with envy!_   The very thought was enticing, though Zelena thought that trying to take Belle a second time might be a bad idea.

Perhaps she should turn to Rumplestiltskin’s little brat instead.  Baelfire had always been—

_Crash._

The door of her farmhouse burst open, flying off its hinges and blowing down the hallway in several pieces.  Power reverberated through the house, making the hairs on the back of Zelena’s neck stand up straight.  Wheeling around, she turned just in time to see a black and silver ball of fire racing towards her, too fast for Zelena to dodge.

The magic hit her hard, burning the edges of her hair and making Zelena scream in pain.  Her back slammed against the wall even as she struggled to catch herself, and when she tried to twist away from the swirling wall of fire, she found herself unable to move.  Then, much to her surprise, the spell freed her, leaving Zelena panting and struggling to call up enough of her own power.  _I can’t fight this battle now.  I have to find a better time and place to do it._   She knew who had attacked her before Danns’ even came around the corner, of course; Zelena wasn’t an idiot, and she knew when she was outmatched.

“Did you think I would not find out that you tried to kidnap my granddaughter?” Danns’ spoke so softly that Zelana almost couldn’t hear her, but the words were like ice.

“Of course not.  I’m not an idiot.  I wasn’t going to _hurt_ her.  I just wanted her husband.”  The truth was less damaging than a lie, she figured. 

Though judging from the way Danns’ eyes narrowed, the truth wasn’t helping her much.  “Do you think that will save you?”

“No, but _this_ might!” Yanking the vial out of her pocket, Zelena threw its contents at Danns’ as hard as she could—and then teleported away just as Danns’ began turning to marble.

Using the Liquid of Petrifaction had always been a last resort, but Zelena wasn’t stupid enough to save it _now_.  She doubted that an original power could be kept as a marble statute for long, but she would take advantage of the time she had.  She would have to act quickly, but once she had Rumplestiltskin under control, no one would be able to stop her.  Even Danns’ wouldn’t be able to; Zelena’s power combined with Rumplestiltskin would be far too much for even the Black Fairy.  So, Zelena arrived in the woods with a smile, already plotting and planning.  She knew what she needed to do.

And the first thing on her list of things to do would be to finally force Rumple to kill his little wife.  It was about time.

* * *

 

“So, how are you feeling?” Belle sat down next to Regina’s bed, looking at the other pregnant woman with a smile.  Regina was sitting up, but she was still pale and looked more than a little miserable.  She could tell that Regina had been healed—even if she hadn’t trusted Rumple, she could _see_ it—but Belle was beginning to understand that pregnancy often wasn’t logical in how it made you feel.

Or, perhaps more specifically, pregnancy was _never_ logical with how it reacted to magic.

“Like I was run over by a bus named Emma Swan.”  Regina scowled.  “But you don’t need to check on me.  Your husband already did the hard work.”

Once, Belle might have bristled over how Regina was trying to brush her off, but she thought she knew the other woman well enough to understand that Regina was angry at _herself_ more than anyone else.  So, Belle just shrugged the scowl off.

“He said Emma called him.”  She thought Regina needed to know that, and knowing Rumplestiltskin, he’d forgotten to tell her.  Belle loved her husband dearly, but sometimes, his desire to play his cards close drove her insane.

“She _did_?  Seriously?”

“I don’t think she wanted to attack you.”  Belle gestured at Regina’s stomach.  “Any of you.”

Regina’s face went dark, and her hands immediately went to her belly, touching gently but protectively.  “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No, but it does put things in perspective.”

“If you’re this maddeningly optimistic and understanding _all_ the time, I can see why Rumple threw you out the first time,” Regina grumbled.

Belle just snorted.  “As if you had nothing to do with _that_.”

Regina’s head jerked up, and for a moment, aggressive magic swirled in the air as their gazes met.  Then, Regina sighed heavily.  “Yeah, you have a point.”

“It’s the past,” Belle said more gently.  “You’re a different person, now.  So is Rumplestiltskin.”

She didn’t need to mention the fact that Regina had ripped her heart out not too many months earlier; that really was water under the bridge, now.  Belle hadn’t let Regina off easily for that little stunt, but she could see that Regina had genuinely changed since then.  Regina had _learned_ from that, and from Belle’s initial refusal to forgive her.  They’d moved on from that, and Belle wasn’t going to hold a grudge so long as Regina didn’t regress.

“Will you—oh, nevermind.”  Regina shook her head quickly, looking embarrassed.

Belle cocked her head curiously.  “Will I what?”

“Just, um, thank him.  For me.  He didn’t have to save me.”  Regina looked away, swallowing.  “I knew what I was doing.”

“So did he.”  Belle didn’t see any reason to mention that using that kind of magic had gone badly for Rumplestiltskin until very recently; she knew that he didn’t like sharing that kind of information.  And it wasn’t really important.  “He really does care for you, you know.  Rumple’s not so good at saying it, but he looks at you as the daughter he almost had.”

Regina didn’t seem to know what to say to that.  Her eyes went wide as saucers, and she stared at Belle with something akin to fear—and longing.  _They really are so much alike sometimes.  They both want love, and they’re always so afraid that it’ll be taken away._   There had been times when Belle really did wonder if Regina _was_ Rumplestiltskin’s daughter, but she knew that Rumple would never have let his own daughter cast the curse.  He would have moved heaven and earth to protect Regina from that kind of heartbreak, had she been his.  It was sad, in a way—things might have been very different if Cora had made that deal with Rumplestiltskin.  _But I would probably never have met him, either, and I can’t argue with anything that brought this love into our lives._

“I, um…” Regina gulped, and Belle reached out to put a hand on her arm to stop her from floundering.

“I’ll tell him you said thank you.”

“Good.”  The older woman grimaced.  “Thank you, I mean.  I’m bad at saying that.”

Belle laughed lightly.  “It’s all right.  Now, do you have any cravings I can help with?  I can only imagine how it is to be stuck in bed, and since Robin is on patrol, I thought I would offer to help.”

“Seriously?  You might be my new favorite person.”  Regina snorted.  “I’m supposed to be past the cravings stage, but I really want— and don’t you dare laugh!”

“I promise not to.”

Regina sighed again, shrinking into the bed like she wanted to be very small.  “I would really love some fried green tomatoes.  I _hate_ the things…but I want them.”

“I’ll go see Ruby,” Belle promised with a smile, and headed out to do just that.

* * *

 

“Blue!  You’re back!”  Astrid had been visiting the convent to check on the other fairies, and she’d happened to walk by as the door to Mother Superior’s office opened.  She’d invited Tink to come with her, but Tink seemed to be happy staying on the _Jolly Roger_ —as well as spending time with her new and unexpected mentor, Morgan of Cornwall.  Astrid had expected the trip to be a quick one, but seeing Blue made her skid to a stop.

Of course, that made her bump into a bookcase, which she nearly knocked over, but she somehow managed to catch it—and herself—before either hit the floor.  _I’m getting better!_ she thought triumphantly.  Leroy would be proud.  He was always telling her that she was less clumsy when she felt more self-confident, and she was really starting to believe him.

“Yes.  I am.”  Blue seemed a little uneasy, just for a moment, until her typically calm expression took over.  “Of course I am.  Has everyone been all right in my absence?”

“Mostly, I think.  Jade has been running things while you were, um, gone.  But I haven’t been paying too much attention, really.  I just came by to bring some pies that Ruby showed me how to cook.”

Astrid was pretty sure that Blue wouldn’t like the idea that she’d actually taken a _job_ at the diner, so she didn’t mention that.  As things stood, the faint look of displeasure was already starting to color the senior fairy’s face.  “I see.”

“Tink’s free!” She needed some sort of news to share, and she was fairly sure Blue didn’t know that.  “She’s not staying here anymore, though.”

“Rather like you,” Blue said pointedly.

“Well, um, yes.  Though she’s not living with Leroy.”  Astrid felt herself blushing, which was kind of ridiculous.  She _loved_ Leroy, and they had started talking about having a spring wedding. 

“I imagine not.”

“But everyone’s been safe.  No one else has disappeared since that terrible Nuckelavee got sucked into the Sorcerer’s Hat—no one except you, anyway.”  She blinked hard, putting her thoughts into order.  “We’ve all been so worried about you!  Where have you been?  Are you all right?”

“I am fine, thank you.”  Blue’s expression closed off.  “I was merely indisposed.”

“Was it the Black Fairy?” Astrid couldn’t imagine anyone else who could trap Blue, or at least not anyone except Rumplestiltskin.  And she didn’t think the former Dark One would have done that, not these days.  He’d been so nice when she and Leroy had gone to talk to him about mortgage options and buying a house last week.   _Or at least nice for him, anyway._   Belle had been wonderfully encouraging, though.

“That is not your concern, child.”

“But if she’s capturing fairies again—”

“Again, Nova, that is _not_ your concern.  Leave it be,” Blue cut her off primly, and Astrid felt herself deflate.

“I’m sorry.  I just want to help.”

“I know you do.”  Blue smiled more gently.  “You can help most by finding the Jade Fairy for me, please.  I would like to speak to her about how she has managed in my absence.”

Nodding, Astrid tried to hide how it hurt to be dismissed like that.  She knew that she wasn’t the cleverest of the fairies, or the most experienced, but at least Blue could have been _nice_ to her.  Then again, if Blue had been nice and supportive, she never would have moved out to live with Leroy in the first place—or at least not so happily.  _Maybe I should ask for lessons from Morgan, too.  I bet she’d teach me more than Blue ever has_.

With that thought, she did as she was bid and sent Jade to Blue.  Then Astrid headed out to the docks to find Tink and ask her if she thought Morgan would teach her, too.

* * *

 

“You do look better.”  Morgan cast a critical eye over him that Rumplestiltskin would have found offensive, not too many months ago.  Now, however, he accepted it as par for the course.  She _was_ his mother, after all.

“It’s a little…touchy sometimes, but I do feel better.”  The act of accepting who he was, of _true_ acceptance, had made the weakness and pain vanish almost immediately, but there were moments of doubt where Rumplestiltskin started to wonder.  He had spent his entire life waiting for the next catch, for the next seemingly logical choice of his to turn out _wrong_.  Experience told him that everything would turn upside down soon.  It had to.

Yet here he was, the Sorcerer.  He had closed a wild portal, arguably saving an entire town—maybe even more realms than just this one.  Rumplestiltskin had done something _right_ , something huge, and he felt good about it.  At the time, he’d felt the price was worth paying.  Even afterwards.  Now…now with that price fading and no giant catastrophe following hard on its heels, he was starting to wonder if it might be all right to be happy with what he had done.  _Bae and Belle are proud of me._   The thought was a new one, and it made his heart swell in his chest. 

And the idea that Morgan, too, might be proud of him was almost as wonderful, even if it was a tad more unsettling.

“You married an exceptionally clever woman.”  Morgan’s smile was definitely approving.  “I never would have thought it was so simple, but then, I do not know you nearly as well as she does.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged a little uneasily.  The fact that his mother hadn’t been there for so much of his life was a topic generally left unspoken between them; he understood her reasoning, even if he didn’t particularly agree with it.  The fact that Morgan clearly felt guilty was what held back any feelings of bitterness on his part, too.  After all, she was hardly the only parent in this room who had abandoned a child.

“I…I’m not used to being like this,” he admitted after a long moment of silence.

“And it makes you uncomfortable,” she finished for him.

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “I’ve lived in darkness for so long that I’m not sure how to be someone who…someone who’s expected to be _better_.”

Morgan snorted.  “Why do you think I never argued being cast in the ‘evil sorceress’ role?  It’s easier, and far more realistic.  When you play hero, you get sucked up in all those heroic conventions, and then you _lose_.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked, unable to quite wrap his mind around what she was saying.  “Are you saying I shouldn’t try to help people?”

“Of course not.  I’m saying you shouldn’t shoehorn yourself into some narrow little box of being a hero.  Use your grit, and your darkness, if you need it.  You’re a realist.”  She chuckled.  “For all we tell stories about perfect heroes winning, it’s usually the realists who survive.”

“You’re saying it’s not one or the other.”

“I’m saying that labels like hero and villain are stupid,” Morgan said bluntly.  “I thought you would have learned that from the fiasco with that little alternate world Isaac wrote.”

Rumplestiltskin flushed.  Involvement in that hadn’t been one of his finer, or even his most intelligent, moments.  But he’d been desperate, and out of choices.  In the end, everything he’d been trying to prevent had still almost come to pass, and the darkness _still_ hadn’t been destroyed.  Glancing down at his hands in shame, he gestured a little helplessly. 

“People are just people.”  Morgan’s voice turned gentle, which made him look up.  “We all do good or bad things.  There’s no _right_ way to be a ‘hero’.  You don’t have to let go of being you just so that you can be a better man.”

“I think Baelfire more or less shoved that down my throat, yes.”  He managed a crooked smile.

“Then _listen_ , you hard headed boy.”  She chuckled fondly, though, and Rumplestiltskin found his smile growing more genuine.

Much to his surprise, he chuckled.  “I think I’m learning to.  In fact—”

“You in there, Grandpa?” Henry’s voice came from the hallway, suddenly interrupting their conversation by bursting through the door.

“It would appear to be the case, yes,” he replied dryly.  Henry, of course, only grinned, breezing in like he lived in the house.  Not that Rumplestiltskin minded; the fact that his grandson felt comfortable enough to intrude was actually something of a blessing.

“Oh, hi, Morgan.  I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” 

“Not really, no,” Rumplestiltskin replied, just as Morgan chuckled:

“Not unless you count me knocking some sense into your grandfather’s thick skull.”

Henry frowned.  “It’s probably mean to hit in him in the head again, after Mom and the snow globe and all.”

“Yes, that would be unaccountably cruel.”  Morgan rose, pausing to squeeze Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder on the way by.  “I will leave you two to talk.  Mordred is waiting for me, anyway.”

“Give him my regards.” Rumplestiltskin could even say those words about his brother without any rancor.  He and Mordred would probably always be too much alike—excepting Mordred’s incredibly inbred snobbery—but he didn’t hate him.

“Of course.”  Morgan gave Henry a smile, and then left Rumplestiltskin alone with his grandson. 

“What brings you by today, Henry?  I thought you were going to spend the afternoon with your father.”

“I am!  He’s just fixing my computer, so I came by to say thank you.  For healing my mom.”

Rumplestiltskin’s heart did a strange flutter.  “You don’t have to thank me for that, Henry.  Regina…Regina is family, through you.”  Saying that was easier than explaining his own complicated relationship with Henry’s adopted mother.  “And besides, you already thanked me.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say it twice.”  Henry shrugged, and then shifted a little uneasily.  “I mean it, too.”

“I know you do, lad.”  Rumplestiltskin gave him a small smile in return.  “And I’m willing to bet that you’re also here because you’re worried I’ll not help Emma after that little stunt with the snow globe?”

“I’m, um…”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll still help her.  I know better than anyone that the Dark One makes bad choices.  I think I can forgive her a few.”

The old Rumplestiltskin would have held a grudge for what Emma had done, but Henry’s blazing smile made being a different man completely worth it.

* * *

 

Lily caught up with Killian on the docks, just a few minutes after she watched the blonde-haired fairy nod to him and walk away.  _Does he have a thing for blondes?_  That thought made her uneasy, particularly after her conversation with Arthur the day before.  Lily was everything but blonde and light; even with only her own innate darkness, she knew that she still leaned towards the darker edge of any spectrum.  And she was fine with that, really; it was who she was, and now that the worst of all luck didn’t dog her every step, Lily was content to live her life.

She just didn’t want to have to live it alone.  Was that so wrong?  Yeah, she’d started pursuing Killian because he was _Emma’s_ , and it would have felt damned nice to take something away from the all-too-perfect Savior.  But now he wasn’t, and now Lily had gotten to know him a little bit.  He was like her; stained by darkness and trying (more than her) to be better.  He’d done bad things and didn’t really regret them, and Killian understood what it was like to walk roads good people feared to tread.  He could be vindictive and nasty, even petty sometimes.  Lily appreciated that, because she knew her own mean streak was pretty damned wide, and it was nice to hang out with someone in this town who didn’t look at her like she was the devil incarnate.

“Hey.”  Suddenly feeling awkward, Lily stopped, trying not to fidget.  Fortunately, Killian turned to face her right away.

“Lily.  What brings you all the way out here, love?”

_Love._ She knew it was just a word to him, but she wanted to let it make her heart leap, just a little.  But that was stupid, so she squared her shoulders.  “Arthur was asking about you.  I thought you might want to know.”

“About me?  Why?”

“He wanted to know if you were close with Mordred.  I don’t know why, but I think he’s planning something.  Something dangerous.”

“I wish that was a surprise.”  Killian sighed, glancing around.  “Did he say anything  about what he wanted?”

“Allegiance, I think.”  Lily took a deep breath, and then decided to tackle the point head on.  “He offered up Emma.  Said you could have her if you ally with him.”

Killian jerked back so fast that Lily almost thought she’d slapped him.  “He _what_?”

“He offered—”

“Does Arthur really think that he can offer up Emma like bone to some good dog?” his snarl cut her off with enough force that Lily backed off a step.  “Does he think I’d accept anything like that?  I may have been a pirate, but I wouldn’t want _any_ woman to be my slave, let alone Emma Swan.”

“He’s not really good with the consent thing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  Lily wasn’t sure if Arthur had ever been guilty of anything on that front, but the man knew that his wife had kept Jefferson as a sick kind of pet.  Arthur wasn’t stupid, and he _had_ to know what had been happening there.

“Aye, I noticed.”  Killian’s scowl was deep. 

“You, uh, don’t want her then?”  It probably wasn’t the most diplomatic thing Lily could say, but she needed to _know_.  She’d never been able to compete with Emma, and even as the Dark One—even enslaved by a crazy fairy—Emma could have the upper hand where Killian was concerned.

“Not like _this_.”  His blue eyes narrowed, and then Killian sighed.  “And not now.  Not if she doesn’t want me.  I thought…I thought she was my happy ending, that I couldn’t live without her.  It appears I was wrong.”

Lily swallowed far more noisily than she wanted to.   “Does that mean she’s not your happy ending?”

“I think not.”  Killian gave her a strange look, and Lily tried a casual shrug.  It came off awkward and mechanical, but he didn’t seem to mind.  “Emma…Emma was like a shining light, telling me that I _could_ be better, particularly if someone so good saw that in me.”

She couldn’t help snorting.  “She’s hardly _good_ these days.”

“As we’ve all noticed.”  He glared; she winced.  Nothing was going right; Lily couldn’t manage to make _any_ words come out the way she wanted them to.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s…all right.  It took her being something other than the Savior for me to notice what should have been in front of me all the while.  I wasn’t in love with Emma.  I was in love with what I thought she was.”

“Oh.  So, now you’re looking for someone like that.  Someone like the Savior.”  Lily tried not to sound disappointed; it made sense.  Killian was willing to be her friend, though, and maybe she should be content with that.

He shook his head.  “No.  I realized that I shouldn’t depend on someone else to make me better.   And who I am shouldn’t depend on who I’m with.”

“You’re saying you should just be yourself.” 

“Aye.  Perhaps a better man, but I am who I am.”

“And who’s that?” Lily couldn’t help asking.

“Devilishly handsome and irresistibly charming?”  He winked.

Laughing, she smacked him in the arm.  “I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

Just like that, the awkwardness dropped out of their conversation, and the next Lily knew they were laughing together.  It wasn’t some huge romantic breakthrough, but at least she knew that Killian wasn’t interested in pursuing Emma any longer.  Maybe that meant she had a chance.  Maybe that meant she didn’t.  Maybe, just maybe, she’d walk away if she didn’t like the way things went.  That didn’t matter at the moment.  What really mattered was that she wasn’t about to become some rebound or stand in second place to _anyone_.  She liked Killian, and he’d really helped her put some things about her life in perspective.  For now, that was enough.

* * *

 

Mal was really starting to get sick of jumping when Arthur said jump.  Danns’ was bad enough, but at least _she_ was frighteningly powerful, and had kept her promises.  Arthur, on the other hand, made eyes at her like she should be honored to jump into his bed—which she hadn’t, wouldn’t, and _wasn’t_ —and demanded everyone pay court to him like he was the real power in play.  He was as egotistical as he was shallow, though Mal could see why Danns’ had chosen him.  He was smart enough to get the job done, but dense enough to believe he really could be the equal of history’s darkest and most powerful faery.  _And now he’s calling me to Zelena’s farmhouse for_ what _, exactly?_   If Mal hadn’t been certain he’d rat her out to Danns’, she would have flat out refused to come.

Unfortunately, Danns’ took any slight on her husband rather personally, which meant Mal teleported herself out to the farmhouse, hoping that she’d at least get to roast the obnoxious witch a little.  Alas, Zelena was nowhere in sight.

Instead, she found herself faced with a very marbleized version of the Black Fairy.  Which would have been funny were the rage on Danns’ expression so very dangerous—and the magic in the air _so_ very thick.  It made her breath catch, and made her miss whatever petulant thing Arthur said in greeting.  _I suppose I should give him a little credit for caring about his wife, though it does beg to wonder: does he care about her personally, or because she’s the only thing that gives him power?_

“What _happened_?” Arthur said the words like he’d already asked once, but Mal ignored the urgency in his tone.

She cocked her head, studying the statue.  “Liquid of Petrifaction, I think.”

“She was gone all night!  She came out here and never returned.”  Arthur was almost pacing, and Mal found it terribly amusing.

“I can tell.  Zelena clearly got the better of her.”  There was a first time for everything, Mal supposed.  And Zelena was smarter than she had previously given her credit for being in not trying to kill Danns’ without a secondary power.  _If she’s_ really _bright, she’ll have found a way out of this realm and thereby saved her life.  For a time._

“Fix her.”

Maleficent finally turned to face Arthur.  “I beg your pardon?”

“You pledged your allegiance to us.  Now _fix_ her,” Arthur snarled, and something inside Maleficent snapped.

Two quick strides forward, and she had Arthur by the throat, shoving him against the wall and tightening her grip roughly.  “I don’t owe _you_ anything,” she hissed.  “I could kill you now and blame it on Zelena.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?” She chuckled softly.  “I am not some toady you can order about.  I agreed to ally with _the Black Fairy_ because she could free my daughter from the darkness that those nauseating heroes stuffed into her, and I have been loyal because your _wife_ kept her word.  But don’t mistake that for loyalty to you.”

“I am the King of—”

“Of nothing.”  Mal smiled sweetly.  “And while you’re at it, keep my daughter out of your little games, too.  We will help when the Queen of the Fae asks, but no more.”  She let him go, enjoying the way he coughed hoarsely.  “But of course I will turn her back.  I would be a very poor ally otherwise, wouldn’t I?”

Arthur glared, but she turned away from him with her smile still in place.  There was no reason to mention that the spell wouldn’t hold Danns’ for more than another day or so; Arthur clearly couldn’t tell, and it behooved Mal to stay on Danns’ good side.  _Having her in my debt might save my life_ , _even.  Or Lily’s._   Mal couldn’t scrape up a secondary power quickly enough to kill her, anyway, which meant she might as well save her.

So, she banished the magic holding Danns’ as a marble statute, and accepted the surprisingly gracious thanks she was offered.  Arthur complained, of course, but Danns’ laughed that off.  Mal didn’t miss the fire lurking in the other woman’s eyes, of course, but she knew it wasn’t aimed at her.  Zelena, on the other hand…well, if Zelena was foolish enough to remain in Storybrooke, she was doomed.

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t expected to run into Emma Swan as she walked down Main Street.   All she’d wanted was lunch after spending half the day in her office at town hall.  Robin had tried to talk her into staying home, of course, saying that she’d been in a coma not two days earlier, but Regina had been too full of energy to stay put.  Besides, the little one seemed to be swimming laps this morning, and Regina was starving, which meant a quick trip to Granny’s was in order.  However, instead of a nice pasta salad, she wound up with the Dark One.  Emma looked unhappy, but that was no indicator of who was in control of Regina’s friend; she’d looked unhappy when she’d damn near killed Regina and Robin just a few days earlier.  In fact, she’d seemed just this miserable then, which made Regina take a step back and start calling defensive spells to mind.

“I’m not here to fight.”  Emma held her hands up placatingly, but Regina didn’t let her guard down.

“Yeah, and you and I both know that the Black Fairy can make you say that.”  Regina scowled.  “So save it, okay?  I’m not in the mood.”

“I get it.”  Emma looked like she was trying not to growl in frustration.  “You don’t trust me.  I—”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, you idiot.  I know you didn’t choose to attack us, but it _happened_.  And unless there’s some foolproof way of knowing if you’re the one driving at any given moment, I’m going to be damned wary.”

That made Emma flinch a little.  “There isn’t,” she said quietly.

“I know.”  Regina tried to sound reassuring, but the effort was doomed to failure.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Says the woman who almost killed herself to fix my mess.”

“Says the woman who _took_ that darkness on to save me,” Regina shot back.  “I’m not going to forget that I could be in your place, Emma, so if you’re here to have me hate on you, try harder.”

“No.”  Emma shook her head.  “I, um, came to apologize.  For what it’s worth.”

“Oh.”  Regina wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“I know you can’t trust me right now.”  Emma’s voice went very quiet.  “But I wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re all right.”

“You called Rumple.”

Emma just nodded.

“Thanks, then.  You…saved me.  _Again._ ”  That last bit burned, but Regina put it aside.  She hated needing saving, but friends were friends.  “I know that she couldn’t have been happy with that.”

“Probably not.”  Emma shrugged.  “It hasn’t come up yet.  I’m kind of hoping it won’t.”

“Yeah, I can see that wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation.”

Emma grimaced, but before she could open her mouth to say anything else, Zelena suddenly appeared in front of them, bursting out of a cloud of green smoke. 

“Regina, you have to help me!  That crazy bitch is trying to kill me!”  Zelena’s eyes were wild, more unhinged than Regina had ever seen her—and that was saying quite a lot.

“Why should I help you?  You’ve done everything you can to make everyone I care about miserable.  And then some.” 

Zelena was her sister, of course.  That should mean something.  But Zelena had also raped Robin, kidnapped Roland, tried to kill Henry, enslaved Rumplestiltskin, and—oh, the wicked list went on and on.  Regina had saved Zelena from death more than once, and for what?  Now Zelena came to her for help, and why?  _Because she knows I can’t stand by and let her die, no matter what she’s done.  It’s not what good people—what family—does._

“Because she’s going to _kill_ me!  Don’t you care at all?”  Zelena sneered, but what caught Regina’s attention was the way that a slight mist of blood sprayed out of her lips as she spoke. 

“Of course I care,” Regina snapped, hating being put on the spot like this.

“I don’t,” Emma cut in, looming forward dangerously.  “As far as I’m concerned, this town would be better off without you.”

“Emma!”

“I can’t—I can’t—”

Zelena was starting to shake dangerously, and she swayed precariously even as Regina watched.  Instinctively, Regina stepped forward to help, only for Emma to grab her before she could touch her sister.

“What the hell?”

“Look!” Emma gestured at Zelena.  “There’s magic all over her.  It’s already at work.”

And it was.  There was darkness inside and outside Zelena, eating her alive from the inside out.  Something was _burning_ her up, something toxic and fatal…and more than a little contagious.  It clearly hurt like hell, too; Regina could see Zelena starting to convulse.  Tears were starting to form in her eyes, and for once, Regina didn’t think that her sister was crying wolf.

“Help me get it off her, then.”

Emma grimaced.  “I can’t.  I can’t act against _her_ interests.”

* * *

 

Belle and Morgan had also been making their way towards Granny’s; they’d met earlier for a little shopping, and now Belle wanted to introduce her mother-in-law to her friend.  She was fairly sure that Morgan and Ruby had met, of course, but she really did think they’d like one another if they took the chance to become friends.  They both had dry senses of humor, and Ruby was more than a little sharp around the edges.  Morgan would like that, and—

Then Zelena appeared on the other side of the street, making all pleasant thoughts vanish from Belle’s mind.  They were close enough to hear most of the exchange between Regina, Zelena, and Emma, so after exchanging a glance, Belle and Morgan walked over.  Immediately, Morgan held a hand up to keep Belle from getting too close.  But there was no need.  Belle could already feel the magic wrapping around Zelena, and she could recognize her grandmother’s handiwork easily enough.  This wasn’t like Danns’ had used to attack Morgan, but it _was_ dangerous.  And it was killing Zelena.  Slowly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Morgan cut in as Regina growled in frustration.  “Even if we all worked together, it would be too late.  Only Danns’ magic could save her now.”  Morgan shrugged diffidently.  “Or True Love’s Kiss, but I don’t see anyone volunteering for that.”

“It’s not my fault!” Zelena whirled on them, glaring at Belle.  “If you’d only cooperated, I wouldn’t _be_ in this situation!”

“And let you enslave my husband _again_?” Belle snorted, most of the pity she’d felt vanishing.  “Stop before you dig yourself in even deeper.”

“That doesn’t mean I deserve to die!”

“No, it doesn’t.” Belle took a deep breath, shoving her anger aside.  Zelena certainly deserved punishment, but that didn’t mean she deserved a slow and painful death.

“Yes, it does.”  The new voice made them all turn, particularly Zelena, whose eyes went wide— _wider_ —with panic.  Belle, however, wasted no time in.

“Grandmother, stop this.  Please.”

Danns’ blinked, stopping a few feet away from where they all stood and watching Zelena dispassionately.  “She tried to hurt you, Belle.  I will not stand for that.”

“And _I_ won’t stand for having someone die on my account!”

“I’m afraid that is not your decision to make.”  Danns’ shrugged as if Zelena’s death meant nothing, but before Belle could open her mouth to argue again, Zelena screamed in pain, falling to her knees.

“Stop it!” Regina started forward again, only to be caught by Emma.  “You’re torturing her!”

“Why, yes, I am.”

“Grandmother!”

Danns’ finally turned to face Belle, her expression mildly confused.  “Traitors will not be tolerated.  She sought to use you against me.  As you said, she wished to enslave your husband.  I have stopped her.”

“Yes, and now it can stop!”  Belle stared incredulously.  She’d known that Danns’ could be dark and dangerous, but she did believe that her grandmother actually cared for her.  Yet she was ignoring her wishes completely, as if Belle’s opinion did not matter at all.

“It will stop when she is dead.”

Zelena howled in pain once more.  “I feel like I’m melting!  Regina, please!  Help me!”

Shaking free of Emma, Regina lunged for her sister, only to be slammed back by a sudden wave of Danns’ hand.  That, in turn, goaded Belle into motion, and she stepped forward, shoving her grandmother’s arm down.

“If you harm _anyone_ else, I am done with you,” she grated out furiously.  “Now stop this before it’s too late.”

“It already is.”  Danns’ shrugged once again.  “Zelena will die soon enough, but I will spare your friend.”

Now wasn’t the time to mention that any friendship between Belle and Regina was rocky and ill-defined; Belle would own the former Evil Queen as a friend if that was what it took to save her life.  Still, Danns’ had to be lying about Zelena, didn’t she?  Desperately, Belle looked at Morgan, hoping there was some way to save Zelena.  _No one deserves to die in this much pain._

Morgan just shook her head silently.

“Grandmother—”

“No.  Do not argue with me, Belle.  I do not tolerate anyone threatening those dear to me.”  Cold green eyes zeroed in on Regina, who glared right back.  Belle stayed between the two.

“You wanted me to ally with you.  You wanted me on your side,” she tried one more time.  “Do you really think this is how you accomplish that?”

“I will always protect you,” Danns’ said instead of giving a straight answer, and Belle fought back the urge to scream at her.

“I’m not asking for your protection!”

“I’m melting.  Oh, god, I’m really melting.”  Zelena’s legs were all but gone, and Belle and the others watched helplessly as her skirt started liquefying as Zelena panted in pain.  The rest of Zelena followed in short order, melting into the street.

Belle felt like throwing up.

“I’m sorry, Regina,” Zelena whispered right before the end.  “I really am.”

“I know.”  Regina choked the words out, leaning brokenly on Emma.  “I forgive you.”

* * *

 

Danns’ walked away once her work was done, aware of the fact that Belle was glaring at her sickly.  Her granddaughter was unhappy, but Danns’ could live with that.  Zelena had tried to _hurt_ Belle.  If there was one thing that Danns’ would never tolerate, it was someone trying to hurt _her_ family.  Belle would understand in the end, and if she did not…well, Danns’ could live with that.

She doubted someone else would try that same trick, anyway.  Particularly with the puddle that had been Zelena decorating the sidewalk in front of Granny’s Diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Seven—“Ready to Break and Fly,” in which Belle fumes, Lily gets to know her father, Emma defends Bae from a surprising threat, Regina comes to terms with Zelena’s death, Danns’ prepares to free the fae, and the town’s magic users try to figure out how to stop her.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has kudos'd and left comments! It really means the world to me, and when I hit a rough spot, your kindness always helps me through.


	97. Ready to Break and Fly

“How could she think that I would _want_ that?” Belle knew that she’d held her reaction back for too long; she’d spent the previous night sullen and angry, stewing in her fury and struggling to understand.  She knew that Morgan had told Rumplestiltskin what had happened with Zelena, but Belle hadn’t touched the subject herself.

Partially because she was relieved.  On one hand, Zelena would never hurt her husband again.  Rumplestiltskin was finally free of the witch; Zelena couldn’t enslave him, couldn’t abuse him, couldn’t damn near kill him in a hospital room where no one friendly was around.  Belle knew without asking that Rumple was happy to hear of Zelena’s death, and she couldn’t blame him for that.  Not when the aftereffects of what Zelena had done still haunted him.  Belle didn’t want to make him feel guilty for being relieved, either; that wasn’t fair at all.  So, she’d tried to bottle up her feelings on the matter…until the words exploded out of her the next morning.

“She’s not thinking about what you wanted, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said with a wry smile.  “People who pursue power usually…don’t.”

That made her turn to look at him thoughtfully.  Belle could hear the heaviness in his voice, the years lost in the pursuit of power—and yet she knew that, even at his worst, Rumplestiltskin had always been capable of incredibly deep love.  Even when he’d been lying to her, using her as an alibi and an excuse, he’d always cared about what _she_ wanted.  _And when I asked him to_ stop _, he did.  Even when he wanted to kill—for his sake, not mine._   Taking a deep breath, Belle wrapped her arms around herself tightly and tried to smile.

“She said she would always protect me.  But I don’t _want_ that kind of protection—I handled Zelena just fine.”  She shook her head.  “I told Grandmother that I was done with her.”

“She’ll take that poorly, I expect.”

“I don’t care!”

“Sweetheart, I’m not saying that you should care.”  Rising, he came to her side, and Belle let Rumplestiltskin wrap his arms around her.  “Or that you were wrong.  Just that it’s something to keep in mind.  Your grandmother is…well, she’s already proven that she’ll do as she pleases unless she’s stopped.”

“And I chose my side already.”  Belle leaned into his shoulder, closing her eyes tightly.  “It just hurts to know that she doesn’t care what I think.  She says all these things about family, and then she ignores me.”

Rumplestiltskin just hugged her, and Belle finally let herself relax.  Belle had thought she’d had enough of selfish and neglectful love from her father—who was, finally, doing a little better in regards to accepting her choices and who she was—but her grandmother was far worse.  _I don’t doubt that she loves me, but I don’t think that means she’ll ever_ respect _me,_ Belle decided sadly.  In some ways, she supposed that made her own choices simpler; if Danns’ had wanted to pursue a meaningful relationship with her, Belle would be even more torn than she already was.  The way things stood, at least she could choose the right side without feeling too guilty.

Zelena might have deserved to die, but Belle would not forgive her grandmother for the way she had done it.

* * *

 

“Have you decided if you’re going to roast me or if we might have rather more cordial relations?”

As greetings went, that neatly walked the line between encouraging Mal to jump for _either_ of the aforementioned choices, and she supposed it did sum up her relationship with Tad rather succinctly.   Truth be told, she still hadn’t decided.  He was an attractive enough man, and even if she was still more than a little angry with him for the way he’d left, Mal had come to terms with that long ago.  They could have quite a bit of fun together, if they wanted to.  And maybe they would.  For now, she’d strolled up to the table Tad occupied at the Rabbit Hole, where they agreed to meet, and gave him her sharpest smile.

“I thought I’d introduce you to our daughter, but not if you want to have said _cordial_ relations in her presence.”

Tad blanched.  “I, uh, that is to say that I—”

“Give it up, Dad.”  Lily walked up beside her, all metaphorical claws and teeth, and Maleficent could have hugged her daughter then and there.  “Assuming I can call you that.”

“Do you want to?”  Tad looked like he had no idea what to say, and Mal didn’t mind the sight one bit.  Lily had taken the news surprisingly well—not that she’d kept it a secret from her daughter for a moment—and had decided to join Mal for her second meeting with Tad.

_However accidentally she was created, our daughter is a brilliant and strong young woman,_ Mal thought smugly.  _She’s my friend as much as she’s my daughter, and I love her more every day._ Without having someone else’s darkness shoehorned into her soul, Lily was surprisingly level-headed, too; she’d told her mother that she’d half-guessed that Tad was her father, and she wanted to meet him.  Mal had never even considered preventing her.

“Could be cool.”  Lily shrugged.  “You gonna invite us to sit down, or are we going to stand here like strangers?”

“Of course.  Sit down, please.”  Tad even rose like the gentleman he seemed to be—or to play—so Maleficent and Lily settled down into the two seats across from him.  His suave charm seemed to be somewhat lessened by Lily’s unexpected appearance, but Mal thought that might be good for him.

Typically, Lily went straight for the meat of the matter.  “So, Mom told me that you got stuck in a weird singing land, and you didn’t know I existed.”

“That fairly well explains it, yes.”  Tad’s smile was crooked.  “I recognized your mother as a dragon, but I…I did not know about you.  When we met, I felt that there was some sort of connection, but…”

“Yeah, it’s probably a good thing we found out now.”  Lily snorted.  “I kinda felt that, too, and it’s good to know before we did something stupid like dating, given how you were flirting and all.  This town has enough of that familial weirdness going on already.”

“Lily!” Mal almost choked on that one, but her daughter just grinned.

Tad, on the other hand, looked ready to die of embarrassment, which meant this conversation might turn out entertaining, after all.

* * *

 

Emma was pretty sure that she should be avoiding everyone and anyone, but that was a really lonely way to live life.  She’d done it for years, of course—and been damned good at it, too—but seeing Henry reminded her that she _had_ to keep herself rooted.  If she remembered who she loved and what she was fighting for, she could do this.  She might lose battles along the way, but Emma was determined to win the war.  That had become her mantra.

Unfortunately, Nimue didn’t always make things easier.  _Take me somewhere more interesting than your living room,_ the original Dark One had demanded, looking around Emma’s house with a sniff that said _she_ wouldn’t have chosen such a place.  Emma’s answer that Nimue would probably have preferred some ridiculous peasant’s hut had been met with outrage, and Nimue had refused to discuss plans and options for dismantling the darkness until Emma gave in and took her to the goddamned park.  There, at least, Nimue was willing to discuss the _idea_ of breaking apart the Dark Ones and setting them free—at least after Emma pulled her out and gave her physical form again, which Nimue seemed to like.  But of course, she wanted guarantees.

Guarantees that Emma really couldn’t give.

“How do I know that you don’t just want _your_ freedom, and that you’re not happy to leave the rest of us rotting in some hole for eternity?” Nimue’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Because I’m not like you,” Emma growled.  She’d had it.  Nimue had seemed helpful at first, or at least interested, but now she was throwing the brakes on. 

_Then again, this is all she knows, isn’t it?  She’s been the Dark One, living inside someone else’s mind, for centuries and centuries.  Trying something else has to be scary as hell._   Emma started to open her mouth, started to tell Nimue that she understood, at least a little, but then the first Dark One snapped back:

“No, you’re hardly worthy of being the Dark One.  Frankly, you’re a disappointment.  All this power at your fingertips, and the worst you did was—”

“Not worthy?” Emma snorted.  “Lady, I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass, but I don’t give a damn if I’m _worthy_ of being the Dark One.  I don’t want this power!  What I _want_ is to be free, and the only way to get that is to free all of you, too.”

“You forget that I can see into your mind,” Nimue hissed.  “I know you.  I know _all_ of you, and you’re not interested in what happens to the rest of us.  You’re only interested in yourself.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Emma found herself laughing.  “You really can’t see into my mind very well at all if you think that’s the truth.”

“You’re not—”

“Emma?  Everything okay?”

Whirling around, Emma found herself face to face with Baelfire.  He must have come around the bend while she wasn’t paying attention.  They were in the park, after all, and she knew that Bae liked to wander there from time to time.  He usually said that it gave him room to think, that after so long in the Vault of the Dark One, he sometimes needed a little reality.  _It’s either that or go panhandling in New York City,_ he’d said to her the last time he’d asked, with that crooked smile that she knew so well.  Bae—or Neal, as part of her would always think of him—was one of the most grounded people Emma had ever known.  He was _real_ in ways that the ‘fairy tale’ people in Storybrooke sometimes weren’t, rooted in a world that her family couldn’t ever really understand.  That _mattered_ to her, and it would always connect them.

“Yeah.”  Looking at his concerned expression made her smile a little, despite the way Emma could hear the darkness howling in the back of her mind.  “Everything’s fine.”

“ _You_ ,” Nimue hissed suddenly, and Emma’s head snapped around.

Bae just shrugged nonchalantly.  “Yep.  Great seeing you, too, Nimue.  I guess this is what you look like, huh?”

“You can _see_ her?”  Emma gaped.

“Guess it comes with the territory of sharing a body with my dad for an unfortunate bit.  Never seen her face, but the voice is kinda hard to forget.”

“And now I can touch _you_.”  Nimue started forward menacingly, her eyes full of bloodthirsty fire. 

“Don’t even think about it!”  Emma lunged between the two before Nimue could get too close.  “You will not _touch_ him.”

Nimue snickered.  “Protective, are we?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“I have a problem with _him_.”  Nimue stepped closer to Emma, but it was Bae she was glaring at.  “He should never have escaped the vault.  The price was clear, and he was the fool who offered himself.  He should have suffered there for eternity.”

“And now you’re angry that Merlin is paying that price instead.”  Just like that, everything made sense; Nimue’s boiling anger and the fury she directed at Bae had nothing to do with the fact that Bae knew the other Dark Ones better than anyone who hadn’t hosted this curse.  She had loved Merlin, and now Merlin was forever unreachable.

Nimue just glared.

“You know that if we’re going to unravel this, if we’re going to free all of you, it’s going to have to be via the Vault, right?”  Bae spoke up, making both Dark Ones look at him.  “That means Merlin will get his chance, too.”

“As if you care.”  Nimue’s eyes only narrowed further.

“Actually, I’m kinda partial to the guy.  He saved my life, and having spent time in that Vault, I can definitely say that he deserves better.”  Bae shrugged.  “Hell, you probably all do.  Emma can answer that one better than me, though.  Or my father could.”

The mention of Rumplestiltskin made Nimue hiss, but Emma just skewered her with a glare.  “Oh, get over it.  You don’t like the guy, fine.  He doesn’t exactly rub me the right way, either, but he’s the best chance we’ve all go.  So, either you’re going to work _with_ us so that we all get what we want, or you can just go back in my head and pout.  That’ll be a real good use of your time.”

Nimue glared, but Emma knew she had her.  She and Bae exchanged a triumphant glance, and he gave her that tiny shrug that said he was pleased and trying to hide it.  For a moment, Emma felt like they were teenagers again, teenagers with some grand and stupid plan that might just get them in trouble, but could work out really nicely if things went just right.  They’d done a lot of foolish things when they’d been young and in love, and while Emma didn’t quite miss those days—she did like the stability of a home and a family—she did miss the feeling of being able to take the world on.  _We used to believe we could get through anything, just so long as we were together._

Emma missed _that_.  But now wasn’t the time to reminisce; there was work to be done and plans to be made.  

* * *

 

“I must thank you for telling me about Zelena’s attack on Belle,” Danns’ said smoothly, placing a hand on Maleficent’s arm. 

The touch was gentle, but it still made Mal want to pull away.  It took everything she had to keep smiling like a dedicated little lackey, though.  _I don’t regret setting Zelena up to die, but her little melting spell was brutal._   Mal wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected, but she knew it hadn’t been that.

“I’m glad to have helped.  Belle is…a nice girl.”  Best not to mention that she, Cruella, and Ursula had kidnapped Belle years ago.  If Belle hadn’t told her own grandmother that, Maleficent was not about to put her own head up on the chopping block.

“Do you know her well?”

“No.”  Mal was not going to try to answer any questions Danns’ could have about Belle.  She was _not_ getting into this mess, not if Belle was half as angry as rumor said she was.  “I always knew Rumplestiltskin better.”

_I only knew that she meant enough to him to kidnap her to get the gauntlet, and even_ that _didn’t work out terribly well for us,_ she thought wryly.  Regina had mentioned that the Dark One had fallen for his maid, and the Queens of Darkness had taken it from there.  Gleefully.  _It’s undoubtedly better that no one tells Danns’ about that one._ Given how protective over Belle Danns’ was these days, that might very well end up with Maleficent’s death.

Or not.

“I also must thank you for returning me to my original form after Zelena’s little trick.”  Danns’ smile turned dangerous, though Mal didn’t think the poison was aimed at her.  “That was more clever than I gave her credit for.”

Mal shrugged as casually as she could.  “Even a fool gets lucky.” 

“I will not forget your actions.”  The Black Fairy inclined her head regally, finally pulling her hand away from Mal’s arm.  “You have my gratitude, and I do not forget debts I owe.”

“I’ll try not to need to remember that.”  She smiled wryly, but Mal already knew she’d need Danns’ gratitude before this war was done.  Even if she didn’t change sides—which Mal considered more heavily with every passing day—dangerous things happened in wars.

And she was _not_ going to let her daughter be a casualty of this one.

* * *

 

Her sister was dead, and Regina was discussing the topic in the car like it was a weather change.  The very idea was surreal, and yet…what the hell else was she supposed to do?  Regina didn’t even know how to _feel_ , let alone having any idea what to do with the situation.  Should she give Zelena’s melted remains a funeral?  A bonfire?  Put them in a bottle and keep them there, just in case some other long dead person came back from the grave and she needed to make sure it wasn’t Zelena impersonating someone else?  As a matter of fact, she had put what was left in Zelena in a little urn (a green and black one, of course; she knew Zelena would have hated another color combination), just in case.  But beyond that, Regina had no idea what to do.

“Are you all right with all of this, love?” Robin reached over to put a gentle hand over hers as the car slid to a stop at the traffic light.  He was driving, because he liked to and Regina found the way Robin loved chauffeuring her around town endearing, but that just gave her more time to brood.

“With going to Rumple’s?  Of course I am.  He’s not a problem, not these days.”  She knew what he was asking, but Regina wasn’t sure she wanted to answer.

“I mean with Zelena’s death.”

Regina let out a breath, wishing it wouldn’t shake so.  “I don’t know.  I wish…I wish we could have _talked_ before she died.  I think her apology was sincere, but now I’ll never know.”

“If she knew she was dying, I doubt even Zelena would have lied about that.”  His answer was quiet and logical, but Regina still felt…strange.

“I sometimes wonder if I should care,” she admitted in a whisper.  “Am I a bad person because of that?  Part of me mourns her, but a part of me is glad that this is finally over.  I wanted so much more, but she never…she never let go of her rage long enough to try.”

Robin squeezed her hand.  “I’m sorry you lost her before you had the chance to be sisters, ‘Gina.”

“But you’re kind of relieved she’s gone.”  Regina scraped up a crooked smile; she might mourn what could have been, but would never be able to forget what Zelena had done, either.

“There’s no kind of about it, to be honest.  I’m glad she won’t ever have the chance to endanger our child again, and I’m damned happy that I’ll never have to wonder whose face she’s wearing next.  But I’m still sorry, because she was your sister, and I love _you_.”

“I love you, too.”  That much, Regina knew with utter certainty.  She might never overcome her mixed feelings about her sister, and she’d never know what relationship they could have had if things had gone differently.  But Regina did know that she had an amazing family and a husband who she loved more than her own life.  And together, they would raise _their_ daughter…who would hopefully have the best parts of Regina’s sister, and none of the worst.

_I don’t care what tradition says.  We’re_ not _naming this daughter ‘Zelena’,_ Regina thought fiercely.  She didn’t need to say that to Robin; she knew he would want a unique name for their daughter, not a reminder of what Zelena had done to him.  And that was a good thing; Regina wanted her daughter to know that she was unique and loved for who she was, not because she was someone’s namesake. 

* * *

 

Everything was ready, or at least as ready as possible.  The map stretched before Danns’ did not detail every realm, but it did show her the path that needed taking.  She had thought briefly of ‘borrowing’ Jefferson and his Hat again, but the rules of the Hat were ironclad; the same number who went in must come out again.  Restricting those who could come to Storybrooke simply would not do, which meant she needed a way to travel there that did not depend upon her returning via the same method.  Danns’ did not have Merlin’s talent for creating doorways between realms, but she _did_ know how to build a bridge…if given sufficient power.

Of course, having the Dark One under her control and three realm-hopping dragons helped in that regard.  _Two dragons, by the end of this,_ she thought, studying the map.  But it should be enough.  Danns’ had spent three days on the calculations, and she knew what needed to be done.

“Almost ready, my love?”  Arthur’s voice intruded on her thoughts, and Danns’ turned to him without bothering to force a smile.  Arthur was growing less and less useful, and her fondness for him had become a millstone around her neck.

“Nearly so, yes.” 

“We have to decide what to do about Belle before we depart.”  Arthur looked manifestly unhappy, and the hangdog look was not a good one on him.  “She’s not fond of what you did to Zelena.”

“Nor are you, I take it?” Danns’ asked mildly.  “She must have been a terrific lover if you were willing to continue on for so long.”

Arthur scowled.  “I rejected her the moment she moved against you.”

“Of course you did.”  She patted his arm.  “I’ve never doubted your loyalty.” 

“I’m talking about our granddaughter, not Zelena.”  He glared at her.  “She’s not happy with you.”

“So she said, yes.”  Danns’ shrugged. “Belle will understand, in time.  And if she does not, once Storybrooke is under my control and all the realms are one, she will have no choice but to embrace who she is.”

“Under _our_ control, you mean.”  Arthur’s posture became very stiff, and Danns’ reminded herself to soften.  _The years where I did not have to play loving wife are looking more and more attractive now,_ she thought coldly. 

“Of course, dear.  You know I speak selfishly from time to time, but attempting to rule without a human at my side would be foolish.”  That was the reason for their original alliance, after all; Danns’ knew that humans did not want to be ruled by fairies or fae.  They were too proud for that.  _But if Arthur misses the obvious alternative to him…well, I will not point it out._  

Her words seemed to mollify him.  “It would be.”  Arthur looked thoughtful.  “I think we should press our advantage now.  I’ve made several local alliances, and there’s nothing to stop us from wresting control from Regina and David _before_ you free the fae.”

“It would be a waste of time.”  Her eyes drifted back to the map.  “And of resources.”

“Moving now would hardly delay us—”

“I mean to free the fae within days, Arthur.  Would you have me wait?”

“Of course not.  I just mean that I think I can take Storybrooke in that time.”  He met her eyes brazenly, and Danns’ smiled slightly.  There were times when she remembered why she’d chosen this man; Arthur’s charisma and strength had always attracted her as much as his flexible morals had.  

“Then by all means begin.”  She leaned in to kiss him softly, and felt Arthur’s smile against her lips.

Worst case, he would be distracted when the time came, which would prove useful.  Or, Arthur would succeed in taking control of the town, in which case she might very well return to her original plan.  She had taken the Stone of Giramphiel for a reason, after all.  Danns’ was perfectly happy to take and use the Greater Sapphire if Arthur’s plans worked well enough…or she would echo her sister’s sacrifice, and Arthur would do.

* * *

 

For once, they hadn’t mucked the meeting up with significant others, offspring, or sarcastic pirates.  As much as Morgan loved her grandson—and enjoyed his rather dirty sense of humor—Killian had no place in a discussion about magic.  Nor did any of the others who usually invited themselves to such meetings, and she was glad to see that her younger son had the sense to keep this gathering small.  Rumplestiltskin had only invited Regina, Mordred, and Morgan herself to this meeting, although of course Belle was in attendance.  But Morgan’s daughter-in-law was rapidly becoming a sorceress to be reckoned with, which meant she doubted Belle’s inclusion had anything to do with Rumplestiltskin’s rather wide sentimental streak.

“The only thing missing is Gleipnir,” Regina said after they’d all settled in, and Morgan felt her eyebrows shoot up.

Mordred got in first, though, looking both envious and shocked.  “Why did _you_ have Gleipnir?” 

Regina shrugged.  “I got it in a deal.”  Heads snapped around to look at Rumplestiltskin, but Regina added quickly: “Not with him.  From some two-bit trader who wanted me to rip someone’s heart out for him.  I think he’d stolen it.”

“And you never thought to ask _why_ he had the chain to achieve the impossible?” Morgan wanted to shake the girl, but Regina looked uncomfortable enough.

“I wasn’t exactly the sort to care in those days.”  Regina winced.  “It was an object of power.  That was all I cared about.”

Morgan opened her mouth to say something cutting, but then snapped it shut when Mordred and Rumplestiltskin both nodded understandingly.  She had been lucky, she supposed.  While Morgan had always danced in the gray area between ‘good’ and ‘evil’, she had been fortunate enough to never do more than dip her toes into full on villainy.  Yet, had things gone differently—particularly in Camelot—she probably would have found herself playing a role not far from Regina’s Evil Queen.  Once you started on such a road, Morgan knew that good decisions grew harder and harder to make.  And power grew more important than anything.

Neither of her sons argued, either, and given their disparate experiences, Morgan thought that might be an important sign to keep her mouth shut.  So, she did.

“Then I think the important thing to ask is why she would want Gleipnir at all.”  Belle spoke up softly, frowning.  “She has to be planning to trap someone she can’t hold by conventional means.”

“Will that chain hold a dragon, or is she just after you?”  Regina clearly wasn’t interested in being subtle as she looked between Mordred and Rumplestiltskin.

Mordred shrugged thoughtfully.  “She could hold me a variety of ways in human form, and it’s not impossible to stop the transformation, so I doubt it’s me.  Besides, I’m probably the target of the _last_ thing she had her pet Dark One steal.”

“Don’t call her that,” Regina snapped immediately.  Morgan turned to give her eldest an admonishing look, too, particularly after she noticed the slight _tick_ in Rumplestiltskin’s expression.

“Miss Swan is hardly a willing participant, Mordred,” she said softly.  “Danns’ has victimized her more than anyone.”

“Of course.”  Mordred looked a little rebellious, but he didn’t argue.  “My apologies.”

Regina snorted; Rumplestiltskin ignored the reference to his own time as an enslaved Dark One to glance Morgan’s way.  “Would it work, Mother?  You are more familiar with the depth of this power than I.”

“For a time, I expect.  You’d probably find a way around it, but the fact that she held Reul Ghorm for some time indicates that she has at least one other way of doing so.”

“She let Blue go.”  Belle grimaced.  “Astrid told me that she learned that much, though Blue won’t say more.”

“And if that isn’t ominous as hell, I don’t know what is.”  Regina gestured angrily.  “So, she has Gleipnir, and maybe something else.  We already know that she doesn’t want competition, and that means you’ve got to be her target, Rumple.  Particularly after you closed that conveniently wild portal.”

“Believe me when I say that there was nothing convenient about it,” he replied drily.  But his eyes were shadowed, and Morgan could see that the idea of being held prisoner hit him in all the wrong ways.

Belle clearly saw it, too, because she laid a gentle hand on his arm.  “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.”  Everyone in the room—probably even Mordred, as obtuse as he could choose to be sometimes—knew that was a lie, but no one called him on it.

“Well, knowing what she wants means we know how to stop her, right?”  Judging from her expression, Regina obviously didn’t to go anywhere near the land mine of discussing the emotional complications of Rumplestiltskin’s captivity, so she went straight for the jugular.

“Not exactly.”  Morgan hated being the one to dash their hopes, but she knew Danns’.  “These thefts and attacks might be merely intended to mislead us.”

“That attack nearly killed Robin and me!” Regina snarled.

“She doesn’t care about that.”  Morgan shrugged.  “She views Miss Swan as a tool to be used, either to accomplish her goals or to distract us whilst Danns’ does the real work behind the scenes.  Belle, you said that she let Reul Ghorm go.  Why?”

“Astrid didn’t know.  We can try asking.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Reul Ghorm is not likely to volunteer anything to anyone in this room.  Whatever her differences with her sister, we humans are ‘beneath’ her.”  His lips curled up in a sarcastic pantomime of a smile.  “She’s made that abundantly clear.  We’ll get no help from her.”

“Are you sure?” Mordred frowned thoughtfully.  “She offered me an alliance once, if I helped her.”

“You mean if you took my son’s heart.”  Regina’s glare was all teeth and claws.  “Let’s be clear on what Blue means by ‘help’.  She’s a sanctimonious bitch who sees nothing wrong with using a child, so long as _she_ doesn’t have to get her pretty little hands dirty.”

Mordred winced.  “Point taken.”

“What if she still does want to take Rumple prisoner?” Belle spoke up worriedly.  “If Gleipnir can hold him…”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Surprisingly, it was Rumplestiltskin who spoke, even though the same thoughts ran through Morgan’s mind.  Unsurprisingly, he glanced her way.  “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it, Mother?  Danns’ ultimate goal remains the same: she wants to collapse all the realms into one.  So, we need to counter _that_ , not any intermediate steps she may take.”

“Exactly.”  Morgan ignored the looks she was getting; she knew where Rumplestiltskin had inherited his propensity for being cold-blooded from, after all.  “She needs power, more than just that of her own and the Dark One.  Or her allies.”

“That damn chain won’t let her control anyone, will it?” Regina eyed the book in front of Belle warily; it was their best resource on Gleipnir, even if the book was maddeningly vague.

Belle just shook her head.  “No.  Gleipnir can chain the impossible, but not control it.”

“Well, that’s a something.  Can she leech power off of the thing?”

“I doubt it.”  Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin for concurrence before continuing.  “Most magical objects don’t double well as power sources.  They burn up too quickly.”

No one argued that point; they were all experienced enough magic users to know how quickly you could drain any magical object if you tried to create magic _though_ it.  There were some notable exceptions, of course, but Morgan had encountered only a few in her long years of study.  Gleipnir was extraordinary, of course, but the chain was designed for a very specific purpose.  All-powerful magical objects were, by and large, restricted to legend…even in their old world.

Mordred’s expression turned grim.  “If she needs extraordinary power, that leaves very few sources.  Mainly Rumplestiltskin and the Greater Sapphire.  And I am _not_ —”

“Don’t get all protective over your shiny little rock now.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “If anyone here wanted to take it from you, we’d have done something stupid already.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted out a laugh as Mordred glared, and even Morgan had to suppress a smile.  Mordred had grown a little less protective over the Greater Sapphire, but he was still damned possessive over the thing.  He’d agreed not to use it, but no amount of pleading on Morgan’s part—or throwing unpleasant facts in his face—had made him willing to give it up.  Mordred still felt that he needed the Sapphire to make himself a major player.  Seeing the stubborn look on his face saddened Morgan; she had hoped more than once that Mordred would step off the path that fate seemed to have chosen for him, but he seemed determined to stay his course.

She hoped she was wrong, but Morgan remembered what she had Seen, even if thinking of it broke her heart.

* * *

 

Emma’s second unexpected encounter that day was far more unnerving than the first.  She didn’t exactly go into town a lot these days, at least not if she wasn’t looking for someone, but even Dark Ones needed to eat.  Or _wanted_ to, anyway; Emma had realized that she could live without food as easily as she could without sleep, but the more she did so, the less human she felt.  But that didn’t mean she wanted to push a cart around the aisles of Storybrooke’s only grocery store, so Emma called in her order and paid extra to have it delivered.  The former troll who worked at Fodderland was always willing to bring her stuff to the house if she handed him fifty bucks, so when the knock came at the door, Emma knew who it had to be.

Unfortunately, Lily didn’t look anything like a troll, but she was standing on Emma’s front porch.

“What are you doing here?” The words blurted out before Emma could think twice.  The last she’d seen of her childhood friend, Lily had been lounging around Danns’ home while Emma was there unwillingly.

“Delivering your groceries.  You might want to let me in before your ice cream melts.”

Scowling, Emma drew magic to herself and gestured, vanishing the groceries straight out of the plastic bags and into her refrigerator.  She did put the ice cream in the freezer, or course; Emma didn’t want it to melt, even if she didn’t want Lily to come inside.  “What do you _want,_ Lily?  If this is another lecture about how your life is terrible because of me, I’m afraid I’m booked for the day.”

“Touchy much?” Lily gave her a ‘you-have-to-be-kidding-me’ look.  “I’m not here to fight, okay?  Or anything like that.”

“How nice of you.”

_Kill her.  If you do, you’ll never have to deal with the guilt of her carrying your darkness again,_ Nimue advised her.  For a moment—until Emma came to her senses, anyway—it even sounded like a good idea.  _She_ hadn’t asked her parents to put her darkness in Lily, though Lily usually seemed willing to blame her for that, anyway.  And Lily had screwed her over more than once in the past.  It would only be fair to—

_No!  Shut up, and stop trying to make me into what you are!_   She wanted to scream at Nimue and the others, but Emma managed to stop herself before she said anything aloud.  Barely.

“I came by to try to warn you, but if you want to be a bitch about it, I’ll just go.”  Lily crossed her arms, as if daring Emma to say something cutting.  But something in Lily’s tone drew Emma up short, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

“Warn me about what?” 

“Can I come in, or do we really have to do this on your porch?”

“Fine.”  Sighing, Emma stepped back to allow Lily into the house.  Closing the door behind her former friend with perhaps a little too much force, Emma turned to face Lily again.  “Talk.”

“Arthur—and by extension, I assume the Black Fairy—was talking about offering you to Killian in exchange for his loyalty.”  Lily winced as she said it, but Emma barely noticed—the anger had reared up far too quickly.

_“What?_ ”  Hot magic filled her, rushing through her veins like lava, but the very words Lily had said made Emma’s skin crawl.  She’d been offered like a prize?  Like she was some _slave,_ to be given away to some loyal minion?  And Killian, Killian who she had loved and who had loved her, had—

“He said he’s not interested in anyone like that, but I thought you should know,” Lily added, but Emma barely heard her.

Magic was already filling her hands, dark and deadly magic that she could use to make anyone suffer.  “I can’t _believe_ he would—”

“He wouldn’t!” Lily’s shout brought Emma back to earth, but only when the other woman had stepped up close to her, bringing them face to face.

“You—you talked to him about this?” she finally managed.

“Arthur all but ordered me to.”  Lily rolled her eyes.  “And Killian’s not interested in taking anyone as a prize, or in helping Arthur.  He’s better than that.”

The strangely protective—and proud?—town of Lily’s voice made Emma pause and actually look at her former friend with new eyes.  Lily was defending Killian.  That was weird, wasn’t it?  Then again, Emma had broken up with Killian months ago.  He was free to move on, and even if his choice was Lily, well…it really wasn’t her business, was it?  _At least he doesn’t want what they’re offering,_ she told herself, feeling cold and lonely.  _Does that mean no one wants me, or just not like this?_

_You’re the Dark One,_ Nimue said from inside her mind, sounding almost sympathetic.  _They’ll always prefer who you were._   Yet Emma couldn’t disagree with that; _she_ preferred who she’d been before this.  And unlike how it had been in the past, there was an end in sight.  Emma had no intention of being the Dark One for the rest of her life, which meant she could live with that.  _Besides, Bae might not_ like _me being the Dark One, but he doesn’t hold it against me, either._ That thought made her smile, just a little, made warmth creep in to banish some of the cold loneliness.  

“You already broke his heart.  Leave him alone,” Lily said suddenly, making Emma blink in surprise.

“I—I wasn’t thinking about him,” she said uneasily, realizing that her smile must have made Lily think something else.  “Killian is, well, he’s not for me.”  The stark relief on Lily’s face was almost comical, but Emma convinced the darkness not to let her giggle.  “If you two are, uh, interested in getting together, I’m not in your way.”

“Good.”  Lily still glared, but she seemed less angry.  “Look, I came here to tell you that I’ll help you if I can.  I kinda know what it’s like to be trapped with a darkness you can’t control, so if I can help—without getting me or my mom killed—I will.”

Emma gaped.  “You’re offering to help _me_?”

Lily shrugged.  “Yeah, well, you were a better friend than I probably deserved, and you did come find me for my mom.  Maybe I owe you a little, and I don’t like owing.”

“I, um—thank you.”  Emma didn’t know what else to say to that, and it was clear that Lily didn’t, either.

She didn’t know if they’d manage to become friends again; they’d been close as girls, but a lot had changed since then.  Lily was free of the double dose of darkness now, at least, but that didn’t mean they were actually on the same side.  The dagger forced Emma to do as Danns’ said, but as far as she knew, Lily and Maleficent were willingly helping the Black Fairy.  _Except now she’s offering to help me.  Is this Lily trying to change sides?_   Emma couldn’t tell.  Even with the other Dark Ones acting as backup, she was a straightforward person by nature.  Skulking about in shadows and playing a twisted long game just wasn’t her style, and Emma couldn’t always wrap her mind around the sneaky parts people played.

Despite that, she thought that Lily seemed sincere, and that had to count for something.

* * *

 

“So, people are talking about elections coming up.”  Richard sipped his beer like he wasn’t really concerned, but David could read the other king’s expression easily enough.

The four men had decided to meet in Granny’s, where no one could accuse them of hiding secrets away.  It was conceivable that someone who was both blind and deaf could assume that David, Robin, Richard, and Galavant had merely gotten together to have drinks, but all the eavesdroppers were undoubtedly aware of the fact that they were here to hash out how the newcomers from the Land of Music fit into Storybrooke’s legal structure.  Regina had made them what almost amounted to a town of their own, but the new areas were right next to ‘old’ Storybrooke, which meant that people crossed between the two every day.

So far, they hadn’t had any major fights, but the Land of Music’s police force (if one could call them that) didn’t exactly ascribe to modern laws.  Or obey _any_ laws.  In fact, David was pretty sure that the local law enforcement weren’t too far removed from being the ‘land pirates’ that Galavant still called them with a mixture of frustration and affection.  Richard had promised that they’d be on their best behavior, but David was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“In about a month.  Just for mayor, so far.  We’re trying to hold the sheriff ones off for a bit.”  Robin glanced guiltily at David as he spoke, but there wasn’t much else to say.  No one wanted to vote Emma _out_ of the office, but there was no way anyone was going to vote her back in, either.  David was fine as acting sheriff, anyway.

“And will everyone get to vote?” Galavant asked bluntly.  “This whole democracy thing is kind of new for us, but that seems to be the way things work around here.”

“Everyone over eighteen, yes,” David confirmed.  “Provided they abide by our laws.”

His pointed reference to the weird holdup that had taken place the night before made Richard cringe.  Two of the ‘land pirates/policemen’ had tried to steal dogs from the animal shelter, but they’d only been armed with cutlasses.  Goldilocks had chased them away with a chair, and Robin had caught them before they could go very far.  Both were cooling their heels in the Storybrooke jail at the moment, but David was fairly certain that Richard would ask for their release.

Given that the worst injury anyone had suffered was a sore stomach from laughing so hard, he was inclined to hand them over.  Provided the idiots didn’t try something again.

“About those laws,” Richard drawled.  “I think we might need a copy.  Something, anyway, to tell people what they can and can’t do.  Our old world was, um, a bit more of a dictatorship than a democracy.” 

Galavant cleared his throat.  “Hang on, Richard, I’m not sure those land pirates can read.”

“Surely some of them can.”

“I’m…not so sure about that.”

Richard looked at David.  “Well, then get us a copy of the local laws, and Galavant will read them to them.”

“I will?” Galavant looked shocked, but David and Robin were trying not to laugh.

“Of course you will.  I’m putting you in charge of them.”  Richard waved an airy hand.  “By royal decree.  Assuming I can still make those.”

“But I’m retired!”

“Retired, schmired.  You’ll get over it.”

“It’s not like the pox!  You don’t just _get over_ being retired, Richard.  Really.”

Richard rolled his eyes.   “Just yesterday, you were complaining that you needed something to do that didn’t revolve around your ‘incomparably annoying’ Isabell—”

“Shut up!” Galavant clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth.  “You never know who might hear you.”

David couldn’t help it; that exchange finally made him burst out laughing.  After a moment—and after what he was pretty sure was Richard biting Galavant, judging from the knight’s yelp of pain—he managed to get control of himself enough to speak once more.  “We’ll get you something.  The laws here are something of a work in progress, but we have some pretty firm guidelines.”

“And not stealing is on the top of the list, in case your pirates-turned-police need the review,” Robin put in with a grin.

Galavant arched an eyebrow.  “That’s a little rich, coming from you, isn’t it?” 

Robin just shrugged.  “I’m reformed.”

“No, it’s more like this place is a walking _hive_ of fantasy tropes.”  Galavant made a great show of looking around the diner.  “I mean, you’ve got the Little Red Riding Hood trope over there—though I don’t know how she avoided getting eaten by the wolf, since that’s always what happened in our world—”

“It’s because I _am_ the wolf.”  Ruby must have heard, because she came over to refill their waters with a smile.  “But I did eat my boyfriend.”

Galavant’s eyebrows tried to mate with his hairline.  “Remind me not to try to hook you up with anyone, then.”

Ruby grinned.  “Good idea,” she said before sauntering off.  Galavant, however, didn’t need much time to recover.

“This place.  _Seriously._ You’ve got at least two sleeping princess tropes here.  Or more, if the rumors are right.  You”—he gestured at Robin—“are clearly the Thief with the Heart of Gold trope.”  He looked at Robin.  “You’re obviously Prince Charming, with the Heartless King trope thrown in—”

“Heartless king?” David felt his heart slam into his ribcage.  “Where did you hear of that?”

Unfortunately, Richard burst into song before Galavant could answer, belting out the words at the top of his lungs:

“Oh, the world will sing of the Heartless King a thousand years from now

“And not because of his in-laws or handsome lofty brow—

And because it always happened like that, Galavant joined in, with:

“With Bobby's good King Richard and some pop culture icons

“He'll lead us to save the day from that good-for-nothin'—”

“Will you two _stop it_?!”  Robin managed to cut in, making the other two men shut up and stare.  “We don’t—we don’t burst into random songs in the diner, okay?”

Richard pouted.  “This is a terribly boring world, you know that?”

“I thought we were walking tropes?” Robin shot back.

David just waved Ruby over for another round of drinks.  After that song, he needed something a lot stronger than water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Eight—“And So She Weaveth Steadily,” in which Maleficent goes to warn Rumplestiltskin of Danns’ intentions, Bae tries to talk sense into Emma, Blue visits Belle, Regina has a talk with an old friend, Lily has second thoughts, and Rumplestiltskin and Emma talk about destroying the darkness—whilst saving the Dark Ones. 
> 
> In other news, life has finally straightened out, and I think I can go back to the twice weekly update schedule. Drop me a line if you'd be interested!


	98. And So She Weaveth Steadily

For the first time since being brought back to life, Rumplestiltskin was able to wake from a nightmare and assure himself that Zelena was _truly_ dead.  He’d killed her once, though it had done nothing to lessen his night terrors.  He’d spent so much time trying to suppress those experiences, telling himself that he _had_ to be fine.  Rumplestiltskin had been determined to put what Zelena had done behind him, but for all of his determination, he had never managed.  His demons had helped ruin his marriage, and the openness he had learned since had helped Rumplestiltskin weather Zelena’s presence in Storybrooke without breaking down.  Most of the time.

Splashing water on his face did nothing to banish the images rolling through his mind _now,_ though.  Since Zelena’s death, Rumplestiltskin had been focused on Belle, on her anger and how betrayed she felt by the fact that her grandmother didn’t care what she thought or wanted.  Belle’s old black-and-white view of the world had been slowly bending as of late; she was learning that the gray area between wasn’t necessarily evil.  But Danns’ actions had hurt her deeply, and Rumplestiltskin had been so focused on her that he hadn’t stopped to decide how Zelena’s death made him feel.

He was relieved, of course.  That went without saying.  The knowledge that Zelena was finally gone warmed Rumplestiltskin in ways that were probably _wrong_ , yet felt perfectly…right.   The darker part of him the part that would always embrace fury and darkness, wished that he could have killed her himself.   _Again._   Yet, for the most part, Rumplestiltskin was content with having allowed someone else to do so.  Perhaps that was because he had Bae back.  If Bae had remained in the Vault, if he had been forever separated from his precious boy, Rumplestiltskin doubted the burning desire for vengeance would ever have left him.  But when his fury only existed due to what she’d done to _him_ …

Knowing she was dead was enough.  And this time, there would be no horrible surprise in a New York hospital room.  Zelena was truly dead, and perhaps he could begin to heal. 

“Rumple?”

Hearing Belle’s voice made him jump, and Rumplestiltskin spun around to see his wife standing in the bathroom doorway.  She blinked sleepily, but watched him with concern, reaching a hand out for him.

Rumplestiltskin took her hand trying not to cling to it.  He hadn’t wanted to bother Belle with his nightmares—not when she was struggling with her own anger and guilt—but having her here brought to mind the promise he had made.  _No more secrets._   He tried a crooked smile on for size.  “Hey, sweetheart.  Did I wake you?”

She shook her head.  “Not having you there woke me.  Are you all right?”

“I will be.”  That wasn’t a lie, at least.  Rumplestiltskin was actually _hopeful_ , for one of the first times in his life.  Zelena was gone, and while that wouldn’t erase what she’d done to him, it did mean he could feel safe. 

“You’re thinking about Zelena, aren’t you?”  Belle stepped close to him, reaching up to stroke his face with her free hand.  “I’ve spent the last day raging on about how angry I am, without asking how _you_ feel.  She hurt you terribly, and you were trying so hard to be better.  You’re glad she’s gone, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged helplessly.  “I can’t lie about that.  I’m…relieved.  Very relieved.”

“Because now you feel safe.”  Belle drew him close as she echoed his earlier thoughts, and Rumplestiltskin let himself melt into her embrace. 

Nodding wordlessly, Rumplestiltskin let Belle lead him back to bed after a moment.  It was too early to get up, even for him, and he needed to be held.  Once, he had thought not needing comfort meant someone was strong, but Rumplestiltskin had finally learned that leaning on someone else didn’t make you weak.  So, he and Belle snuggled together for the remaining hours of darkness, and her presence helped chase away the worst of his memories.

* * *

 

“It won’t be that easy,” King Francis said after Arthur detailed the first stage of his plan, making Arthur turn to glare at him.  Cinderella’s father-in-law shrugged apologetically.  “The people from the Land of Music are all backing the Evil Queen because King Richard is supporting her.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.  “Are they now?”

“If someone could pry Charming away from her, she’d lose a lot of followers, but the prince seems determined to support her.”

“Do you have a way to…encourage him to lend his support elsewhere?”  Arthur really wished that he hadn’t accidentally killed Snow White when he’d awakened from his coma-like sleep of death.  Generally speaking, he didn’t really regret having killed Snow, but now having done so was proving to be a real inconvenience.  Charming wasn’t likely to side with his wife’s murderer, after all, regardless of how accidental said death was.

“Not really.  He’s fairly incorruptible.” Francis, formerly known as Mitchell Herman, spread his hands helplessly. 

“Come now.  Every royal has done _something_ worth blackmailing them over.”  Arthur had known plenty of kings and queens over the years, and they all had their dark secrets.

“Not him.”

Arthur glowered.

* * *

 

He’d been in the shop for all of five minutes when Maleficent showed up.  Rumplestiltskin had been in the back, drawing out ideas for how to trap the darkness once it was removed from Emma—a process he knew was going to be fraught with difficulty, even with her presumed cooperation—but when he walked into the front of the shop, Maleficent was eyeing the guitars on the far wall.

“You’re not exactly the visitor I expected this morning, dearie.”

Mal turned to face him with a slight smile.  “If you were anticipating someone more dramatic, I can always change forms.”

“No, I have enough dragons in my own family, thank you.”

“Oh.  Of course.”  She blinked.  “Your half-brother is of my persuasion.”

Rumplestiltskin got along better with Mordred these days than he had, much to his surprise.  Not too many months earlier, they’d been trying to kill one another, but now they were united against the same side Maleficent was currently on.  “Indeed he is.”

“And I am not here for social reasons, as you’ve undoubtedly deduced.”  Maleficent’s glance towards the door was a little wary.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t ever remember having seen her nervous about anything that didn’t concern her daughter, so he watched with curiosity as she turned back to him.  “Do you mind?”

The way her fingers twitched told him what she wanted, so Rumplestiltskin raised a hand to form a quick and dirty barrier around the shop.  Now no one could see or hear their conversation, and anyone entering would find that the door wouldn’t open.  “Is that better?”

“Quite.”  Maleficent took a deep breath.  “I am here because you need to know what is happening.  I haven’t forgotten what you said at the portal, and while I’m not yet prepared to abandon what might be the winning side…I’m not sure I wish to see Danns’ ambitions come to fruition.” 

“So you’re here to betray her.”  That was a break Rumplestiltskin hadn’t expected, and surprise made his words harsher than they needed to be.

She glared.  “Not exactly.  I have no interest in joining Regina’s merry band of hypocrites.  I’m simply assuring my daughter and I _survive_ what is to come.”

“Of course.”  Rumplestiltskin wanted to kick himself for the crass words he’d chosen; what kind of manipulator was he if he couldn’t watch his mouth?  Belle’s rashness must have been wearing off on him.  “What exactly are you willing to share?”

“I believe she’s found where the fae are.”  Maleficent grimaced.  “Whether she forced Blue to tell her, or found out some other way, she knows.  And she also knows that dragons can cross realms.”

“Damn.”  Rumplestiltskin felt his mind whirling through options, down pathways and through contingencies that he hadn’t prepared.  “And you’re not of a mind to refuse her, of course.”

“I am not suicidal.”  She met his eyes boldly, daring him to contradict her.  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin debated doing so; he could offer Maleficent and Lily protection, and he might even be able to make it stick.  Yet he wasn’t sure that they’d even take him up on the offer, and anything could happen.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t like making promises he couldn’t keep, and he knew that he couldn’t protect everyone all the time.

_Use your grit, and your darkness, if you need it.  You’re a realist_.  His mother’s advice had been perhaps the best advice he’d received in his entire life.  Some ‘true’ hero might have thought they could promise to protect Maleficent and Lily from Danns’, but Rumplestiltskin was too well aware of how powerful the Black Fairy was and how many things could undermine such a promise.  Mal knew that, too, and would call him a liar if he tried to make some grand and sweeping promise.  _As well she should._

“I can’t blame you for that decision,” he said after the silence stretched uncomfortably between them.  “Do you know when she intends to go?”

Maleficent shook her head.  “She wasn’t specific, but I believe it will be soon.”

The unspoken words hung in the air between them: _Can you stop her?_   Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure; he wasn’t certain that this was the time for an all-out battle against Danns’ a’Bhàis, or if he’d win one at all.  Yet he knew that he had to try, lest Danns’ free the fae and have overwhelming force on her side.  How many fae _were_ trapped behind whatever barriers Blue had erected?  No one knew, not even his mother, but there could be hundreds of them.  Perhaps thousands.  Either way, the fae were a force that not even the combined magical users of Storybrooke could defeat, which meant stopping their release was perhaps _the_ most important battle to come.

Now if only he could figure out how.

* * *

 

“So, is Nimue going to come out and attack me again?” Bae couldn’t resist asking after Emma let him in the house.

She scowled at him.  “Not unless I let her.”  Emma shrugged.  “As things are, I’m the only one that has to listen to her spewing hatred.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Only sometimes.”  She looked sad, though, and Bae had to resist the urge to hug her.  But Emma wasn’t really the ‘hold me and make it go away’ type; she was the type to attack her problems head on and hack at them until they were dead and buried.  She’d been softer when they’d been younger…but hell, he’d been different, too.  At least this line of conversation led right up to the reason he’d come by in the first place.

“So, you gonna talk to my dad about this whole Dark One issue anytime soon?” he asked as casually as he could.  “I know it’s still eating at you, and if you were willing to talk to Nimue about it…”

Emma’s entire expression closed off.  “I don’t think he’d want to talk to me after I bashed him in the head with a snow globe.”

“Pop might surprise you with what he doesn’t take personally, you know.”

“I took advantage of him trying to help me to hurt him.  Rumplestiltskin _isn’t_ the type to forget that in a hurry.”  She glared.  “I may not be his kid, but I do know that about him.”

Bae couldn’t really argue with that one.  “Yeah, well, he’s working on being nicer.  And he said he’s still willing to help you.”

“For your sake more than mine, I bet.”

“Does it matter?”  He wanted to shake her, but that was always a bad idea, even if your presumably ex-girlfriend wasn’t the Dark One.  “The important thing here is to get you _free_. Who cares if my dad is grumpy about it?  Or if you are?”

“I’d rather focus on you and me.”  The speed at which she stepped close to him, all seduction and darkness, was absolutely dizzying, and it took Bae’s breath away.  Emma leaned in, her eyes dark with desire, and Bae found himself drawn to her so strongly that he had to force himself to stumble back a step.

“Emma…” Her name was a messy stutter; the way she was looking at him did unfortunate things to Bae’s body.

“What?”  For a moment, she was the old uncertain Emma again, until she shrugged.  “You want me.  I want you.  We’re kind of overdue for a little fun.”

He gulped hard.  “Not if it’s your way of changing the subject, we aren’t.”

“It’s not changing the subject so much as it’s delaying it for a little while.”  Something broken flickered through Emma’s eyes.  “If it’s because of what I am—”

“It’s not.  I don’t give a damn what curse is rolling around inside you.  You’re still _Emma_.”

“Then why not enjoy the moment?”

“Because _that’s_ the Dark One talking.”  Bae could almost see the difference in her body language, and he wasn’t sure if it was _Emma_ who wanted him.  If it was, well, he wasn’t too proud to jump in bed with her here and now; he loved her and always would.  If Emma wanted him, too, that was great and maybe they could stop dancing around one another and being afraid.  But if it was only the darkness playing seductress to get him to quit bugging her, he wasn’t going to fall for that ruse.

Emma swallowed hard, looking away.  The broken and uncertain look was back, so Bae stepped forward to take her hands.

“I love you, okay?  I’ve never made a secret of that, and even if you kick me to the curb here and now, that’s never gonna change.  I haven’t pushed you because I respect you, and I’ve always known I might not get what I want out of this.  But that’s all right.  You’re more important to me than that.”  He took a deep breath, struggling to put his thoughts into words.  “I’m not rejecting _you_.  Storybrooke will freeze over before that happens.”

That made her frown.  “You know—”

“Okay, bad example.  I forgot that already happened.  Stupid magic.”  Bae smiled crookedly, and Emma finally let out a shaky laugh.  “The sentiment stands.  I love _you_.  I don’t care if you’re the Dark One or the Savior, or none of the above.  I love the girl I met in a stolen car, who somehow forgave me for screwing her over, and who gave us both this awesome kid neither of us always know what to do with.  I loved her in that car, and I love her now.”

“Will you…will you just hold me, Neal?”  Emma’s words where a whisper, but Bae didn’t hesitate.  He just pulled her close.

They stood that way for a long while, and when they pulled apart, they didn’t talk about her darkness-induced attempt to seduce him.  Some things were just more important than rehashing silly mistakes.

* * *

 

For the first time in her life, Blue wasn’t sure what to do.

Usually, she had a certain and sure path before her.  She always tried to do what was _right_ , no matter what the cost, and to guide others to do the same.  She had exiled her own sister—repeatedly!—in order to protect all the realms, had backed the right heroes, and opposed countless villains.   Now, however, what needed to be done was not so simple.  She could not directly counter Danns’, not with the bronze bands tight around her wrists, ankles, and neck.  Nothing that the Jade Fairy had tried could remove them, and Blue’s own magic was stubbornly silent, even with her wand and fairy dust.  Jade was the most powerful remaining fairy, too, which meant that none of the others stood a chance of freeing her.

That, unfortunately, brought her to the library.  Belle had been regrettably clear in her position the last time they’d spoken, but her great-niece might be the only option she had.  Belle’s magic _was_ fairy in nature, and did seem to be inherited from Fionna rather than from Danns’.  That meant Belle could possibly be strong enough to free her.  Blue couldn’t stomach the idea of going to Rumplestiltskin, who she knew could do the job, but Belle was a kind soul.  Belle would help her, she was sure.  _Assuming I dare reveal this weakness to_ anyone _at all,_ she thought.  There was a reason Blue had worn long sleeves and a high collar, after all.  No one would see the bands unless she allowed them to.

“Blue.  What are you doing here?”  Belle’s smile as Blue came through the door was a little strained, but Blue chalked that up to stress and recent events.

“I heard what Danns’ did, and I wanted to extend my sympathies.”  She thought it best to start with Zelena’s death; after all, she knew that Belle had to be distressed at what Danns’ had done on her behalf.  “She does not know you well if she thought you would welcome such…actions.”

Belle’s frown was immediate.  “No.  She doesn’t know me at all.”

“I am sorry for what happened, child.  You deserve better from family.”  What Danns’ had done was terrible, but Blue would have to be a fool not to take advantage of it by being someone who took Belle’s side.

“I told her that I am done with her, and I am.”  Blazing eyes regarded her steadily, daring Blue to object.  Then Belle softened.  “But I was glad to hear that she let you go.  Are you all right?”

“I am fine, of course.”  She was anything but fine, and terribly worried over Danns’ plans to free the fae, but Blue knew that any information she gave Belle would find its way to Rumplestiltskin’s ears.  _And he is ever unpredictable, as well as undeserving of the power he wields.  I must be careful._

“I’m glad.”

“I did come to speak to you of a…personal matter, if you don’t mind.”  She smiled as nicely as she could, and was glad to see some of Belle’s anger melt.

“Of course.  What did you want to talk about?”

“Your magic.  I know we’ve spoken of it before, and you elected to learn from your husband, but I was wondering how you are progressing.”  She tried to sound as neutral as she could, but Astrid had shared how Belle had stood up to Zelena.  That meant Belle had power, power Blue needed.

She needed Belle on her side, but she wasn’t sure exactly how to accomplish that, not with the suddenly wary expression on Belle’s face.

“I’m doing fine.  Rumplestiltskin is an excellent teacher.”

“I merely worry that his former predilection for darkness could… _taint_ someone such as you.”

Belle’s entire body went rigid.  “What are you implying?”

“Only that Rumplestiltskin’s history is not a pleasant one.  He may not be able to put his past down enough to be as light as you would wish.”  Blue smiled kindly, but Belle’s expression just grew stormier.

“If you’ve just come here to insult my husband, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I didn’t intend to.  I am merely—”

“Trying to say something you wouldn’t want to say to my face, dearie?”  The new voice came from behind Blue and made her spin around.  She hadn’t heard the door open, so he must have teleported straight inside—damn not having her magic!  It made her feel blind.

Blue straightened proudly.  She would not show weakness in front of the former Dark One.  “Rumplestiltskin.” 

“Reul Ghorm.” 

The smile on his face reminded her too strongly of Morgan, and made Blue frown.  How had she never noticed how strongly Rumplestiltskin took after his mother?  _Probably because he was utterly unimportant before he became the Dark One, and by that time he was consumed with hatred for me._

“Why are you asking about my magic?” Belle spoke up before Blue could depart, her eyes suddenly curious.  “Do you need something?”

“More importantly, how did your sister hold you?” Rumplestiltskin exchanged a glance with his wife that was fraught with meanings Blue could not follow.  “She did not have Gleipnir when she caught you.”

“She has Gleipnir?” Surprise forced the words out in a yelp, and Blue felt her heart hammer against her chest.  _This is not good.  This is anything but good._

“She does.”  Dark eyes narrowed.  “But you didn’t know that, so why did you come?”  Rumplestiltskin moved to Belle’s side, and Blue watched regretfully as the pair slid closer to one another, guided by some silent instinct.  While she was glad that True Love had finally softened Rumplestiltskin, she certainly wasn’t about to bring herself to trust him.

“Blue?” Belle prompted her after she spent a moment stewing.

“No other reason.” 

She shook her head quickly, but the image of those two—and their love—would not leave her mind.  Power swirled around both, power she could still see, even without her magic, and it made Blue’s breath catch.  Rumplestiltskin’s power was _easy_ , now.  The Sorcerer’s power was no longer Merlin’s; it had integrated into Rumplestiltskin.  It was his, utterly and completely.  How that had happened, she did not know.  Blue had not expected it ever to do so, particularly when she had told him that he was not worthy of being an original power.  _Now he is, and there is no escaping it._   He was her equal, and Danns’, too.

Terrifying though that fact was, he had allied himself against her sister, and with humanity.  That would have been a relief did it not mean he was also against _her_ ; now that Morgan had irrevocably broken their old alliance, Blue knew that the humans would not stand with her.  At least those with magic would not.  She might find help from David, but he hadn’t been particularly happy with her the last time they’d talked, either.  Her list of allies was growing distressingly short.

Yet there still had to be _something_ she could do beyond asking Rumplestiltskin for help she was certain he would not provide.

* * *

 

Regina couldn’t believe her eyes.  In fact, she was quite certain that this had to be a fever dream of some sort—there was _no_ way she was seeing some Spanish-looking fellow _serenading_ her second oldest friend.  Mal was standing on her front porch, watching Tad Cooper and his guitar with a half-bemused, half-horrified expression.

“The night wind sighs awake, my love.

“My guitar cries awake, my love.

“The fragrant breeze from the white orange trees whispers

“Please awake, awake my love.

“No one should sleep on a night—”

“That song doesn’t really work so well in mid-afternoon,” Mal cut him off dryly, and Regina fought the urge to burst into laughter.  She hadn’t really meant to approach Maleficent’s house, but it was only two doors down from her own, and Regina had really needed to take a walk.  So, she’d given herself half the day off—no one really worked Friday afternoons in Storybrooke, anyway—and walked home.  _This_ , however, was not exactly what she’d expected to see!

“Ah, perhaps you will allow me a little creative license, then.”  Tad’s smile was a winning one, and he _was_ a pretty man, but Regina knew Mal too well to think good looks alone would turn her head.

Mal snorted.  “I think it’s the only song you know.”

“The only suitable one, perhaps.”  Tad shrugged.  “It’s far easier in the Land of Music, where songs and words simply appear in your mind and demand to be sung.”

“Is that how it works?”

“But of course.  No one is so musical as the land would have you believe.  Though I think some of its ‘magic’ has accompanied us here.”

“That’s a pity.”  Mal chuckled coolly as Tad’s face fell.  “I’m not terribly fond of music.  In fact, I dislike it enough that one might say I hate it.”

“You wound me!”

“Terribly, I hope.”  But the laughter dancing in Mal’s eyes was unmistakable.

Tad grinned.  “At least allow me to kiss your hand before I slink away in shame.”

“You may.” 

Bemused, Regina watched as Tad kissed the back of Mal’s hand and then left.  She didn’t miss the small smile the two shared, either; Mal hid it better than Tad, but it was clear the two were attracted to one another.  _Good for them.  Robin said he’s not the type to settle down, but I don’t think that’s what Mal’s looking for, anyway._ She thought about walking by without saying anything, but Maleficent spoke up before Regina could.

“Enjoying the spectacle, Regina?”

She shrugged.  “I did resist the urge to point out how much I know you love music.”

“One can’t reveal all of one’s secrets.”  Mal’s eyes crinkled, and for the first time in ages, she looked _happy_.  “Particularly since his song _was_ terrible.”

“Someone should show him what a radio is.  It might spare us all the earaches,” Regina replied dryly.

“I’ll put Lily on it.  He _is_ her father, after all.” 

Regina felt her jaw drop even as Mal smiled smugly.  _“What?”_

Her friend only shrugged, and somehow, it suddenly felt like time had turned back and they were young again, angry and passionate, and friends despite all of that. 

“You can’t leave it at that.”  She gave Maleficent the most severe look she could muster.  “ _This_ is a story that needs telling.”

“Come in and I will.”  The words were almost a dare, but Regina had never much learned how to back down.

Besides, she knew Maleficent.  If Mal wanted to hurt her, she’d curse her to her face—or burn her alive.  Mal wouldn’t invite her in for cookies and poison her.  That just wasn’t Mal’s style.

* * *

 

She knew her mother was having second thoughts.  That was the worst, or the best, thing about this entire mess.  They’d talked about it after flying almost to the town line, about how what Danns’ wanted to do might doom them all, and Maleficent had made the choice to warn the so-called heroes about it.  Lily hadn’t objected; the more she talked to Killian, the more she thought that there really might be another way to live her life.  She didn’t _have_ to choose evil, after all.  Her double dose of darkness was gone, and maybe—maybe—she could be something else if she wanted to.  Lily didn’t think she’d ever want to be like Emma, someone who fought and struggled and asked for nothing in return, but maybe she wasn’t entirely selfish.

Or maybe selfish didn’t equate to evil.  She’d thought about that quite a bit, too, and she decided there was nothing wrong with wanting things for yourself.  Particularly if you didn’t screw the entire world over while you were at it, like the Black Fairy was trying to do.

Somehow or another, that thought had brought her to one of the outside tables at Granny’s, where Killian had been quietly nursing a beer.  She’d joined him almost an hour ago, and they’d talked about everything and nothing, just enjoying the fact that they could spend a quiet while together before everything went to crap.

“You know what’s coming, right?  What she’s trying to do?” Lily finally asked.  She didn’t want to leave Killian in the dark, and now that he’d broken up with Emma—who wasn’t exactly playing hero these days, anyway—she didn’t know how much information he got.

“Aye.  Worlds colliding, end of days, general apocalypse.”  He shrugged.  “Chaos in the making, even if your ‘lady’ gets what she wants.”

Lily couldn’t help glaring.  “She’s not _my_ lady.”

“Seems to me that you’re rather committed to that side, love.  Unless something’s changed that you haven’t mentioned.”

“I…I don’t know.”  She wasn’t stupid enough to tell him that her mother had gone to warn Rumplestiltskin, who did seem to be the one tolerable person on the ‘good’ side, aside from Killian.  _That_ man knew darkness, and didn’t seem to hold it against anyone, either.  _Mother thinks Regina isn’t all bad, too, but I’m not sure I’ve forgiven her for slicing me open._

“Having second thoughts?” His voice was gentle, and Lily just shrugged uncomfortably.

“We want to be on the winning side, but causing an insanely unstable world doesn’t really sound like winning.”  She took a deep breath.  “I don’t know.  I mean, the Black Fairy _did_ pull that extra darkness out of me, and I like being normal.  I feel like I should be grateful for that, y’know?”

“Gratitude doesn’t have to mean eternal loyalty.”  Killian gestured with his left hand, the one she knew used to be a hook.  “Just like anger shouldn’t define you forever.”

“Only a few centuries?” She couldn’t resist the quip; everyone in town knew about his (mostly) past feud with Rumplestiltskin.  Who had turned out to be his uncle.

He chuckled.  “Something like that.”

“Then I’ve still got a few hundred years left before I should get over anything.” 

Killian’s grin was sudden, and his previous chuckle turned into a full-throated laugh that Lily found she liked very much.  She grinned back, feeling relaxed and _happy._ She still wasn’t really used to having good things happen in her life, but maybe—

“I should have known I’d find you here,” a new voice interrupted, and they both turned to find that Arthur had into the beer garden and was staring at Killian stonily.  “Is it all those years as a pirate that make you lazy and indolent?”

“It’s those years that taught me when to leave others alone when they’re not looking for company.”  Killian’s voice was a growl as he rose, and Lily followed suit, watching Arthur warily.

“Then you hardly learned the right lessons, _Captain._ ”  Arthur’s voice was sharp, and his eyes were narrowed.  “I’ve come to you because you are the son of my beloved nephew, but if you persist in working against me, I will not be responsible for your safety.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”  Killian cocked his head.  “It’s so vague that I’m having a hard time telling.  Be more specific, _Great_ Uncle.”

The way sarcasm dripped from those last two words made Arthur scowl fiercely, but Lily had to hold back a laugh.  Arthur was growing more and more tiresome; he liked to prance about as if he was in charge, whereas anyone actually on his side knew that Danns’ called all the shots.  In the end, Lily was pretty sure that Arthur was just an insecure little man with a Napoleon complex.  He had no real power, just what Danns’ gave him.  How had she hoped for his approval in the beginning?  _I was different, then.  I was just desperate to belong, even if it was in all the wrong places._

 “Specific?  You want specific?”  Arthur sneered.  “Very well, then.  Correct your course, _pirate_ , or you’ll find yourself dead.  If you cling to Morgan and Mordred, you’ll find yourself—at best—a slave of the fae.  And I think you’ve heard plenty of stories about what _they_ do.”

“Aye, I have.  And I have no doubt that it would be a terrible fate, but I’m not such a coward that I’ll run into your waiting arms simply because your promise me lifetimes of pain and degradation.”  Killian snorted.  “Promise what you will.  I’ve made my choices, and they’re a damn sight more honorable than you.”

“You have _no_ idea what you’re passing up.”

“Don’t I?”  Now he laughed.  “I’ve heard this song and dance routine before from _far_ more terrifying villains than you.  Try a new routine.”

“Giving you the woman you want is within my power.”

Killian barked out another laugh.  “You mean Swan?  Ha! That ship has sailed, and I’m still in port.”

 “Then this one.  If you want her safe, you should—”

“Are you really going to say that to another dragon?” Lily couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer.  “Or, perhaps more importantly, to the daughter of the woman who just saved _your_ dear wife from being a marble statue?  Come on, be serious.”

Arthur looked ready to explode with anger, and for a moment, Lily thought he might turn into a dragon and try to torch everything around them, Granny’s included.  But he seemed to come to his senses after a moment, turning on his heel and stalking away from the pair.  Glancing at Killian, Lily could only shrug—no, she really wasn’t sure why she was helping these people.

Maybe it was time for a change.

* * *

 

Bae had called ahead.  Just in case, his typically snarky son said, Rumplestiltskin wanted to hide the snow globes ahead of Emma’s visit.  Much to his surprise, he’d found himself laughing at the joke.  That said, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t looking forward to having something else stolen in case Emma wasn’t on her best behavior, so he made sure to weave a few spells into the air to keep her from doing so.  None of them would hurt her—even if he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure his son would forgive him for hurting Emma—but they’d freeze Emma in place if she started to get violent.  _Just in case I’m_ _incapacitated,_ he told himself, trying not to feel a little guilty.  There was no way that Rumplestiltskin was going to take a chance with Bae’s safety.  He knew that Emma wouldn’t hurt Bae on purpose, but there was no telling what commands Danns’ had given Emma.

The fact that she’d forced Emma to target Regina and Robin already said that Danns’ was more than willing to make the Dark One suffer, and he wasn’t going to take a chance on his son being her next target.

“Hey, Pop.”  Bae breezed in with an easy smile that Rumplestiltskin found himself returning warmly.

“Baelfire.”  He nodded at Emma as she followed Bae in, noting her nervous look and exhausted eyes.  “Miss Swan.”

The formal greeting made her scowl.  “I thought we were past that.”  Emma winced.  “Unless me bashing you in the head changes things.”

“No, it doesn’t.”  But she was the Dark One, with Nimue and the darkness whispering hatred in her mind, so he explained further.  “I understand why you did as you did, and I do not blame you.  How could I?  I’ve been in your shoes.”

“At least Zelena didn’t make you attack your family.”

Rumplestiltskin found himself meeting Bae’s eyes.  “She tried.”

“Oh.”  Emma’s eyes were a little wide, but also far too understanding.  “Sorry.”

“As am I.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, wondering if she’d accept any further commiseration from him.  _Probably not.  She’s touchy, and we’ve never been close._   Squaring his shoulders, he gestured Emma into a chair.  “Shall we begin, then?”

“Yeah.” She lowered herself into a nearby armchair as if she was afraid it was going to eject her.  “I read your notes after I knocked you out.  You really think you can dismantle the darkness?”

“I do.”  He let out a breath as Bae plopped down on the couch at his side.  “The darkness, such as we know it, did not begin as a single entity.  Although the elemental darkness behind your curse _did_ begin as an elemental demon of darkness, the rebels of Lyonesse amplified it and tied other power to it.  The souls of the previous Dark Ones tied that demon’s power to what remained of Medea’s power, and then further enhanced and strengthened the burden you now carry.  Stripped off the rest, the core is simply elemental darkness—powerful, but not unstoppable.”

“But not one that can be destroyed.” Emma got it.

Bae, on the other hand, frowned.  “Why not?  Why not destroy it once and for all?  That stuff is toxic.  I remember.  The world would be better without it.”

“Magic can be neither created nor destroyed.  It can change form, but in the end, magic is _magic_.  You can’t just remove it from the world,” Rumplestiltskin gestured at Emma.  “If you could, Emma would never have had to take the darkness on when it was removed from me.  That darkness _belongs_ in the world…but it doesn’t have to remain in its current form.”

“That’s why you’re talking about dismantling it.”  Bae looked thoughtful.

“Yes.”  He turned back to Emma.  “But in order to do that, I need your help.  You have to be ready to let it go.”

“Can I?”  Emma swallowed nervously, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t miss the way Bae reached for her hand.  “I don’t mean just me as the Dark One.  When she’s controlling me, _can_ I let it go?”

“It should work, unless she’s forbidden you to do so.”

That made Emma shake her head, gripping Bae’s hand tightly.  “She hasn’t.”

“Are _you_ ready?”  He had to ask.  Rumplestiltskin knew that he’d almost never been ready, not until the end when he’d been desperate to write the darkness out of the story—or, more accurately, have the story written so that the darkness was never unified into the Dark One.  He’d let the darkness consume him until it was far too late, because he’d been afraid to live without power.

“Yeah.”  Emma’s answer came surprisingly quickly, and her eyes were determined.  “I’ve almost talked Nimue into it, too.”

“You’ve—you’ve _what_?”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping, but that didn’t mean he failed to notice the proud look Baelfire sent Emma’s way.

“If you want to dismantle this, that would include freeing the others, right?”  Emma asked.  “Then maybe they can move on.  Their bodies are dead, but their souls are stuck with that darkness as much as you and I are.”

Flabbergasted, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at her for a long moment.  He wasn’t sure what to say.  He’d been prepared to pull what remained of the other Dark Ones into the Sorcerer’s Hat, because he _knew_ they couldn’t be trusted not to try to reconstitute the darkness and infect someone else.  He’d known them for centuries, and hated his fellows for almost the entire time, particularly Nimue.  She _wanted_ to be corrupted, wanted to be darker and darker, and he’d always known it would be Nimue in the driver’s seat if he lost control.  But Emma…Emma had _talked_ to them?

“Will it work?”  Emma pressed when he sat in stupefied silence.  “Can we free them, too?”

His mind whirled through the calculations, the magic, the angles and the threads.  Rumplestiltskin blinked, once and then twice, turning the idea over and studying it from all angles.  Emma was starting to look nervous, and Bae with her, but he merely waved his hand when Bae started to speak up.

“Papa?  Will it work?”

Rumplestiltskin ignored his son, turning to Emma with a smile that surprised even him.  “Just when you have us all convinced that you’re no longer the Savior, you come up with something like this,” he said softly.  Wonderingly.  “It will work, if you can convince them.  It will work.”

“Good.”  Emma’s smile was tight, but he actually thought it actually reached her eyes.  “I’m ready to finish this.”

He glanced at Baelfire, and saw his son nod. 

“So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Ninety-Nine—“In The Stormy East Wind Straining”, in which Regina receives a surprising offer, Arthur visits his granddaughter, Mordred and Rumplestiltskin plot trouble, Maleficent and Lily spend time with Tad, and Danns’ plot to free the fae goes forward.
> 
> For anyone interested, the serenade in this chapter is indeed from Disney's Zorro television series, starting Guy Williams. In other news, we’re back on the two update a week schedule! Look for new chapters each Tuesday and Friday. While you’re waiting for the next chapter, don’t be shy – let me know what you think!


	99. In The Stormy East Wind Straining

There was still much to do.  _If_ Emma could convince Nimue and the others to move on, that changed everything.  Rumplestiltskin’s previous plans didn’t exactly fall apart with that possibility, but he did have to put the pieces of his spell together _very_ carefully.  He also had to build in a failsafe in case the other Dark Ones decided at the last minute to—

“Rumple?”

Belle’s voice made him jump, and he turned guiltily away from his desk, noting that dawn had come and gone while he worked.  His wife stood in the doorway to his study, clad only in her nightgown and looking at him with concern.  She was so damned beautiful that it took his breath away, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin was struck by the sheer impossibility of their relationship.  Belle had forgiven him, he had learned to be a better man, and somehow, just somehow, they were stronger together.

“Hey.”  It was a useless response, but Rumplestiltskin could tell by her gentle smile that Belle didn’t mind.  _Not so long as you tell her the truth when she asks,_ he reminded himself firmly, remembering another time when Belle had caught him doing magic in the early hours of the morning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She shuffled in, putting a hand on his shoulder when she reached his side.

“Yeah.  My mind kept whirling with possibilities, and I had to get up and write them down before I forgot.”

Belle looked relieved.  “Not a nightmare, then?”

“No, not this time.”  Maybe Emma’s visit really had been that distracting, or maybe he’d actually be all right in the long run.

“I’m glad.”  Belle glanced down at the papers strewn about his desk.  “Still working on Emma?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “She wants to free the other Dark Ones.  To let their souls pass on.”

“That’s good, right?  You told me once that every Dark One thought they had good reasons for taking the darkness on, but they were all corrupted anyway.  Isn’t it good if they can find peace?”

“If they’re willing, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced, thinking of the predecessors whom he had known too well.  “If.”

“If anyone can convince them, Emma can.”  Belle smiled and squeezed his shoulder.  “Emma and you.”

“Oh, not me, sweetheart.”  He snorted.  “They don’t _like_ me, and I returned their hatred in full.  They’ll never listen to me.”

That made Belle swallow a little.  “But they will to her?”

“I hope so.  If it works, she’ll truly be the Savior.”

* * *

 

The Black Fairy was her first visitor of the morning.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Regina supposed that her incredulous question wasn’t the most polite way to greet an incredibly dark and dangerous fairy, but she couldn’t stop herself.  Thankfully, Danns’ smile spoke of genuine amusement.

“I came to speak to you, of course.”  Green eyes raked up and down Regina’s body, and she was suddenly glad to be hidden by her desk.  Not that it stopped her from getting up to look the Black Fairy in the eye, even if the tall fairy’s gaze gave her the creeps.

“About what?”

“Your friendship.”  Danns’ drifted forward, her long dress swirling around her, and Regina fought back the urge to back away.  _This is the woman who ordered Emma to attack Robin and me.  She may smile prettily, but she’s more dangerous than anyone else I’ve ever met._

“I have plenty of friends, thanks.  I’m not really in the market for more.”  Regina tried to rein in her usual attitude, but it was hard.  She’d used sarcasm and sass as a defense mechanism for too long, she supposed.  Talking to someone who made her uncomfortable without being sardonic was almost impossible.

“Do you?”  One eyebrow rose as Danns’ stopped only a bit out of arm’s reach away.  “Are you so certain that those _friends_ can be counted on?”

“You came by a few years too late if you’re trying to get me to turn back to evil.”  Regina forced a smile.  “I’ve already played that game, and it didn’t work out very well for me _or_ my family.”

“I saw.  I was here for the first curse, you know.”

Yes, Regina knew, and the knowledge made her grit her teeth.  ‘Widow Morton’ had been under their noses the entire time, biding her time, watching and waiting.  Who knew what kind of traps she had left in Storybrooke during that time?  All those years, they’d known nothing about her, had no idea that the darkest of all evil fairies was running a _dance studio_ , of all things.  Regina wished she could go back and tell her past self about this, that the Evil Queen could do them all one last service and dispose of Danns’ a’Bhàis.  It would have been so easy during the curse; no one would have noticed, and now they wouldn’t have this insane bitch manipulating Emma like a puppet on strings and trying to smash all the worlds together.

She couldn’t fight back her scowl.  “I remember.”

“And I remember a woman who did not hesitate to take what she wanted.”  Danns’ met her eyes calmly, but Regina could see something dangerous in that gaze.  “Now, of course, what you want is safety for your family.  For your husband and your children.”

Danns’ gaze dropped right to Regina’s midsection, and she had to fight back the urge to try to fireball the fairy then and there.  _It won’t do any good, but damn, it would feel nice._

“What’s your point?” Regina bit the words out.  “You already killed my _sister_ , and you’re here talking about my family’s safety?  If you’re going to threaten them, just get it over with already.”

“Oh, no.”  Green eyes went almost comically wide with innocence.  “I’m not here to threaten them.  I’m here to guarantee their safety.”

“You’re _what_?”

“I don’t require your allegiance, or even any assistance from you.  Merely your promise that you will not act against me.”  A soft smile.  “Given that, I will guarantee that your family will survive whatever may come.  Your husband, and all of your children.”

Regina blinked.  She hadn’t expected something so simple, nor something so… _tempting._   She wasn’t going to take the deal, of course, because if she knew anything from her reading about the Black Fairy, it was that _nothing_ good came from tying yourself to her, but Regina had to admit that her heart skipped a beat.  She’d almost lost Robin just five days earlier, and she would do anything to make sure that Robin, Henry, Roland, and their unborn daughter were safe.  But this?  Even though Danns’ implied that standing aside would cost her nothing, Regina knew that it would mean abandoning people who had stood beside her.  People who had believed in her when they had no reason to, people who had helped her when she needed help.

“You killed my sister,” she finally said, deciding that was the least offensive way to say no.  Danns’ couldn’t be idiotic enough to think that Regina would just forget that, could she?  “Why the hell would I want to help you in any way?”

“You wouldn’t.  That’s why I’m not asking you to.”  Her smile turned sharp.  “I’m offering you safety.  That is all.  Call it a…peace offering.”

“If this is your way of apologizing, you really need some practice.”

Danns’ laughed.  “No.  We both know that you did not care for your sister.  You were more willing to kill her than I am mine, so let’s not pretend.  You aren’t angry on her behalf; you simply are worried that your friends would think you are betraying them out of a selfish desire to keep those you love safe.”

“My family isn’t the only people I love in this town,” Regina snapped.

“But they are the only ones you can protect.”  Danns’ shrugged.  “I will give you time to think.  Let me know within four days, otherwise it might be too late.”

“And why is— _damn_.” 

Regina hadn’t managed to get the question out before Danns’ vanished in a swirl of silver smoke.  She wanted to kick herself—she should have asked for more details sooner!  Now all she knew was that _something_ was going to happen within the week, which, given Storybrooke’s usual schedule of catastrophes, wasn’t really saying much.  Still, the Black Fairy’s desires were more dangerous than your run-of-the-mill Storybrooke villain, which meant Regina needed to be on her guard.

Assuming she could banish the churning in her gut, first.  She wasn’t going to take that deal, so why did she feel so guilty?  And why would Danns’ come to _her_ instead of someone else?  Worse yet…what would happen if she said _no_?

* * *

 

Belle hadn’t been expecting Arthur to come by the library, not at all.  And once he was through the door, she really wasn’t sure what to do with her grandfather.

“I know you’re angry.”  Arthur looked like he was trying to smile, though the effort seemed to go nowhere.  “And I respect that.  But I did want to make sure you were all right.”

Belle swallowed; she’d expected a defense of what her grandmother had done, not a simple declaration of care and concern.  “I…I am, thank you.”

“I’m glad.  We—your grandmother and I—were worried that Zelena might have hurt you or your baby.”

“She didn’t.”  Belle could at least answer that with confidence.  “I _am_ able to defend myself, you know.”

“Of course you are.”  He looked like he might or might not believe it, but Belle had more than a little experience with overprotective men.  _I’m married to one, after all, and I can love him despite that._ “She was dangerous, though, and more than a little unstable.”

“Well, I’m fine.”  She smiled as best she could, not sure why this conversation continued to make her so uneasy.  “Why did you come by now?”

An expression flashed across Arthur’s face that Belle couldn’t quite read.  “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome earlier.”

“Grandfather, I don’t care for you less because I disagree with you.”  Stepping forward, Belle squeezed his arm gently.  She wasn’t ready to hug him—not when she was certain Arthur would defend Danns’ killing of Zelena, and Danns’ reasons for doing so—but reaching out a little was something she could do.  “And I’m grateful that you were worried, even if I can take care of myself.  And if that fails, I have plenty of friends who would help.”

Belle had said words like that at least a dozen times, but now she could at least be certain they were _true_.  She had always thought the best of Storybrooke’s heroes, had always tried to be one of them, and to do the right thing.  There had been rough times, but they were all working _together_ now, and Belle was comfortable in her place amongst them.  Yet…she was also very glad for her own magic.  Belle had always been determined to decide her own fate, yet sometimes doing so in a town full of magic had been hard. 

Arthur nodded and left shortly after that.  Belle had the feeling that there was a lot he _didn’t_ say, yet she let him go.  They had time, she knew.  Someday, perhaps at the end of all this, she would patch things up with her grandparents.  She wanted to—desperately!—and she knew they loved her, despite their faults.  _First we have to save the world.  Then I can find a way to talk them around.  I know it._

* * *

 

“If we tell Mother about this, she’ll insist on coming.” 

Those words made Rumplestiltskin blink; they sounded strange coming out of Mordred’s mouth, and he felt even stranger being on the receiving end.  Although he and his half-brother had finally come to an understanding, having a conversation like this—one where they intentionally went behind their mother’s back—felt very…odd.  Like they were really brothers, and not just enemies turned allies.

“You’ll note that I came here instead of inviting you over, which she might have noticed,” he replied with a sigh.  Morgan seemed very happy that he and Mordred were being civil, but Mordred was right.  There was no way to hide this from their mother if they met where she would expect them to be.

Rumplestiltskin had spent the morning wrestling with how to remove the darkness from Emma, but this afternoon he’d reserved for even more worrisome matters.  For the first time, he’d trekked out to Mordred’s castle—a monstrosity of an eyesore that Mordred insisted on keeping, even after Bae and Killian had tried to introduce him to modern conveniences.  It was an ugly castle, and did not fit in with Storybrooke, or even Musicbrooke, as the new residents were calling the recent addition to the town.  Sooner or later, Mordred would probably have to give it up.  Maintaining any castle was difficult, and choosing to do so with magic was foolish at best.  There had been a very good reason why Rumplestiltskin had chosen to take an existing castle back in the Enchanted Forest; once he’d learned how hard it was to keep a magically-built castle standing, he’d wanted none of that nonsense.

His brother, however, had clearly yet to learn that lesson.  _Why do I feel like I’m the older one here when he was born centuries before me?_

“True.”  Mordred sat back in his ridiculously ornate chair.  “So, you think she’ll do it soon?”

“My source indicated she would, yes.  Though I don’t have a specific date.”  Rumplestiltskin was not fool enough to mention Maleficent’s name, not even here.  He was certain that Mordred wasn’t a spy for Danns’, but one could never be too careful.

“But Danns’ knows where the fae are, which means she assuredly will not wait long.”  Mordred scowled.  “Damn the Blue Fairy.  I thought she’d hold out.  Didn’t you?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “I’ve been damning her for years.”

“Then I’m in good company.”  Mordred chuckled, and then grew serious.  “How does she plan on getting there?  And where _is_ there located, specifically?”

“I have no idea where the fae are, though I’m told she intends to fly to them via dragon.”

“Ah, and _that’s_ why you come to me.”  Mordred’s dark eyes danced with humor.  “And here I thought you simply wanted to have some quality time with your brother.”

That made him bark out a laugh.  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“You’re wondering if I could follow them, then.”  Fortunately, Mordred was smart, and he drew the parallels right away.  Rumplestiltskin rather liked that about his brother, even if Mordred was an idiot about the Greater Sapphire.

“Can you?”

“Probably.  It depends on how much of a lead they get on us, and where they go.”  Mordred’s eyes focused on the far wall for a long moment.  “I would think so, though I thought you would simply draw a portal using the Sorcerer’s power.”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “I can’t draw a portal when I don’t know where it’s leading.”

“Ah.  That would be problematic.”  A beat.  “We’ll have to stop her before she can open the portal.  If the fae escape…well, it won’t be pretty.”

“And we’ll be severely outnumbered, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin was already working on ways to close _that_ portal if necessary, but he knew that it wouldn’t work the same as the last one.  That had been a wild portal, not one that had been opened by someone who was standing right there, working to stop him.

“Are you sure you want to leave Mother here?  I could probably take you both.  I am an impressively large dragon.”

“With an ego to match your size, yes,” he couldn’t help himself from saying dryly.  Then he paused.

On one hand, Rumplestiltskin very much wanted to bring their mother along.  Belle and Regina were both out of the question as backup, given that they were both pregnant, and he felt they could undoubtedly expect Emma to be there with Danns’.  Two against two weren’t bad odds; he knew that Mordred was on par with Emma, particularly since Mordred’s knowledge of magic ran far deeper than the new Dark One’s.  He thought he could trust Maleficent to stay out of it, and Arthur didn’t really matter.  There was no real reason to bring Morgan…and plenty of reasons to leave her at home.

“Someone has to stay here in case we fail.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a breath, thinking of Belle, of Bae, of Henry and his unborn child.  If they failed, they might have weakened Danns’ enough for Morgan to kill her with Galatine.

“It’s probably for the best.”  Mordred shrugged, looking unconcerned.  “She’ll only try to stop me from using the Sapphire if needed.”

“You know using the Sapphire might well kill you this time.”

Mordred met his eyes.  “That’s a chance worth taking, don’t you think?”

* * *

 

Screw work.  Regina headed home almost as soon as Danns’ left her office, desperately needing to talk this terrifying offer over with Robin.  Every inch of her wanted to refuse it, wanted to throw this proposal of ‘friendship’ back in the Black Fairy’s face, but when Regina considered doing so, a cold knot of worry formed in her stomach.  She couldn’t just think about herself, couldn’t just think about how she’d come so far and fought so long.  She had to think about her family—but Regina had to think about Storybrooke, too.

“I had…I had a visitor a little while ago.”  She wished the words didn’t sound so unsteady, but the fact that they made Robin come over and wrap his arms around her was a nice thing.

“Are you all right?” Robin’s voice was quiet in her ear, and Regina leaned back against him.

“Physically, I’m fine.  So’s the baby.”  She took a deep breath.  “But I’m…I’m conflicted, Robin.  And I hate myself for it.”

“What happened?”

Regina closed her eyes, images of what _could_ happen dancing in her mind.  “The Black Fairy came by the office, offering protection for our family if I sit the fighting out.”

“She _what_?”

“Yeah.”  Opening her eyes—she couldn’t bear to think about Robin hurt again, Henry dying, Roland lost and alone—Regina forced herself to focus.  “She said I don’t even have to do anything.  Hell, that’s the point.  She wants me to do _nothing_.”

Robin sucked in a breath.  “Including helping our friends.”

“Exactly.”  She scowled.  “It’s clever.  I’ll grant her that.  Especially after she killed Zelena.  She’s far more likely to convince people to sit things out than get them to be allies.”

“True.”  His voice was quiet, and Regina turned to face him, noting the way Robin’s face had gone carefully neutral.

“Robin?  What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.”  His smile was clearly forced, and very wan.  “What are you thinking?”

“I want to protect our family.”  Without meaning to, Regina found her right hand resting on her stomach while her left held onto Robin for dear life.  “But I can’t…I can’t forget my obligations to Storybrooke, either.  I promised these people that I’d fight for them.”

“And if all the realms collapse into one, countless people are going to die.”

“Yeah.”  Regina fought the urge to close her eyes again, knowing that her fears would only make her conjure up the images of dead family members if she did.  Her voice dropped to a whisper: “What do I do?”

Once, Regina could never have imagined turning to someone else for help.  She could never have imagined loving and trusting someone so much that she could show her weaknesses and her fears, that someone could love _her_ so much that opening up like this wouldn’t make them walk away.  But Robin was her soulmate, her True Love, and he understood her better than anyone else.  It had taken her a long time to understand that he really wouldn’t think less of her for moments of indecision…even if she felt like a coward right now.

_Heroes do what’s right,_ Snow had said long ago.  _Not what’s easy._  

But what happened when _right_ meant your family might die? 

“We have to fight.”  Robin sounded as torn as she felt.  “I know it’s dangerous, ‘Gina, but you’re right.  The people of Storybrooke don’t have this option.  No one came to them and promised safety if they did nothing, and they’re depending on us to fight for them.”

Regina nodded, but that couldn’t stop the tears that gathered in her eyes.  “I just don’t know if I can live with myself if anything happens to any of you.”

“Well, then we’ll have to make sure that it doesn’t.”  Robin pulled her close again, and Regina wrapped her arms around him in turn.

She’d already lost one love; she was not about to lose another.  And she’d fight for her children far more fiercely than she’d fight for herself.  They would find a way.  They had to.

* * *

 

Going out to lunch with Lily and Tad felt oddly domestic, and Maleficent wasn’t sure if she liked it.

Oh, she liked the idea that Lily was getting to know her father, and that Tad had turned out to be a likeable enough man.  He seemed terribly fond of Lily already, and likely to do _whatever_ their daughter asked, which Mal hardly saw as a bad thing.  The idea of Tad being wrapped around Lily’s finger was rather attractive; it meant Lily would be safe, regardless of what happened.  _That_ was the most important thing in her life.  Whether or not she and Tad got along really didn’t matter.  Lily did.

Tad, however, did keep shooting her looks that indicated he wouldn’t mind taking their relationship for a spin again, and while he was attractive enough, Mal really hoped he didn’t expect some quaint little marriage just because they had a child together.  Lily was an adult, and didn’t need to see her parents start some fairytale romance just to make her feel more secure.  _Lily understands my situation better than anyone, really,_ she thought, smiling behind her wine glass.  Her daughter had never really been the type to get into a long-term relationship, for all that she was making eyes at the pirate these days.  Lily understood that you didn’t have to marry every man you got involved with—and that getting involved with someone who _wasn’t_ a man could also be excellent fun.

For the moment, however, Mal was content to listen to Tad regale Lily with stories of his time before he joined the Merry Men.

Lily cocked her head when Tad paused.  “Why become an outlaw in the first place?”

“Mostly from not liking laws at all.”  Tad grinned.  “I was a contract ogre killer for a time, but I ran afoul of the fact that not all ogres are evil.  In fact, I met this one gentleman—after being hired to kill him, of course—who was quite the charmer.  I ended up needing a new profession after that, so I joined up with Robin and his men.”

“You met a charming ogre?” Mal found that one more than hard to believe.

“Only one.  Or two, depending upon how you—”

A sudden buzzing from Mal’s phone made her hold up a hand.  “Excuse me.”  One glance at the number told her that the caller was her _absolute_ favorite royal, and she rose from the table.  “I will return in a moment.”

She moved away from the table as Lily picked up asking about how an ogre could be gentlemanly, glad that Dave’s Fish and Chips was less busy than Granny’s.  There was also a convenient porch, so Mal stepped outside as she answered the phone.  If Arthur had some other menial task for her, she was going to find a way to burn the egotist to a crisp.  She was certain that she had an anti-transformation spell _somewhere_ or another.

“Yes?” She kept her voice clipped; she had no desire to become Arthur’s next lover, despite his several hints towards that very end.  Let him know he was unwelcome.

“Your services are required this evening for a journey.  We’re leaving at six.”

Stopping cold, Mal blinked.  _So soon?_   She had hoped that Danns’ would delay, that Rumplestiltskin might find a way to stop the Black Fairy before she unleashed the fae on Storybrooke.  Still, she couldn’t let that show.  “Shall I bring anything?”

“Just your daughter.  Nothing else is required.”  Arthur sounded pleased, and Mal resolved to show up no sooner than a minute before six.  Just in case the fool got ideas.

“You need us both?”

“Of course.  We expect a large group returning.”

Mal took a deep breath, choosing not to remind Arthur that three dragons could only carry so many.  Still, the fact that Danns’ wanted her and Lily both was a little alarming. Mal hadn’t expected that.  _She must have another way of bringing her fae back to Storybrooke, so why insist on both of us?_   A shiver ran down her spine, and Mal wished she could put words to why she was so nervous.  Instead, she forced her voice to sound pleasant. 

“We will be there.”  Mal jerked back in surprise as magic suddenly prickled against the back of her neck.  _Damn that fairy!_ Clearly, Danns’ had thrown a silent spell her way last they’d talked; Mal could feel it sinking in even now.  Her own agreement must have triggered it.

The magic made her skin crawl, dark and dangerous and all the more effective because _she_ had just given tacit permission for said magic to affect her.  Some magic only worked if one allowed it to, but by promising to be there, Mal had let it in.  She’d grown overconfident, and the Black Fairy was tricky.  _She doesn’t trust any of us.  Don’t forget that again._ Still, she couldn’t help being disgruntled.  _Some thank you this little spell is.  Bitch._

“Tell no one about this.  Save Lily, of course.”  Arthur laughed softly, and Mal fought back the urge to go burn the smug bastard to ash.

“I dislike having my loyalty so questioned,” she snapped.

“Needs must.”  She could practically hear him shrugging.

“Tell your lady that I am loyal without the need to enchant me into it!”  She wasn’t, of course, but Mal had to play the faithful follower.  Anything else would get her killed.

“I am sure my _wife_ is sorry for the inconvenience.”

Mal just snorted and ended the call, heading back to their table.  She’d tell Lily later; they still had about five hours before they had to show up, and maybe by then the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach would have calmed down.

* * *

 

“When they go, Mordred and I will follow,” Rumplestiltskin said after giving his wife the high points of his discussion with his brother.  She was in the library, so he’d stopped by to talk to her.  Leaving Belle in the dark was never a good idea, and besides, he might need her to distract Morgan from following them.  “We have to stop her from bringing the fae here.”

Belle frowned.  “Is there no other way?”

If he was some hero type, Rumplestiltskin supposed he would have found a way to pick the necessary fight with Danns’ here.  He’d call her out and try to end it before even the _possibility_ of the fae escaping occurred.  And yet…he didn’t know how she planned on freeing the fae.  What if she sent someone else to do her dirty work while he was thus distracted?  Or what if innocent people got caught in the crossfire?  Any full on magical battle that was _not_ in Storybrooke had to be better than one that was.

“I don’t know of one, sweetheart.”  He grimaced.  “I wish I did.”

“And you want me to stay here.”  Belle couldn’t hide her bitterness.  “You want me to stay ‘safe’.”

“I want both of you safe, yes.”  He wasn’t going to lie, not about how he felt concerning Belle’s safety and that of the child she carried.  “But it isn’t only that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  If we fail…well, someone is going to have to stop your grandmother.  And that’ll fall to you and my mother.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to force a smile, but the effort turned into a grimace.  “Between Mordred and I, we should have a good chance against her.  Even if she brings Emma.  But you never know what might happen.”

“Particularly with three dragons against one?”  Belle always did get straight to the heart of the matter, but the idea made Rumplestiltskin vaguely queasy.

_There’s still plenty of the coward left in me after all, I suppose,_ he thought wryly.  But at least he understood that, now, and he knew he would probably survive the encounter.  _Unless Danns’ stabs me with the dagger, anyway.  That damned thing will_ always _be able to kill me._   Rumplestiltskin didn’t like the idea of going into battle; it made him nervous and jumpy, and he didn’t trust himself not to screw up.  But he remembered what his mother had said about playing to his own strengths.  He wasn’t going to go swing some sword like a hero; he was going to cheat.  He was going to find every loophole he could, and exploit them all.  Rumplestiltskin knew he could fight like that, even if some might find it distasteful.

“Rumple?” Belle’s hand landed on his arm when he didn’t answer, gentle and reassuring.  “Are you all right?”

“No.”  He managed a bitter laugh of his own.  “Not really.  I…well, this isn’t my kind of fight, Belle.  I’ve never been really good at standing up for what I believe in.”

“Of course you have, silly.  You’ve always fought to protect your family, and _this_ is no different.”   She squeezed his arm, and Rumplestiltskin turned to look at her.

“It’s easier to do when I don’t have time to think about it beforehand,” he admitted quietly.

“Are you worried Mordred might betray you?”

“Ironically, no.”  He shook his head.  “I’m certain he won’t.  He hates Danns’ far more than anything else, and _he_ wants to be a hero.  Mostly.” 

Mordred was a strange one, a man who wanted to save the world and be thanked for doing it using whatever dark methods he pleased.  But his heart was generally in the right place, and he _did_ want to stop Danns’.  Most of their family found Mordred an uneasy ally, but Rumplestiltskin understood his brother’s darkness just fine.  _It’s less toxic than mine was, anyway._

Belle took his hands, squeezing them gently.  “Then what is it worrying you?”

“I don’t know.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged helplessly.  “All of it, I suppose.  I don’t want this to be—I don’t want to mess it up.”

Unfortunately, Belle heard the words he didn’t say, and he saw the shock in the way her blue eyes went wide.  “You’re afraid you might die.  You almost said that you don’t want this to be goodbye.”

“I—I don’t think I will, sweetheart.  I don’t.  Really.  I just…I just worry.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to stutter, tried to sound strong, but he’d never really been a strong man, and he knew it.  “I’m finally on the right path, and I _know_ I have to do this.  No one else can.  But I’m no hero.  I can do the right thing, but I’m never going to be the type of man who can charge into battle without thinking of the thousand ways it can all go wrong.”

“You’re _my_ hero.”  Belle kissed him, softly and gently, and Rumplestiltskin melted.  His forehead fell to rest against hers, drawing warmth and reassurance from her presence.  “I love you, and I believe in you.  I know you’ll come back to me.”

“You’re not mad that I want you to stay here?”

“I’m not happy, but I understand.”  Belle shrugged.  “I want to help.  I want to make a difference.  If I’m needed here, that’s where I’ll be.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tightly.

They had time, at least.  Maleficent had thought that Danns’ would want to free the fae soon, but they probably had a few days.  He could use that time to hang a dozen or so spells, to stack the deck in their favor.  Rumplestiltskin might worry himself sick, but he was coming _home_ after this fight, no matter what it took.  He had missed the birth of one child, and he wasn’t going to miss another.  His daughter might be months away from joining the world, but he was going to be there.  No matter what.

* * *

 

“We’re _what_?” Lily turned to stare at her mother as Mal walked down the stairs, clad in dark leather instead of a sensible pants suit.

“It looks like we have a date with the fae tonight.”  Mal’s expression was carefully blank.  “You and I are both required to play ferrymen.”

“Really?  We’re expected to be _taxis_ for them?  Lily couldn’t help her sneer.  “Can’t Arthur do it?”

“Can you imagine that egotistical little man carrying anyone except his _darling_ wife?” her mother drawled, looking annoyed.  “He’d think he’s too important.”

Lily rolled her eyes.  “Great.  How many times are we going to have to fly back and forth?”

She was actually kind of worried about that; Lily had only carried a passenger once, and that had been when August had begged her for a ride.  He was writing some fantasy book or another, and burned to know what riding a dragon felt like.  Carrying him around hadn’t been the most fun she’d had in her life, and she knew that she was a relatively young dragon.  Her wings would get tired before long, and Lily really didn’t like the idea of falling out of the sky due to exhaustion.

“I have no idea.  We’re expected in an hour, though, so you’d best change into something more durable.  You never know what the environment on the other end will be like.”

“But if it’s some out of the way land, it’s probably crappy as hell, yeah.”

Her mother cracked a smile, but she could tell from the look in Maleficent’s eyes that she was really unhappy.  But she didn’t volunteer anything, either, which put Lily on edge.  _Something_ was up, and her mother wasn’t telling her.  Their relationship didn’t generally have a lot of secrets, which made this really worrisome.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I had hoped we had more time.”  Maleficent shrugged.  “Events are moving faster than I expected.”

“You’re worried that the smash-the-realms-together thing is coming up fast,” Lily realized as a cold feeling of dread washed over her.  “You’re thinking this is a really bad idea.”

Maleficent’s grimace spoke volumes more than the words that came out of her mouth.  “We have no choice.  Not at this point.  We _must_ take Danns’ to the Land of the Fae.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it, right?”  Lily was pretty sure that their house was safe and no one was listening, but if her mother wasn’t worried about that, why was she speaking so carefully.  “Can’t you tell—”

“No.  I can’t.”  A dark look.  “I was foolish and opened myself to magic that prevents it.”

And didn’t that explain why her mom was in a crap mood?  Maleficent hated it when anyone used magic on her without permission.  “Will it stop me?”

The look her mother gave her was appraising.  “No.  But you shouldn’t endanger yourself, Lily.  Not for my choices.”

“I picked this side with you, Mom.  It was stupid, but so was I.  And it did get Emma’s darkness out of me.”  Lily shrugged.  “I’m okay with taking chances.”

“ _I’m_ not okay with it.”  Maleficent looked sad.  “I know I haven’t always been here for you, Lily, but I do want to protect you.”

Impulsively, Lily stepped forward to hug her mother.  “I know.  And I won’t be stupid. I’ll just call a friend.”

Maleficent pulled back to arch an eyebrow.  “That pirate of yours, you mean?” 

“He’s not mine.”  Still, Lily felt herself flushing.

Maleficent just smiled.

* * *

 

Emma _had_ been cooking when the tug came, hard and insistent.  It gave her just enough time to turn to Henry, panic and apology in her eyes.

“I’ve got to go, kid.  I’m sorry, but—”

Henry got it right away.  “Someone summoned you, didn’t they?”

“Call your mom.  Don’t go out anywhere.  I don’t know what might happen.”  Emma said the words in a rush, but she never got to hear Henry’s reply.  She’d teleported away before her son could even open his mouth.

She wanted to scream in frustration, but doing that when she found herself on her knees at the Black Fairy’s feet was a bad idea. 

“Did I interrupt something?” Danns’ asked lightly, gesturing at Emma.

Only then did she realize that she still held a spatula in her right hand.  It was a sucky weapon, but Emma hoped Henry thought to turn the stove off.  “Dinner,” she grated out.  “I was cooking dinner.”

“You are full of domestic surprises, aren’t you?”  The chuckle was more malicious than Emma had heard in a while, and it made her hackles rise.

_Don’t do anything stupid,_ Nimue cautioned her.  _Plan.  Wait.  Stab her in the back when you can._   She couldn’t actually stab Danns’, of course, but maybe Emma could set things up so that someone else could.  _Or I can just shoot her after I’m free of this damned dagger!_   That thought felt suspiciously wonderful, but Emma was beyond caring.  Unfortunately, the rising pain in the back of her mind forced her to answer the question Danns’ had asked, inconsequential though it was.

“Henry burned the first set of grilled cheeses.”  Her son was only thirteen, after all, and eggs were about all he knew how to cook.  But he was getting better.

“How adorable.”  Green eyes glittered.  “Get up.  We have places to go.”

* * *

 

There were times when Killian really missed the days when the loudest presence in his life had been drunken sailors.  Things had certainly been simpler back then; a man could go to a bar and have a drink without some annoyingly modern piece of technology ringing in his jeans pocket.  Had there been pool tables in the Enchanted Forest, he certainly would have been able to make a winning shot without his phone vibrating and distracting him!  Now, of course, Baelfire and Tink were both laughing at him as the unexpected feeling made Killian jump and miss his shot.

Bae grinned before knocking back a gulp of his drink.  “That’s a bummer, man.  Sucks that you just sank the cue ball.”

"All because of your phone, too.  If I didn’t know better, Killian, I’d ask what was in your pockets.”  Tink smiled sweetly, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“I demand a rematch.”  Scowling at his cousin and his friend, Killian pulled his phone out, only to see Lily’s name and picture on the front.  Bae had made a few wisecracks when he’d shown him how to program that, but it had been better than asking Henry.  “Lily.  Hello.”

“Hey, I can’t talk for long.  I just, um, wanted to give you a heads up.”  She sounded worried, which made him immediately forget about the game he’d just lost and the drinks he’d imbibed. 

“About what?” 

“My mom and I are going on a trip.  I don’t know how long we’ll be gone—”

“You’re leaving Storybrooke?”  He felt his stomach drop.  They hadn’t said so, but Killian thought Lily was beginning to feel the same way he was beginning to feel.  He liked her, liked her sense of humor, her sharp edges, and her hunger to _do_ things.  Didn’t she like him as well?  If so, why would she leave so suddenly?

“We’ll be back.  We have to, um, take some people somewhere.  Like, tonight.”

“I’m missing something here, love.”  Killian could tell she was hinting at something, but he had no clue at what.

Lily cursed.  “Damn.  Okay, you obviously don’t know enough.  We’re going to play taxi for a certain pretentious bitch who wants to find some people.  Make sense yet?”

He could figure out who Lily meant from that description, but finding people… _Bloody hell._ The truth hit Killian like a ton of bricks, and he found himself grabbing the pool table for balance.  He didn’t know much about what was going on, but Mordred had told him how the Blue Fairy had locked the fae away, to keep Danns’ under control even after she escaped exile.  And Lily was involved.  Lily had been dragged into this mess.

“Aye.  I understand.”  Killian swallowed, trying to figure out how much concern she’d welcome.  “Be careful.  I know you don’t have a choice, but…”

“I’ll be careful,” Lily promised, but she said no more before she hung up.

“Everything all right?”  Bae had walked up while Killian was on the phone, clearly noticing his worried expression.  Tink was watching, too, her smile gone and her eyes concerned.

“No.  No, it isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred—“Ere He Goes to the Great Battle”, in which Danns’ and Emma depart for the Lands of the Fae via dragon, Blue finally admits that she needs help, Rumplestiltskin and Mordred try to stop the fae from being freed, and the first battle begins.


	100. Ere He Goes to the Great Battle

Emma hadn’t expected this to happen so _fast._   One minute, she was being summoned straight out of making dinner with Henry, and the next she was standing in a field with Danns’ as Maleficent, Lily, and Arthur transformed into dragons.  _Now you’re in for it,_ Nimue whispered in her mind.  _She’s going to let the fae go, and your strange little town is going to become their playground._   Something in Nimue’s voice made Emma shiver; there was weight there, and darkness that didn’t start with Nimue.  Emma had never really been one for reading history or stories—particularly since she’d stumbled into a fairytale world that had a whole other history that she _really_ didn’t understand.  Or want to, for that matter.

But now Emma wished that she’d bothered Regina or her parents for more stories about their world.  Maybe they could have told her what might happen if—when—the fae returned to the world.  Maybe then she might understand why the look on Maleficent’s face had been so carefully blank, or why Lily glanced her way so guiltily before transforming.  What did they know that she didn’t?  It was too late to ask, but Emma was really starting to worry.

Thinking of her _parents_ didn’t help; that only made her glare at Arthur’s dragon form.  He’d killed her mother, and Emma would _never_ forget that.  She’d found other outlets for her anger, disastrous ones, but that wound had never stopped festering.  She’d promised herself that she’d see Arthur die before the end of this, and that wasn’t a promise Emma had any problems keeping.  Maybe she was just the Dark One, maybe she just didn’t care.  Arthur had murdered Snow, and even if it had been an accident, that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve to die.  And Emma was more than happy to be the one to bring him to justice.  _But not today.  Today, I still can’t act against_ her _interests_ , she thought, shifting her glare to the dagger in Danns’ hand.

“Would you prefer to ride your old friend, Dark One?” Danns’ looked like she was highly amused by the entire situation.

“Better her than your murdering husband,” Emma hissed before she could stop herself.

“Oh, my, you _are_ still angry about that, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you be if someone had murdered _your_ mother?”

That actually seemed to take Danns’ aback, and something approaching grief crossed her face.  “Believe it or not, I understand where you are coming from.”

Emma just snorted.  She had no desire to make friends with the fairy who continued to keep her as a slave.  They didn’t have anything in common.  Period.  But then Danns’ walked up to her, laying a hand on Emma’s arm that made her freeze, shivering in both disgust and more than a little fear.  Her voice was surprisingly soft.

“Perhaps one of these days you will get what you want.”

Those words made Emma’s head snap around.  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Danns’ only smiled.

* * *

 

His phone rang just as Rumplestiltskin was putting the finishing touches on what he hoped was the final spell that would free Emma.  Belle was curled up next to him, studying his work and offering thoughts here and there, and he’d just opened his mouth to say how glad he was that she had decided to learn magic.  Belle had spotted two or three things that he _never_ would have thought of; for all his careful talent with magic, Rumplestiltskin didn’t tend to think in terms of how goodness and light.  Belle did, which meant she saw things that he didn’t, and it made this spell in particular so much more effective.

“Bae?”  He couldn’t help it; any call from his son made him smile.  “I thought you were out for the night.”

“I was.  Tink and I were actually just kicking Killian’s ass at pool, but he got a call.  I think they’re going now, Papa.  They’re going to get the fae.”

Rumplestiltskin froze, a cold chill running down his spine.  _Already?_  “Now?” he managed to say, barely avoiding a stutter.

“Seems like.  You gonna go after them?”  Bae knew him too well; they hadn’t even talked about it, but his son understood that Danns’ had to be stopped.  And the fact that Bae assumed Rumplestiltskin would do the right thing warmed him inside.

It also gave him some much needed courage.   Rumplestiltskin sucked in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he said, just as Belle reached for and squeezed his hand.  “Yeah, I am.”

“Be careful, all right?  I’m not ready to lose you.” The emotion in Bae’s voice made Rumplestiltskin swallow hard.  “And try not to hurt Emma.  I just dropped her a text that she didn’t answer, and I think she’s with them.”

“Of course she is.” Not growling those words took an effort Rumplestiltskin was not up to making.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Killian, Tink, and I are going to go see David at the sheriff’s station real quick, and then I’ll come home to be with Belle.”

“She’ll be here.”

Hanging up the phone, Rumplestiltskin turned to his wife, half expecting an argument out of her.  They’d already discussed this—just the same morning, actually—but he knew Belle hated being left out of important matters.  _Yet I don’t know if Mordred can carry more than one person, and even if he could…Belle would not be the logical one to bring._

“I believe in you,” she said suddenly, coming up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.  “And don’t you dare say goodbye, because I know I’ll see you again after this.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed so hard that he was pretty sure Bae could hear it down at the Rabbit Hole.  “I love you, too.”

_She believes in me_.  Those words echoed in his mind as Rumplestiltskin teleported himself to Mordred’s castle, buoying him in ways that the darkness had once tried—and failed—to do.  Belle believed he could do this, and while part of him would always be the terrified coward who avoided conflict at all cost, he had learned how to fight.  He’d fight for her, for his family, and hopefully, they’d all come out the other side alive.

* * *

 

There was just a little more paperwork to do before they could go home; they’d only had one arrest so far today, and it was just a pair of drunk knights from Camelot who had been fighting with one another.  The agreement with the people living in Musicbrooke had worked out fairly well so far, with Galavant _and_ his wife becoming something like unofficial deputies.  The Musicbrookers seemed to have abandoned the idea of letting their ‘Land Pirates’ be law enforcement, which relieved David to no end.  Galavant and Isabella were far smarter—particularly Isabella—and the people actually listened to them.

“Are you really going to keep _me_ in here all night?” Sir Lamorak complained from one of the cells.  He’d been separated from Sir Yvain because they wouldn’t stop trying to kill one another, apparently because of some stupid point of honor or another.  “Yvain is clearly at fault.”

“Your sentence only gets longer if you keep complaining.”  Robin made the threat with a completely straight face, but David had to bite back the urge to sigh.  They were still trying to work out the legal system here, and they’d probably end up letting both knights go if they behaved themselves well enough.

Sooner or later, they’d figure out what type of community service people like these two could do, but it was hard to send a knight who refused to learn about modern technology to do something like leaf blowing.  Though David supposed that he could have them pick up trash in the park.  Even if both knights would scream that it was beneath them.

“Arthur would have us out by now.”  Yvain sniffed as if their presence offended him.

“Well, unluckily for you two, Arthur’s not in charge here.  We actually uphold our laws, and we don’t play favorites about who gets punished and who doesn’t.”  Or at least they weren’t going to from this point forward.  David knew that had to stop.  No one would ever trust them again if they covered something else up.

Lamorak snorted.  “He’ll win the elections, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“If you think anyone in this town is crazy enough to vote for him, you’re really blind.”  Robin laughed easily.  “In fact—”

The door swinging open cut the outlaw off, and they all sat up straighter when the Blue Fairy paused in the doorway.  David even found himself rising with instinctive respect; his relations with Blue might not have been the best in recent days, but he would never forget the kind things Blue had done for him and Snow over the years.  Now, however, she looked almost nervous, as if she wasn’t sure why she was there.

“Blue.  What brings you here?  Is everything all right?”

“Of course.”  Her smile seemed forced.  “I was wondering if we might talk, though.”

“Sure.  Do you want to speak in private?”  David gestured towards the office, which made Blue look around and study everyone in turn.

Squaring her shoulders, she seemed to make a decision.  “No.  This will involve everyone, and we must act quickly.  My sister—Danns’ a’Bhàis—has acquired the location of the fae.  She will work to free them soon.”

“How did she get that?” Robin was on his feet, too, looking worried.

“She…she took it from me.  I tried to stop her, but I could not.”  Blue wrapped her arms around herself briefly before shaking herself.  “We must gather everyone who is willing to fight her, and she must be stopped.”

“I thought you said this was fairy business,” David couldn’t stop himself from saying.  “You didn’t want our help before.  What changed?”

“I was wrong.”  Blue looked unhappy, but more raw and honest than he’d ever seen her.  “Danns’ threatens our entire world, and if she frees the fae, no one will be safe.”

“Even our land has stories of the fae.”  For once, Galavant wasn’t singing, and he wasn’t smiling, either.  He’d been listening to the conversation with a blank expression, sitting over by the cells with his wife.

Isabella looked equally grim.  “They say that the fae view humans as their toys.  That they’ll make you dance until you die, steal your children, and spoil your food.  Is that true?”

“It was pretty bad when Nuckelavee was running around,” Robin answered.  “A few people were killed in some of those crazy dances.  I don’t know about the rest, though.”

David turned to look at Blue, along with almost everyone else.  He remembered that first dance, the one he’d been dragged into.  He remembered dancing and dancing, with his feet and legs burning and a insane smile pasted on his face while his mind struggled against the magic.  He’d felt devastatingly happy, wild and trapped, spinning around and around until he could think of nothing else.  Had Rumplestiltskin not broken that spell, much of the town might have died the way the children in the park later did. _Yet one more thing that the Black Fairy should pay for,_ he thought, waiting for Blue to say something.  The senior fairy looked very uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.

“We must act quickly.  If she leaves, no one will be able to stop her.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin appeared in the courtyard of the castle and started to speak before he had even caught his balance.  “Mordred!”

His brother’s face appeared in a window almost immediately.  “What in the world has you so worked up?”

“It’s happening now.  They’re leaving.”

“Already?”  Mordred teleported to his side in a swirl of blue smoke.  “She is eager.”

“I hope you have that damned Sapphire on you, because we may need it.”  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t had a chance to hang the spells he’d wanted to—he’d assumed he had time to finish off the spells to free Emma, first—which meant they were going into this almost  empty-handed. 

“I always do.”  Mordred’s narrow face turned dark.  “You have ridden a dragon before, I trust?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow rose.  “And here I was thinking that you were long-lived, and Maleficent is rather—”

“Not my type,” he cut him off firmly.  “And we don’t have time to waste, so if you don’t mind?”

“It’s not as if either of us has much of a choice in this, so we’d best get on with it.” 

Mordred shrugged, and then stepped back.  Rumplestiltskin followed suit, not sure how large of a dragon his brother would turn out to be.  He was lucky that Mordred preferred fighting with magic over fire; otherwise, he might have been a barbequed Dark One back when they had been at odds.  Now, however, watching Mordred transform was more interesting than it was dangerous, and Rumplestiltskin found it impressive despite himself.  Blue and red smoke swirled as Mordred became a large black and red dragon, and then reptilian eyes turned on Rumplestiltskin.

A swirling ball of fire jetted his way, forcing Rumplestiltskin to bat it aside with magic as Mordred gave him a very dragon-like grin.

“That is _not_ amusing.”  He glared, but the realization that he was severely underdressed for dragonriding took a lot of bite out of the expression.  _Damn._ Mordred shot a smaller ball of fire at his legs, seemingly trying to communicate the same idea, and Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “I’ve noticed, yes.  Thank you.”

The legs of his expensive gray trousers would absolutely shred against dragon scales, wouldn’t they?  Gathering magic to himself, Rumplestiltskin twirled his right hand, quickly transforming his tailored suit into his old leathers.  He chose warm browns instead of black this time, just as he had on their visit to the Enchanted Forest; he wasn’t in Neverland, and Rumplestiltskin was no longer the Dark One.  But there was no denying that leather would stand up to this journey far better than anything else.

 While he did so, Mordred lumbered closer and then hunkered down, indicating with a flick of his long snout that Rumplestiltskin should get on.   The idea of riding a dragon was more intimidating than he wanted to admit, but since he’d be damned if he showed his brother any trepidation, Rumplestiltskin climbed up and tried to settle in.  Balancing was hard, and Mordred’s scaly back was anything but comfortable, but he was reasonably sure that he would not fall off.

At least until a giant flap of Mordred’s wings sent them straight up into the sky, and Rumplestiltskin almost let out a squeal of terror.  _I will_ not _giggle like the imp!_   Part of him wanted to, though.  He’d never liked heights, and that giggle had masked many fears in its day.  The ground was growing dizzyingly small, though, and looking down was definitely a _really_ bad idea.  _I will not fall off.  I will be fine,_ he told himself as firmly as he could.  Mordred was flying fast, ignoring his brother’s discomfort, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to focus.  He could catch himself with magic if he fell, anyway, so what was he worried about? 

A gust of wind caught under Mordred’s left wing, making the dragon jump and bump a bit.  Rumplestiltskin grabbed for the scaly neck, gripping it for dear life, but holding on like this was _hard_.  Mordred arched right, angling the inside wing towards the ground, and Rumplestiltskin bit back the urge to shout at him to fly straight.  Mordred knew what he was doing, and Rumplestiltskin thought they were getting along better these days.  Mordred wasn’t going to _try_ to dump him off, was he?  No.  That was just his ridiculous imagination running away with him.  But he still hated flying with every fiber of his being.

The only good thing about his fear of heights was that it distracted him from the battle to come.  That thought only held as long as it took for him to spot a trio of dragons flying in the distance, however, and Rumplestiltskin felt Mordred speed up again.

His stomach lurched nervously, but it was certainly too late to quit, now.

* * *

 

Flying was pretty awesome, actually.   Emma might not like the circumstances that had put her on Lily’s back, but damn, this was cool.  She was really glad that she’d favored leather as the Dark One, though; Emma couldn’t imagine trying to ride a dragon in jeans.  The ride was surprisingly smooth, too, and looking down on Storybrooke from the air was a sight she wasn’t ever going to forget.  She could almost put aside the fact that Danns’—not too far ahead of her, riding Arthur’s obnoxiously large dragon—had forced her to come along.  Arriving at their destination was undoubtedly going to suck, but in the meantime, Emma could enjoy herself a little.

_I wish Henry could see this_ , she thought, watching the harbor vanish far below.  They were over the water, now, and Lily was speeding up to catch up with the others.  Henry would have loved a ride on a dragon; maybe—when everything was over—she could convince Lily to give him a ride.  Lily had promised to help her, and Emma thought they were trying to get their old friendship back on track.  It would be nice to have her oldest friend back, too.

Suddenly, the sting of magic jerked her up short.  The flavor was different, and a moment passed before Emma realized this had to be dragon magic.  _We’re about to cross between magical realms,_ Nimue provided helpfully.  _We are going where no one has been in centuries.  Brace yourself._

The magical wall hit Emma right in the face, and for a moment, everything went black.

* * *

 

Tink shoved the door to the Sheriff’s Station open, with Bae and Killian right on her heels.  She’d chosen a hell of a day to start socializing again; Tink hadn’t really hung out with her old friends since escaping Nuckelavee, and of course they’d been interrupted.  Now Killian was stewing over Lily, who he absolutely wouldn’t admit that he was falling for—Tink planned on ribbing him for that later, not that it would do much good—and Bae was worried for his father.  The entire situation was crazy, but Tink supposed that was what living in this town was like. 

Seeing Blue in the station, however, made her stop cold.  “What are you doing here?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Making sure our world is not overrun by the fae.”  Blue sniffed primly, and Tink really wanted to reach out and smack that maternal expression off of her face.  _Yeah, you really made sure of that when I got captured by one of those same fae and you did_ nothing _!_

“It might be too late for that.”  Killian cut in with his usual subtlety, and Tink liked the way that Blue’s eyes went wide.

That was really petty of her, wasn’t it?

_Oops._

David spoke up before Blue could get in.  “What happened?”

“Lily called me and said that she and Maleficent are taking the Black Fairy to the lands of the fae.”  Killian gestured worriedly.  “I think they’re already gone.”

“I texted Emma, and she’s not answering.”  Bae looked even sicker with worry than Killian did, and Tink wanted to hug him.  It didn’t take pixie dust to tell her how much Bae loved Emma, and she really did wish the best for the former lost boy.  He’d always been recklessly brave, and entirely too clever, too.  _If anyone could manage to love the Dark One—aside from Belle—it’s him._ “I think she went, too.”

“Damn.”  David and Robin exchanged a worried glance, but it was Blue who asked:

“They went by dragon?  Are you sure?”

Killian scowled.  “Lily was rather specific about ‘playing taxi’, yes.”

“Then we cannot follow.”  Blue’s face fell.  “We’re too late.”

“Maybe not.”  David turned to Robin.  “Do you think your friend might help?”

“Tad?  Um…I’m not sure.”  Robin shrugged uncomfortably, scuffing his toe against the floor.  “He’s kind of trying to get into bed with Maleficent, and Lily’s his daughter.  He’s not going to fight against them.”

“He doesn’t have to.”  Bae spoke up before Blue could probably say something prim and pointless about how _everyone_ should do what was right.  “My dad already followed.  With Mordred.”

Robin’s jaw dropped.  “With _Mordred_?”

“He’s been helping.” Killian sounded defensive, and Tink couldn’t blame him.  She’d gone out to Mordred’s castle with Killian a few times.  Mordred was a bit prickly, but he was a decent enough guy, and he was clearly Killian’s favorite member of his newfound family.  _Aside from maybe Bae, but they were already friends._

“He and Rumplestiltskin are a dangerous combination,” Blue said before anyone else could get in, and finally Tink could hold her silence no more.

“Dangerous because they give a damn about humans?” she snapped.  “Or even about their own people?  Yeah, that’s terrible.  They’ve been fighting while you hid in the convent, but you’re going to lecture everyone here about how ‘dangerous’ they are?  Give me a break.”

Blue jerked back as if she’d slapped her, and Tink wished she had.  Mostly.

Everyone stared in silence for a long moment, and much to her surprise, it was Blue who finally said: “You’re right.  I’ve waited too long, and my hesitation may cost us everything.”

“Can _you_ take us there?” David asked Blue.  “You locked the fae away in the first place, right?”

“I did.”  Blue looked down at the floor for a moment.  “But I can’t.  My magic…my magic is blocked from me.”  She slid her right sleeve up, revealing a tight copper band around her wrist.  “Danns’ made sure of that.”

“Can any of the other fairies get there?” Tink asked.  “Can I do it?”

Blue just shook her head.  “No.  The magic was mine alone.  I did not want Danns’ to learn how to break it.”

“Will it hold against her, then?  Could we be worrying for nothing?” Isabella spoke up from Galavant’s side, looking hopeful.

“I fear not.”  Blue grimaced.  “If Danns’ took Emma with her, their combined power might just break through.  If not…there are other ways that I will not share.”

David nodded firmly.  “Then we’d better prepare Storybrooke for the worst, just in case Rumplestiltskin fails.  That means we have work to do.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t in the shop, which Regina found more than a little strange.  Oh, he’d worked shorter hours than ever after turning into the Sorcerer and making up with Belle, but Rumplestiltskin was usually still there around six.  A glance across the street told her that the library was dark as well, which meant he wasn’t over there visiting his wife, either. 

“Damn.”  Regina knew what she wanted to do, of course, but she had been hoping to get her old mentor’s opinion on the offer that the Black Fairy had made her.  He was married to the crazy fairy’s granddaughter, after all, and probably had a better idea how Danns’ mind worked than any of them. 

“Is something wrong?”

The unexpected question made Regina whirl around, magic flying to her hands.  But it was only Morgan, who watched her with dark eyes that were entirely too much like Rumplestiltskin’s.  Then again…maybe _she_ might have an idea.

“I was looking for your obnoxious younger son,” Regina admitted with shrug. 

“As was I.”  Morgan shrugged.  “I—”

The sudden flap of wings over their heads made both women look up, only to see a black and red dragon soaring into the sky.  A rider was crouched on its back, clad in brown leathers, and looking very small against the dragon’s massive form—but Regina would know that damn man anywhere.  Not letting her jaw drop off of her face was hard.

“Why the hell is Rumple riding a _dragon_?”

“That’s Mordred.”  Morgan’s expression was suddenly tight.  “And if they are departing in such a hurry, I believe I know where they are going.”

Something in the other woman’s tone made Regina worry.  “What are you thinking?”

“I suspect we will find that other dragons have departed this night, and if so, there is only one possible destination.”  Morgan’s frown was a dangerous and deadly thing.  “Dragons can cross realms with their magic, including to the land of the fae.”

“Wouldn’t they tell you?”

All she received in response to that was a thunderous glare.  Regina was spared from having to find a reply when her phone rang, however, and she grabbed it with relief.

“Henry!  How is your dinner with Emma?”  Regina had been a little hesitant to let Henry go to Emma’s, but she’d known that she needed to. Her little hooligan would only sneak out if she tried to stop him, anyway.

“Not good.  She got summoned away about fifteen minutes ago, and she’s not back yet.  I’m worried, Mom.”

“Are you all right?”  Regina tried to sound like her chest wasn’t suddenly tight, but she knew she failed.

“Yeah.  I’m fine.  But Mom’s not answering her phone, either.”

Regina couldn’t believe her ears.  “You tried _texting_ her when she’s with the Black Fairy?”

“What? I’m a kid.  Even the Black Fairy has to figure she’ll get texts sometimes.”  She could hear Henry shrugging.  “I met her as Widow Morton, you know.  She’s _got_ a cell phone.”

_“Henry!”_

“I’m joking!  Mostly.”  She could hear him shuffling around.  “I’ll walk to the sheriff’s station.  It’s not far, and Robin’s there, right?”

“He should be.”  Reining in her protective instincts was hard, but if Emma wasn’t answering her phone, that probably meant she’d been dragged along to wherever the posse of dragons was going.  Assuming Morgan was right.

“I’ll text you when I get there so you stop worrying,” he son said before she could argue.  “Bye!”

Growling to herself, Regina slipped her phone back into her pocket.  She loved Henry more than anything, but he really could be such a teenager sometime.  Keeping him out of trouble was a full time job.

“Is everything all right?”

Sighing, she turned to Morgan.  “My son is being a pain in the rear.  He takes after the _rest_ of his family in that.”  Regina snorted.  “Both sides, unfortunately.”

“I am not surprised.”  Morgan’s expression said that her own sons were in rather more trouble than Henry was, and Regina almost pitied the two idiots.  _Whoever thought that Rumplestiltskin would find a_ brother _to get in trouble with?  Thank goodness they weren’t doing this back when he was the Dark One._ That thought was far from comforting. 

“Boys will be boys, I suppose.”

“What did you come to speak to Rumplestiltskin about?” Morgan asked suddenly.

Regina hesitated, fighting back her old habits of secrecy.  Morgan wasn’t exactly her friend, but they were far from enemies.  They were definitely on the same side, and Morgan’s magic was what had allowed Regina to carry Robin’s child.  So, she took a deep breath and told the truth.  “The Black Fairy came to see me.  She offered me safety for my family if I was willing to stay out of the fight.”

“That’s clever.” 

That answer made Regina blink; it was eerily close to the first reaction she’d expected out of Rumplestiltskin.  Then again, she really shouldn’t be surprised, should she?

“Anything other than clever?” she asked testily.

“Unfortunately.  She’s looking for a new figurehead.”

“Come again?”

“If she’s approaching you—you, the frontrunner in the coming elections; you, who have made Arthur look like an incompetent administrator—she’s planning on disposing of my stepbrother.”  Morgan grimaced.  “I always did tell him that she’d discard him someday, but he never listened.”

“You think she’s going to kill her own husband?”  Regina couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping.  Sure, she’d orchestrated Leopold’s death, which hardly meant she could cast stones on the spousal murder front, but Danns’ seemed rather fond of Arthur.  “I thought she liked him!”

“She probably does.  But I doubt that will save him.” Morgan looked sad.  “It’s the only explanation.  She wouldn’t offer you safety if she didn’t have a use for you.  You’re a threat to Arthur’s power, so…”

“That makes a sickening amount of sense.” 

“You wouldn’t survive it long, though.  She clearly wants Belle to be her heir, or her ‘token’ human.  Danns’ wouldn’t need you for long.”

“You know, I find how easily you get in her head more than a little disturbing.”  Regina had done some nasty things in her day, but even she had never been that cold-blooded.  _I see where Rumple gets it from, but I think even he isn’t quite so detached._

 “I’m not a nice person.”  Morgan shrugged.  “I’ve dedicated my life to stopping her, and now my fool sons have run off where I cannot protect them.”  The last words were almost a snarl. 

“I know the feeling.”  Regina thought of all the times Henry had snuck off to do something, of all the times he’d thought he was right and ended up risking himself.  Rumplestiltskin and Mordred were both adults, but she knew damn well that she’d worry about him even if he was centuries old, too.

“Come.  We must prepare for the worst.”

“You think they’ll fail?”  She hated asking, but Regina had a responsibility for the town.

Morgan’s face closed off.  “I hope not.”

* * *

 

Lily landed on the side of a mountain that seemed to be an island floating in a sea of clouds after several hours of flight.  The dragon beneath her landed a little hard, jarring Emma slightly, but she hardly noticed.  The mountain was _huge_ , probably bigger than Everest, and covered in unearthly looking trees.  The strange orange and green sky above bathed the trees in a downright creepy light, too, and Emma wasn’t sure if they were going to reach out and try to eat her when she slid off of her old friend’s back.  The branches were definitely moving with the wind—but there wasn’t really a wind.  The place was just _weird_ , particularly the door nestled into the sheer rock wall to their left.

That door was an eerie looking thing, too, overgrown with vines and thorns and looking like it was a little iced over.  _Did someone sic Elsa on that thing?_ Emma thought, staring incredulously at the door.  It looked like it hadn’t been opened in centuries.  _It hasn’t been,_ Nimue whispered helpfully.  _The fae must be there, and they’ve been locked away for at least that long._

Somehow, it was comforting to realize that Nimue didn’t really know what was going on, either.  The original Dark One—or the consciousness of _all_ the Dark Ones—usually had an answer for everything, but not this.  And that was kind of nice.  She was depressingly used to knowing less than the voices in her head, though it really was a pain in the ass.  Even if Emma _was_ getting along better with them these days, and Nimue had generally stopped trying to force her to do terrible things.  _Then again, that might be because I don’t have the dagger_.  Despite herself, she found her eyes drifting to the offending weapon, which was in the Black Fairy’s hand again.

“Come, Dark One.”

Emma bristled.  “I have a name.”

“Of course you do.”  Danns’ looked at her like she was some silly little girl.  “Come.”

Like a puppet on strings, Emma found herself dragged forward.  Of course their destination was the door; they reached it just as Arthur transformed back into a human.  Lily and Maleficent didn’t look eager to do so, though, and both lifted back off into the sky, causing giant gusts of downward wind that almost knocked Emma on her ass.

“They’ll keep watch, I suppose.”  Arthur shrugged, but Danns’ seemed to pay him no mind.  She was focused on the door.

“What now?” Emma couldn’t stop herself from asking.  She didn’t have a choice in participating, so she really just wanted to get this over with and go home.

It was damned cold on top of that mountain.

“Be silent,” Danns’ hissed, flicking the dagger at her.   

Pain reared up in Emma’s head, making her vision go a little white around the edges as she rocked back on her heels.  Of course, the command stuck—they _all_ did—so all Emma could do was glare and walk forward at the Black Fairy’s side.  Arthur, on the other hand, looked perfectly content to be there.  _What did she mean when she said that perhaps one of these days I’d get what I wanted?_ Emma wanted Arthur dead, burned to avenge her mother.  She’d tried to stop herself before Danns’ got the dagger because of the deal she’d made with Rumplestiltskin, but now Danns’ had the dagger, and she was sure as hell never going to let Emma kill Arthur.  No way.

“Can you open it?” Arthur asked as Danns’ studied the door in silence.

“Of course.”  But there was an annoyed twitch in her face that Arthur didn’t seem to notice.  This close—they’d stopped right in front of the ice-coated door—Emma could _feel_ the magic that kept it closed.

It was fairy magic, which made every nerve in her body tingle unpleasantly.  Actual _fairy_ magic, too, not to be confused with that of the fae to her left.  It left Emma feeling nauseous and uneasy, like ants were crawling all over her skin.  It was _dusty_ , and far too light, and made her scowl deeply.  Emma had never minded fairy magic before, even if she’d only encountered it a few times, but now it disagreed with the darkness so strongly that Emma wanted to vomit.  _Or kill someone._   The two should have been contradictory, but not for the Dark One.

Emma couldn’t wait to be free of this crap.  She’d never imagined what kind of burden it would be, or how it would change her…undoubtedly forever.  Emma knew she’d never be who she was, and although she’d mostly come to terms with that, the thought still hurt.

After another moment of study, Danns’ turned to Arthur.  “Stand back, darling.  I wouldn’t want you to be hurt by what we are about to do.”

_We.  Freaking great._

“Gladly.”  Arthur gave Danns’ a smile that was either besotted or self-satisfied; Emma didn’t really care which.  She was too busy bracing herself.

Sure enough, it was her turn next, though Danns’ eyes were far colder when they focused on her.  “We will open this door.  You will use your power under my direction—and leave it at my disposal.  Understood?”

“Yes.”  It wasn’t like Emma could prevent the bitch from using her power, anyway.  She could complain and she could fight, but the end results would be the same.  _And I need her thinking that I’ve given up on fighting._

Silently, Danns’ hands came up, but Emma could feel the slight tremor beneath her feet as the Black Fairy drew on power.  And _such_ power it was!  Even in this early stage, it was enough to make the Dark Ones inside her salivate with envy.  Emma didn’t really give a damn; her Savior magic had always been enough for her, even if she couldn’t really reach it at the moment.  But she could feel the power in her responding, could feel the silent demand for her to begin breaking through the magic binding the door shut.  So, Emma’s hands came up, too, black and white tendrils of power erupting from her palms.  The ground shook harder, and the door creaked ominously, but she could see that it wasn’t moving.

Danns’ hissed with frustration, pouring even more power forth.  Emma did the same, her shoulders beginning to ache from the strain.  She watched in morbid curiosity as Danns’ attempted to break the bonds holding the door shut with no success.  The ice finally melted after a few minutes’ concentrated power, but the vines covering the door only seemed to spread, growing thicker and stronger.  _That’s the fairy magic at work,_ she realized abruptly.  The more power Danns’ poured into breaking the enchantment, the stronger it grew.  The spell was actually _feeding_ on their magic, turning it inside out and using it to fuel the very protections they were trying to break.

Suddenly, Danns’ hands dropped, and Emma felt her magic screech to a halt.  The Black Fairy turned to her with burning eyes.

“What do you see?” she snapped.

Well, at least that was permission to talk again.  Emma hadn’t relished that previous command of _silence_ at all.  “It’s feeding on every effort to open it.”

_Clever, isn’t it?_ Nimue said admiringly.  _Never thought I’d admire the Blue Fairy’s work, but there’s a first time for everything._

Voicing _that_ would only get her hurt, though, so Emma said no more.

“So it is.”  Danns’ eyes narrowed, and then—surprisingly—shifted to Arthur.  “Then we shall use another method.”

“Like what?” Emma couldn’t help her curiosity.  She really didn’t want to help free the fae, but did want to know what the hell was going on.

Danns’ smiled, and her expression was the most dangerous sight Emma thought she’d ever seen.  Something in the way her green eyes sparkled sent a violent chill down Emma’s spine, and every instinct she had screamed that something was about to go terribly wrong.

“Arthur, I do believe we need your assistance.”

The fool who had married the Black Fairy approached eagerly enough.  “Shall I burn it down for you?  I’m not sure if dragonfire will be enough, but if you believe it will, I’m happy to try.”

“You do know that I have loved you, don’t you?” Danns’ asked him, reaching a gentle looking hand up to touch his cheek.  “In my own dark way.”

“It’s why we’ve made such an effective team.”  Arthur smiled.  “I never asked that which you could not give.”

“And I have appreciated that.”  Her smile was almost sad, until it turned predatory again.  Then her other hand, the one holding the dagger, came up.  “Kill him, Dark One.”

“Danns’, _what_ —?” Arthur staggered back in shock, right towards Emma—who found herself moving towards him.  Yet she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.   _Kill him,_ Nimue hissed immediately.  _Take your revenge!  You know you want it!_

Emma gaped, even as her hands reached out on their own to grab Arthur by the arm.  She must have heard wrong.  She wanted this terribly, but—“He’s your husband!”

Danns’ shrugged diffidently.  “He’s only human.  And he’s committed plenty of crimes.  He’s hardly an innocent.”

Arthur stared at them both like the world had gone mad, but for a moment, Emma dared to hope that killing Arthur might give her both revenge and freedom—until Danns’ last words sank in like ice.  _He killed your mother,_ Nimue reminded her, fury evident in every word.  _And he butchered thousands in the war against Mordred.  He helped Danns’ trap Arthur, too._   Emma felt so cold and small; she burned to kill Arthur, but like this?  This was butchery, even if Arthur’s many victims deserved justice.

_This isn’t justice_ , the voice of the woman she’d once been whispered from deep within her.

But Emma couldn’t stop herself.  Arthur tried to jerk away, but she pulled him close almost without thinking, her right hand shooting forward and tearing his heart out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’re on the 100th chapter! My current estimate for total length is 115 chapters or so (yikes!). It might be a tad longer, but we’ll find out. I do hope you’re continuing to enjoy this story; I know it’s been a long haul, and it’s so wonderful to know that so many people have stuck with me!
> 
> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and One—“He Scape the Doom of Fire”, in which the door is opened, Blue eats some crow, Rumplestiltskin and Mordred go toe-to-toe with Danns’ and Emma, Robin tries to talk Tad around to helping, and Mordred finally falters.


	101. He Scape the Doom Of Fire

Mordred was only a few hundred feet from the ground when Emma crushed Arthur’s heart, which gave Rumplestiltskin a perfect view of the former King of Camelot’s death.  Arthur’s body collapsed like a sack of rotted potatoes, while magic arched outwards from his form, illuminating the door and the vines covering it with a strange white light.  The door didn’t open—thankfully!—but Rumplestiltskin could tell that it _would_ without much more prompting.  And then the fae would emerge into this world, free and able to travel to Storybrooke.  How would they return?  He wouldn’t put it past Danns’ to have the ability to create a portal with her wand, particularly one back to the hub between all the realms.  That was the easiest place to travel to, and _everyone_ Rumplestiltskin cared about was there.

They couldn’t let her open that door.  “We need to land!” Rumplestiltskin shouted at Mordred, forgetting his fear of flying and pulling his right hand away from its former death grip on Mordred’s scaly neck.  He didn’t know if Mordred could hear him over the wind whipping by, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t wait.

His hand snapped forward as Mordred dove towards the ground, a fireball arcing out towards Danns’.  Rumplestiltskin never thought it would connect, but the attack coming from above did distract her, making the Black Fairy spin to look at him.  Emma turned, too, and Rumplestiltskin saw Danns’ begin a spell of her own—until Mordred roared, and a giant wave of fire erupted from the dragon, burning in on the Black Fairy and the Dark One.  Both threw up shields that the flames almost ate through, scorching the ground at their feet and even the mountainside and the door behind them.  Mordred’s attack bought them time, until the world suddenly dropped out from under Rumplestiltskin about fifteen feet off of the ground.

His bastard of a brother had _transformed_ in lieu of landing, sending them both tumbling to the earth.  Rumplestiltskin quickly used magic to cushion his fall, rolling to his feet as Mordred did the same.

“You take Danns’.  I’ll take the Dark One.”  Mordred’s smile was a little dark, a little frighteningly _hungry_ —but then, he’d been fighting this war his entire life, hadn’t he?  Of course he was eager.  Unlike Rumplestiltskin, Mordred enjoyed battles such as this.

“Try not to—”

“Hurt her too badly, I know.”  Mordred snorted.  “Your boy is terribly fond of her, and as he and Henry are family, I shall have to restrain myself.”

_Whoosh._ The ground suddenly shook, and a flood of power suddenly split the air between them, making both brothers dodge as Rumplestiltskin threw a shield up to stop it.  His magic held, though his left arm began trembling right away.  Danns’ wasn’t pulling punches, and if that spell had hit them, it would have broken them both in half.  Then Emma—looking furiously trapped—threw a second spell their way, a spiraling mess of darkness that tried to eat the skin off of their bones.  Mordred blocked that before turning to glare at Rumplestiltskin.

“Get the dagger, and this discussion will be moot!”

“Don’t you think I already know that?” he snapped back, jerking his head to the right.  Mordred got the message and crossed behind them, batting another spell from Emma aside as he did so.  Rumplestiltskin shifted left, moving to face Danns’ while Mordred did the same with his foe, throwing another ball of fire (this one concealing a solid core of sharp ice) at Danns’ to keep her honest.

Unfortunately, she dodged that one and let it hit the mountainside, which rumbled ominously.  _Let’s not start an avalanche, dearie!_

“Try to be mindful that the damned thing can kill you as easily as it can _her_ ,” Mordred growled, gesturing at Danns’.  Purple magic swirled in his other hand as he tried to trap Emma in a tornado of vines, a spell that seemed to be working quite well.

Rumplestiltskin dredged up a fierce smile, trying not to think of the power he could feel in the air, of the way the very world seemed to be shifting beneath their feet.  “I didn’t know you cared, brother dear.”

But, damn it all, Mordred was right.  They should have asked their mother for Galatine.  That was a ridiculously foolish oversight that might get them _all_ killed.  The dagger was the only secondary power here, the only thing that could kill Rumplestiltskin or Danns’.  _Or Emma, but that’s hardly the goal._ Yet he was a idiot for letting his enemy have a weapon that could kill him without bringing one of the same.  Of course, they hadn’t wanted to let Morgan know what they were planning, neither had seen the gaping problem until it was too late.  Mordred seemed to realize the same thing, but he only shrugged.

“Well, I’d hate to face these two by myself.  Where would the fun be in that?”

“If you think this is fun, you have problems.” Rumplestiltskin glared at his brother, who only grinned back.

Then Emma blasted through the vines and hit Mordred with the magical equivalent of a hammer, tossing him off of his feet and about fifteen yards to Rumplestiltskin’s right.  He’d be fine, of course; Rumplestiltskin had hit Mordred with that exact spell a century or so earlier, back during their first fight, and it hadn’t seemed to do lasting damage.  Danns’, on the other hand, sent a small spark of black and white sailing towards him, one that looked so harmless that it almost fooled Rumplestiltskin.  At the last moment, however, he _looked_ at the magic, and realized it what it was.  His hands whipping upwards, Rumplestiltskin yanked the mess of threads apart, channeling power into his palms to make it work.  He usually preferred finesse over brute force, but there wasn’t time, and the small spell exploded only three feet from his face.

“You are the clever one, aren’t you?” Danns’ cocked her head, studying him curiously.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t distracted enough to miss the spell he’d snuck in close to her; as it erupted out of the ground, Danns’ batted his attack aside like it was made of nothing.  Somehow, that seemed to make her smile.  “And sneaky, as well.” 

“That’s what they say.”  Rumplestiltskin could feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage, but his fear was—thus far—manageable.  He could even dredge up a cold smile to counter the toxically playful one on his opponent’s face.  “I’m certainly smart enough not to try to collapse realms into one another, murdering thousands in the process.”

“Oooh, are we upset by that idea?  Be careful, or you’ll become too much like Merlin.”

“It seems like there are worse people to emulate.” 

Her response was a blast of darkness that almost knocked Rumplestiltskin to the ground, forcing him to stagger as he barely blocked the brunt of the attack.  Pain shot up his left arm as the spell ripped small holes in the leather and his skin, and Rumplestiltskin twisted away from the next attack, a strangely conventional fireball that left him wondering why Danns’ would use something so simple—then silver suddenly glinted against the setting sun, and instinct screamed at Rumplestiltskin to _move_.

He was too late.  Gleipnir flashed through the air, settling around his neck so tightly that it almost yanked him right off his feet.

Wheezing out a gasp, Rumplestiltskin staggered, struggling for balance.  But the best defense was good offense, so his hands came up, thick with suddenly sluggish magic, only to find the spare end of the impossible chain wrapping around his wrists and yanking them together.   A pull sent him crashing to his knees, dizzy and suddenly _numb_.  His magic was still there, but it was slow to respond and hard to reach.  Danns’ had both ends of the chain, and she loomed over him, now, smiling smugly.  Rumplestiltskin yanked against the chain, but the links burned his skin when he did, sapping magic out of him and making his vision go silver, then blue, and then green and red.

To his right, he was vaguely aware of Emma being flung backwards by something Mordred threw her way, but then the Dark One was back on her feet, bruised and shaky, but still fighting.  She said something to Mordred, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t catch it.  His attention was too focused on his opponent.

“But not clever enough.”  Danns’ eyes flashed dangerously.  “I had hoped to spare you, for Belle’s sake.  But she will not come to me, so I find I must force her hand.”

“If you think that hurting me will make her do _anything_ —” The words cut off in a choking gasp as Danns’ yanked the chain.

“Of course it won’t.  I know where she got her courage from.”  Danns’ rolled her eyes.  “No, I simply must break you to my will, and quickly.  Fortunately, your past experiences should make that simple.”

_“What?”_ he rasped.

But the implication was clear, as was the hungry look in Danns’ eyes that reminded him far too strongly of Zelena.  “There are realms in which time moves faster.  Once the fae are free, I will take you to one.  We will not be gone long—at least not as far as Storybrooke is concerned.”  She looked thoughtful.  “In fact, we should be back by morning.  Therefore—”  

A roar cut her off, and suddenly fire rained down upon them. 

* * *

 

Belle ended up joining the others at the Sheriff’s Station.  It was as good a place as anywhere to meet, and most of the major players were already there.  Regina was already working with Ruby and Isabella to create a place to house wounded if the battle came there, while David, Robin, and Galavant worked together to create squads of roaming lookouts who would report in if they found the fae.  Morgan watched them all with grim eyes, Galatine strapped across her back.  Belle felt a little useless, standing off to the side near Bae and Killian as people volunteered for various roles.  Bae was helping Henry go through a book Morgan had provided to find any stories about the fae, while Killian and Tink quietly discussed which fairies would help them.

Hearing that, however, gave Belle an idea, and she headed over to where Blue stood by the doors, staring outside like she was expecting the world to end.

“Hey.”  Belle kept her voice gentle; she hadn’t been as kind to Blue as she might have been the last time they’d talked, but now she could tell something was wrong.

Blue’s answering smile was strained and mechanical.  “Hello, Belle.”

“You came by the library to talk to me a few days ago.  Why did you ask how my magical studies were progressing?”  Too late, Belle realized that there had to be more to Blue’s visit than simple paranoia over Rumplestiltskin teaching her.  Those two would always have their differences, but this was something else.

“I…I needed your help.”  Blue looked away.  “My sister…she didn’t just let me go.  She isolated me from my magic.”

“And you hoped _I_ might help you?” Belle stared; Blue certainly hadn’t been coming to Rumplestiltskin, not with how hostile she’d been.  That meant she’d wanted _Belle’s_ help, which was…different.

“Yes.”  Blue shrugged.  “I cannot free myself, and the most powerful of my fairies cannot, either.”

“Then why would I be able to?”

“Danns’ believes you inherited our sister’s power, that the power Fionna gave her has been passed down to you.  If so, there may be enough original power in you to get these off.”  Slowly, Blue pulled up her sleeve to reveal a tight bronze band on her wrist, pressing deeply enough into the flesh to bruise. 

Belle frowned.  “Why not ask Rumple if you needed an original power?”

“He would not help me, child.  Our past is too fraught with hatred.”

“I think you underestimate the man he has become.”  Belle knew that her husband still disliked Blue, but she also knew that he was trying to be better.  The fact that Blue had called him unworthy of his power did irritate Rumple to no end, but he was still a man who was willing to make a deal.  If Blue was willing to fight with them, Belle couldn’t imagine Rumplestiltskin standing on ceremony and not helping her.

Blue smiled sadly.  “I think you underestimate how much he hates me.  Or what he blames me for.”

“I do know that story, you know.”  Belle meant to let that comment slide, but she just _couldn’t_.  “I also know what you said to him, and how you told him that no human should have the power he does.  Does that belief include me, or is it unique to him?”

Finally, Blue cringed a little.  “I may have misspoken.  I was…unhappy to know that Merlin’s power settled in a former Dark One.”

“Because that’s _all_ you’ve ever seen him as!  If you bothered to actually _know_ him, you’d understand that he’s far more than that.”  Taking a shuddering breath, Belle reined her temper in with an effort.  “But I don’t believe in holding grudges.  I will help you if I can, provided you promise that you’re not going to ally with my grandmother.”

“That I can easily swear.”  Blue swallowed.  “I may not always approve of the ways humans use magic, but what Danns’ seeks to do will destroy many thousands, and I cannot countenance that.  I will do all I can to stop her.”

“Even if it means allying with us?”  Morgan’s sharp question made Belle jump, and she turned to see her mother-in-law stepping towards them.

Blue grimaced.  “Even that.  I am not perfect, and I acknowledge my mistakes.  I have tried to defeat Danns’ on my own for far too long.  But we need each other.  I know that, now.”

Morgan’s dark eyes narrowed.  “If you even try to take Henry’s heart, I will kill you without hesitation.”

“I will not.”

Morgan opened her mouth to argue, but Belle reached out to put a hand on her mother-in-law’s arm before turning back to face Blue.  “We’ll believe you.   Please don’t give us cause to regret that.”

“Thank you, Belle.  You’ve always had Fionna’s kind heart.”  Blue’s smile seemed genuine, but Belle had the feeling that her great aunt was only trying to manipulate her.  _Again._   Still, she squared her shoulders and brought her chin up.

“Tell me what I must do to free you.  I will help you if I can.”

* * *

 

Fire turned the air red and orange, engulfing Rumplestiltskin and Danns’ with heat and flame.

Ducking as far as he could with Gleipnir wrapped around his wrists and neck—which wasn’t far at all—Rumplestiltskin braced himself for pain that never came.  He didn’t know if dragonfire was easily directed or not, or if Mordred had simply decided that the price of burning up his brother was worth paying if he could also target the Black Fairy.  Either way, he never got to find out.  Danns’ free hand came up, no longer holding the dagger. Instead, she gripped a a black and red stone, raising it aloft to meet the incoming attack.  The fire split around them, scorching the ground under Rumplestiltskin’s knees and burning the grass, but otherwise doing no harm.  Mordred’s dragon form let out a howl of exasperated rage, but Danns’ brought the Stone of Giramphiel up again, shielding herself from the second volley of dragonfire.

Mordred rose into the air as Rumplestiltskin struggled against the chain holding him—pointlessly and helplessly, as his magic was growing slower and deader by the moment.  Emma launched a ball of ice at each of Mordred’s wings; he dodged one, but the other clipped his left wing and sent him into a lopsided spiral.  Mordred came out of it as Rumplestiltskin lurched to his feet, kicking out at Danns’ knees.  He missed, but did succeed in distracting her away from attacking Mordred—and then a shadow suddenly zoomed towards them both.

Danns’ brought the Stone up again, but Mordred wasn’t trying to burn her this time.  Instead, the sweep of his uninjured right wing caught Danns’ right in the face, making her snarl and jump backwards before she could fall.  At the same time, claws suddenly reached for Rumplestiltskin.  He felt his eyes go wide as one clawed foot swept the end of Gleipnir right out of Danns’ hands—but he still couldn’t get the damned thing off.

Then those claws suddenly closed around his shoulders, sweeping Rumplestiltskin into the air. Unable to help himself, he let out a wheezed squeal of shock and terror, his legs kicking helplessly while Mordred towed him over the ground.  Rumplestiltskin was only about twenty feet up, but it was twenty feet too far, particularly when Emma hit Mordred’s left wing with another ice ball, sending the dragon tumbling to the earth.  Thankfully, Mordred transformed back into a human before they hit ground, although that meant he landed on top of Rumplestiltskin as the two bounced off the mountainside about fifty yards away from the door.

“What the hell was that?” Rumplestiltskin demanded before he could stop himself.  Then he found himself coughing helplessly; the damned chain was still too tight.

Mordred grinned, unwinding Gleipnir from around Rumplestiltskin’s neck with his right hand.  “Saving your ass, little brother.”

“I don’t believe I’m actually younger than—”

A gray jet of magic suddenly broke between them, forcing both men to fling themselves backwards.  Instinctively, Rumplestiltskin starting bringing his hands up, only to find that they were still bound by the damned chain and his magic was utterly useless.

Mordred, on the other hand, was not so handicapped, and he turned on Emma with a snarl.  “Can you try _not_ interrupting brotherly arguments?”

“I’d say that I wouldn’t if I wasn’t forced to, but I consider smashing your face in a public service.”  Emma’s eyes were dark with helpless rage, but that didn’t stop her hands from snapping out and the ground beneath them from opening up to swallow them.

A swirl of red smoke teleported them another fifty feet to the right—and thirty feet or so _up_ , as it was a mountainside—before Rumplestiltskin could even think of making his sluggish magic respond.  Mordred snarled down at Emma’s form, his expression reminiscent of his dragon form for one frightening moment.

“Get this thing off me!”

“What, you don’t like multi-colored chain-link jewelry?” Mordred did start unwinding Gleipnir from around Rumplestiltskin’s wrists, though, his movements clumsy and one-handed.  Fortunately, once Rumplestiltskin’s right wrist was free, he was able to pull the rest of Gleipnir off himself, glancing briefly at Mordred’s blue and frozen left arm. 

“Thanks.”  He grimaced, feeling his magic roar back to life.  It felt like his senses suddenly worked again, instead of being both deaf and blind.  “That explains why you teleported instead of flying this time.”

Mordred smirked, clambering to his feet.  “You _really_ don’t like heights, do you?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin wished that Mordred hadn’t noticed that, but it was a little too late, now.  _And my unmanly squeal when he picked me up just now probably didn’t help my cause._ It wasn’t often that he felt the shadow of being the town coward, but that old feeling crept in on him now, heavy and crippling.  _I am not that man.  Not any more._ Yet he felt inadequate, felt worthless.  He’d been caught damned easily by the Black Fairy, and his brother had been forced to save him.

_My brother saved me._

Those were words that Rumplestiltskin had _never_ expected to be true…yet here they were.

"I can heal that, if you want.”  The words slipped out before he could stop himself, but Rumplestiltskin still braced himself for rejection.  _He’s an accomplished sorcerer.  Even if Mordred isn’t healing it himself at the moment, that doesn’t mean he can’t._   Did it?

Mordred blinked in surprise.  “It’ll keep.”

“Don’t be a fool.”  His tone sounded harsh to his own ears, but Mordred only stared at him.  Deciding that wasn’t a refusal, Rumplestiltskin lifted his hand, summoning magic and focusing.  Healing what the ice had done to Mordred’s arm was child’s play for him, although Emma had wrapped her iceballs around a dark core that made it hard for the person hurt to heal.  Rumplestiltskin, however, had no such issues.

“Thank you.”  Mordred looked like he wasn’t sure how to say that, but the words sounded genuine—if awkward—enough.

Rumplestiltskin started to smile, but then movement caught his eye.  His head snapped around as Rumplestiltskin spotted Danns’ stepping back up to the door.  She’d put the Stone of Giramphiel away, but she was standing next to Arthur’s dead body, magic dancing out of her fingers and over the—

“Damn her,” Rumplestiltskin found himself whispering.  “While we’re up here, she’s—”

“Using Arthur’s death to open the door.”  Mordred finished the sentence with cold finality that reminded Rumplestiltskin that they were speaking of Mordred’s father.  There was no love lost between the two, but that didn’t mean that Mordred wasn’t angry.

They both knew what had happened.  _Love_ and devotion had sealed that portal; Blue must have sacrificed a fairy to do the job.  _A willing sacrifice is the second highest form of magic,_ Rumplestiltskin knew.  Blue had used one to keep Danns’ out of the lands where she had sealed the fae, and now Danns’ had sacrificed someone she loved to free them.  The sacrifice of a loved one was the third most powerful form, which was why that had been the key to casting the dark curse.  Danns’ had used that now, used it to open a door that all of her power couldn’t move.  _Damn that blue bug.  If she’d bothered to tell us what she did, we could have been prepared!_

Rumplestiltskin looked left, meeting Mordred’s eyes, and nodded sharply.  They teleported together, appearing a mere dozen feet behind Danns’ and completely bypassing Emma, who had just teleported to the ridge they had just left.   But they were too late.

The door was open, and fae were pouring out.

* * *

 

After Blue finished explaining the bands, Belle turned to look at Morgan.  “Do you think I can do it?  I know I’m not an original power.  Even if I did inherit Fionna’s power, I didn’t get all of it.”

“No, you didn’t.”  Morgan wanted to throttle Reul Ghorm for asking Belle to do this.  Belle was _pregnant,_ about three months along, and Reul Ghorm had no right to demand she do magic on this level.  Morgan knew about those bands, though she’d never seen them before, and she knew how much power it would take to remove them.  “You ought not do this.  She’s not worth the risk.”

“If my grandmother frees the fae, we’re going to need her magic.”  Belle looked calm but stubborn, and Morgan knew her well enough to read the look on her face.

“You’re going to try this if I help you or not, aren’t you, girl?” she growled.

Belle met her eyes evenly.  “Yes.”

“Well, we all know where you got that good heart from, and it certainly wasn’t your grandmother.”  Morgan sighed.  “Very well.  I am enough fae that I can help.”

Of course, Blue started looking offended.  “You are not—”

“I am no more original power than Belle, but I _am_ a half power.”  She met Blue’s glare for glare.  “If you want to be free—short of waiting for my _son_ to return—this is the way it will be done.”

Belle gave her a smile; Blue moped.  Morgan just put her hand on Belle’s shoulder, and she and her daughter-in-law went to work.

* * *

 

“We need your help, Tad.”  Robin didn’t see any reason to beat around the bush; so far as they knew, the Black Fairy had three dragons on her side, and they only had one.  Adding Tad to the ranks would help even the odds.

His old friend and fellow outlaw, however, just grimaced.  “My daughter is on the other side, Rob.”

“And there’s no better way to keep her safe than to help us.”  Richard had come with him, and for once the (former?) king was deadly serious.  And not singing.  “Come on, Tad.  This is our _home_ , now.  If we won’t fight for it, who will?”

“I am sorry.”  Tad shook his head.  “I will not fight against you…but I cannot help you.  Not against my daughter and her mother.”

“And how many innocents will die because of that?” Robin snapped before he could stop himself.  “We promised we’d protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.  Have you forgotten that?”

Tad shrugged, looking guilty.  “Of course not.”

“Then help us.  _Please_.”  He stopped himself before he could say something harsher; Robin knew that he’d have been torn if his child was on the other side.  _Yet my pregnant wife is ready to fight, and my stepson wants to as well.  I understand needing to keep those you love safe, but some things are just worth fighting for!_

“I cannot.  I am sorry.”

“Tad.”  Richard looked so sad that Robin wasn’t sure he was the same man.  “Would you fight with us if they were not on the opposing side?”

The dragon-turned-bearded dragon looked offended.  “Of course I would.  How can you ask me that?”

“Do you think you can keep them safer by _not_ fighting?”

“No.” Tad glared, but Robin could see him wavering.

“Then fight with us.”  Robin reached out to grab Tad by the shoulder.  “I give you my word that we’ll do our best to save Maleficent and Lily both.  You’re not the only one who cares about them.”

Tad looked between the pair of them, his shoulders heaving with a heavy sigh.  “You’re not going to leave me alone until I agree to help, are you?”

Robin and Richard answered as one: “Nope.”

“Then I am your man.  Or your dragon, as needed.”

* * *

 

There seemed to be some sort of magical barrier; only two fae were able to come through at a time, though the pause between the sets was not nearly long enough for Mordred’s tastes.  The first two fae through were both women, one with blue eyes and white-blonde hair, and the other with black eyes and even blacker hair.  Both had the same ethereal beauty as Danns’…and the same homicidal glee dancing in their joyous expressions.  Mordred had seen their type before, and he was fairly sure that he even remembered these two.  Vidia had pretended to be one of ‘Guinevere’s’ handmaidens for years, and Jhudora had come to Camelot with Nuckelavee.  Jhudora was nearly as dangerous as the fae Rumplestiltskin had sucked into the Hat, and even less sane. 

Immediately, those two joined with Danns’ to throw a wall of destructive power at the brothers, though it was something that Mordred and Rumplestiltskin were able to stop.  Unfortunately, they both could see shadows waiting in the doorway, and it didn’t take a genius to know that more fae would come out as soon as they were able.  Whatever protections of Reul Ghorm’s that were left on the doorway were sufficient to slow them down, but not enough to stop a damned thing.

He glanced at Rumplestiltskin, surprised how easy it was to read his younger brother's face.  They’d made a surprisingly good team, and they both knew what had to be done.

_I’m sorry, Mother._ He really had tried not to use the Greater Sapphire.  Mordred wasn’t a fool; Rumplestiltskin had been right.  Using the Sapphire again might well kill him, and he’d promised their mother that he wouldn’t do so again unless the need was dire.  Unfortunately, Mordred could only find one way out of the situation they were in…and that included using the Sapphire.  There had been a time that he could never have been able to imagine the choice he was about to make, but Mordred had dedicated his life to stopping the Black Fairy.  _Needs must, I suppose._

Reaching inside his pocket, Mordred drew the Greater Sapphire out.  The blue stone was already pulsing with Circe’s power, and he could feel the slight vibrations running up his arm.  He hadn’t worn the Sapphire in some time, not since he’d finally realized what it was doing to him, but Mordred knew he had no choice.  Not today.  So, he slipped the chain over his neck, felt the electric _thrill_ of power merging with his own, and turned to his brother.

“You close the door.  I’ll hold them off.”

Rumplestiltskin gave him a sideways look.  “Are you certain?”

Jhudora and Vidia threw another attack at them, and then Emma joined in, with more of those damned ice balls that had done so much damage to his left arm.  _Where_ did _she learn a trick like that?_ Mordred had a pretty good read on the Dark One’s level of knowledge, and he knew that wasn’t anywhere in the typical repertoire.  But the Sapphire let Mordred block those spells easily enough, particularly since Rumplestiltskin’s shield rose to meet his own. 

Then the door let another pair loose, and they didn’t really have time to argue.

“Just do it before anyone else gets free!”  Maybe, just maybe, if Rumplestiltskin was fast enough, Mordred could stop using the Sapphire before it consumed him.  He knew that once he got too deep, he’d have no chance of pulling himself away.  “Hurry up!”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, and Mordred felt the ground shake as his brother dug deeply into power, stepping left to give himself a straight shot at the door.  But how would he close it?  He certainly couldn’t use Reul Ghorm’s method of doing so.  _There isn’t enough love lost between the two of us for him to use_ me _for that, and I think we all know that Rumplestiltskin will never sacrifice someone he loves.  He’ll kill himself first._

_That sure as hell better_ not _be his plan._

Power sizzled in on him from one of the new fae, and suddenly Mordred was facing the wrong end of six to one odds.  No, make that five to one—Rumplestiltskin got a potshot in on Jhudora while the arrogant fae wasn’t watching him, and she’d sailed into Vidia, smashing both into the mountain face.  Vidia got up, but Jhudora didn’t, and Mordred bit back a grin as he opened himself to Circe’s power.  It filled him eagerly, singing a song of fiery power and glory, and he almost forgot how stupid and suicidal he was being.  _Almost._   He’d really become something of a fool, hadn’t he?  But there wasn’t another option; Danns’ was turning towards Rumplestiltskin to stop him, so Mordred needed to get her attention.  Fast.

“Hiding behind your followers already, Danns’?” he called, watching her head snap around.

Danns’ hated nicknames on principle, particularly from those whom she had not invited to use them.  Mordred was _definitely_ not someone encouraged to be so informal with her, and he knew it.  Her eyes narrowed ominously.  “You of all people should know that I do not hide.”

“Well, at one point I would have said that you didn’t kill your own family, either.”  He shrugged as diffidently as he could, blocking an attack from Vidia and one of the newcomers.  Was that Yara?  He couldn’t tell the hordes of fae apart.  “But looking at my father’s body…well, that was clearly a lie.”

“Says the man who tried to kill him more than once.”  Danns’ rolled her eyes.

“I was always very forthright about my intentions.  He didn’t trust _me_.”  At least not once Danns’ had gotten ahold of him.  The father Mordred had known when he was younger had died after his marriage to Danns’, though that didn’t make Arthur’s death burn less here and now.  Mordred met Danns’ eyes.  “I’m beginning to think Belle is very wise to stay clear of you.  How long will it be before she is your next sacrifice?”

That did the trick.  Magic hammered in on him as the fourth fae went for Rumplestiltskin, creating a rainbow of sparks in the air just inches from Mordred’s face as he managed to stop Danns’ attack.  He retaliated by sending a gust of fire in her direction, but Danns’ batted that aside easily.  Two trees went up in flames, but neither of them noticed.  One spell turned to four, then to ten, and they battered away at one another with all they were worth.  Danns’ had a slight edge, because the transfer of power from the Sapphire to a human was imperfect and fraught with loss, but her advantage wouldn’t matter if he could keep her distracted long enough.  She got in one good hit even as Mordred dodged a spell that would have torn him in two, a magical scythe slicing into his left leg and making pain scream up his thigh.  Mordred stopped the bleeding as quickly as he could, but Vidia managed to hit him with a freezing spell that slowed his movements to a crawl.

Too late, Mordred noticed Danns’ gesturing with the dagger, and suddenly a hand landed between his shoulder blades.  Abandoning magic, he spun before the Dark One could rip his heart out, swinging wildly with his right arm and getting Emma right in the face.  She jerked back, throwing a punch back at him from what seemed to be instinct—and much to Mordred’s surprise, connecting with his left cheekbone.

Sputtering, Mordred reeled backwards, unable to believe that he’d just been _punched._ At least kept Emma from getting his heart, but _really_?

“What kind of Dark One punches someone?” he asked incredulously.

“One who really doesn’t like you,” Emma shot back.

Mordred had to snort.  She was hardly a proper sorceress, but the damn woman had a point.  “Fair enough.”

_Why the hell does Baelfire have to be in love with this Dark One?_  He wanted to scream.  It would have been so much easier if his brother and nephews (not to mention his great nephew) would not have been so irate had he done irreversible damage to Emma Swan.  Particularly when she hammered magic at him that was as dark as anything any Dark One had ever employed—and a nasty tornado of a spell that he recognized as being Nimue’s creation.  He blocked it with the Sapphire, but Jhudora was up and attacking, too, which made Mordred teleport away from the pair when Emma lunged for his heart once more.

Then Danns’ attack hit him from the left, sweeping Mordred off his feet and tearing a deep gash in his stomach.  He sealed it up quickly, stopping the bleeding with a rush of too much power, but that took valuable moments.  Vidia and one of the other fae—up close he thought it was Agor, who was Vidia’s younger ‘brother’ and twice as cruel—were looming over him before he had a chance to scramble to his feet, and they joined Jhudora and Emma in hammering him.  Mordred blocked most of it, staggering as two and then three spells hit him, and then collapsing to one knee as something to the right caught his eye and suddenly distracted him.

“Savage him, Dark One!” Danns’ command rang out, and Mordred barely managed to dive away from Emma’s next attack, which made the ground where he’d previously knelt explode in a shower of rocks and dirt.

_Damn._ Four more fae had made it through the door whilst Rumplestiltskin fought to reweave the spells that had once held it shut.  One of them went for the Sorcerer and did not survive the experience, but the others teleported straight to Jhudora’s side.  Was that Titania and Yara?  He thought that the dead one was Gan Ceanach, but Ankou was now next to Jhudora.  Mordred threw up another shield as they attacked, only to watch it collapse, and then made a split second decision.  Drawing on his own magic, he quickly transformed into a dragon, launching himself off the ground with a roar and heading straight for Vidia and Agor.  Vidia managed to dodge, but Agor didn’t, and Mordred caught him in his mouth as he rocketed for the open sky.  One _crunch_ of his jaws broke the fae clean in half, and Mordred dropped him, hoping that the two halves of Agor  might just land on someone he didn’t like.

Planning to arc up into the air and come around and burn as many fae as he could, Mordred leaned into the turn, stretching his right wing out as far as it could go—only to find three ice balls impacting with that wing before he could straighten out.  They almost ate through the tender, leather-like area between his joints, turning his wing numb and burning all at once.  Struggling to keep it from collapsing as he roared in pain, Mordred tucked his right wing in close, wheeled himself around using his left wing and a gust of magical wind, and aimed to crash land on whichever fae were closest.

Unfortunately, one of them hit him with an anti-transformation spell, and Mordred found himself human again—and almost a hundred feet in the air.  Three spells hit him before he could teleport himself closer to the ground, and even then, he hit hard.

His scream echoed off the mountainside as the fae and the Dark One closed into the kill.  Emma got there first, stomping hard on his right wrist.  His arm wasn’t working right, so his hand flopped open—and Emma kicked the Sapphire away.

“I always knew it would be a Dark One who killed me.”  He coughed, but managed a bloody smile for her.  “Mother would never say…but I always knew.”

For a moment, he thought he saw pity flash through Emma’s eyes, but she seemed to push it away quickly enough.  “Those are crappy last words.  Got anything better to say?”

He could curse her, or say a thousand stupid defiant things, but there was only one thing Mordred had really left undone, and the thought made him grimace.  The words came out in a whisper.

“Tell Nimue that I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Two—“Hither Shall I Never Come Again”, in which Rumplestiltskin finds a loophole, Henry researches ways to stop the fae, David and Robin find a fight, Storybrooke readies for battle, and Danns’ loses something important.


	102. Hither Shall I Never Come Again

The sky would have been dark if not for all the magic in the air; Rumplestiltskin was not sure what time it was in this strange little mountaintop world, but he was certain that midnight had passed in Storybrooke.  He felt like he had been trying to close the doorway for hours, during which time another six—or was it eight?—fae had escaped.  Danns’ had turned to engage him once again once she had Mordred surrounded by fae, and Rumplestiltskin barely managed to dodge her attacks whilst trying to figure out how to close that door once and forevermore.  He was _not_ about to repeat Blue’s heinous little trick; even if a fairy had volunteered to die, Rumplestiltskin was not going to sacrifice anyone he loved.  Danns’ had been willing to kill her own husband, Belle’s grandfather, but he was not Danns’ a’Bhàis and never would be.  Even as the Dark One, he could never have sacrificed a loved one.  Not like this.

Yet there was a loophole there, wasn’t there?  Rumplestiltskin felt his eyes go wide.  It could work.  It really could.  He just needed to—

“You’ll not close it in time.” Danns’ interrupted his thoughts coldly, flinging a wave of purple and silver magic at him.  It was designed to temporarily paralyze him, but Rumplestiltskin spotted the three threads holding together and unraveled it with a hard _yank._ That made her eyes narrow.  “It’s time for you to reconsider your options.”

“Options such as what?”  The remnants of her spell floated in the air between them, useless and discombobulated, so Rumplestiltskin gathered them up with his right hand.  He also stopped the pointless flow of power he’d been throwing towards the doorway; it had done little enough to reconstitute Blue’s spells.  Had he another few hours, Rumplestiltskin could pick up those pieces, but he didn’t _have_ to.

“Belle is my granddaughter.  She is the one person in this world who truly means something to me.”  Much to his surprise, Danns’ met his eyes levelly and truthfully.  “She loves you, which means you are more than welcome as a partner.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Whatever happened to your talk of breaking me to your will?”

She just shrugged.  “I will have you one way or another.  If you wish it to be the most painful way possible, then so be it.”

Another spell came his way, this one fury wrapped in cold and dark calculation, intended to rip him open from waist to neck.  Dodging left, Rumplestiltskin _caught_ that red and silver ball in his right hand, holding it tightly as the spell tried to burn his fingers off.  He just needed a few moments, and—

Mordred’s dragon form lurched off the ground, roaring into the air, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped around before he could stop it.  He looked just in time to see Mordred transform and watch three—or was it four?—spells hit him before he teleported away.  Human and bleeding, Mordred crashed to the ground with a scream of pain, but magic was filling Rumplestiltskin’s hands, and he had to act _now_.

“If you think that even the Sorcerer can win against such odds, you are a greater fool than Belle takes you for,” Danns’ said harshly.

Rumplestiltskin let his smile turn cold.  “I don’t have to win.  I just have to keep _you_ from victory.”

Hands shooting forward, Rumplestiltskin sent _Danns’_ magic sailing at the still open door, twisting it around the remnants of the magic that Blue had cast centuries earlier, using the all-too-recent sacrifice of Arthur to reactivate the sealing spell.  One sacrifice would do as well as another, and Danns’ magic recognized her bond with Arthur.  Had he gathered less of her power, he would not have been able to exploit this loophole, but like recognized like.  Two more fae escaped before the door slammed back shut, but the white and silver light that played over the wood sealed it tightly.

For the first time, Rumplestiltskin saw Danns’ confident expression waver.  “What have you _done_?”

“Haven’t you heard?” he couldn’t help taunting her.  “I’m the King of Loopholes, dearie.  Try opening it _now_.”

She snarled furiously, but he wasn’t paying attention.  Rumplestiltskin had a brother to save.

Assuming it wasn’t already too late.

* * *

 

His son really was pretty freaking awesome.  Henry bent over _A Historie of Fae and Faeries_ , jotting down notes and figuring out ways to beat the fae at their own games.  So far, what Henry had found was pretty grim, right up there with every nasty legend Bae remembered hearing as a child.  Aside from Killian, he was pretty sure that he was the only one who remembered such stories.  _Well, I’m sure Grandmother knows them too, but since she_ lived _them, I don’t think she counts._   Abruptly, Henry put his pen down and looked up, glancing towards Bae.

“Whatcha got, kid?”

“This book talks about a couple ways to stop minor fae from messing with you, though I’m not sure how much of it will work.”  Henry shrugged.

“At this point, anything’s better than nothing.”  The magic users would work on defeating the fae, but Bae knew better than anyone that a lot of mischief could happen between the start of the battle and the end.  “What’s it say?”

“Well, we can make garlands out of marsh marigolds, though the stories kind of say that’s to protect livestock more than people.”  Henry glanced down at his notes.  “Putting flowers around windows seems to keep some of them out, though I _think_ that’s more for fairies than fae.”

“Yeah, that’ll work on us.”  Astrid and Leroy had arrived after Robin, Killian, and Tink departed.  Leroy was off with the other dwarves stocking bomb shelters, but Astrid had hung around to help.  Her smile was crooked.  “I tried to go to Game of Thrones last week, but there are _so_ many flowers around the windows that I couldn’t go in.  It was kind of embarrassing.  But the garlands might work, at least to keep them away from the horses.”

“Oh.  I guess that one’s out.”  Henry’s shoulders slumped, and Bae reached out a hand to squeeze his arm.

“One out of two isn’t so bad.”  He gave his son an encouraging smile.  “What else is there?”

“Red berries?”  Henry glanced at Astrid hopefully.  “The book says from rowan trees, mountain ash or holly.”

“Um, I don’t know.  Maybe?”  The young fairy wiggled uncertainly.  “I’ve never heard of that one, but I really don’t know much about the fae.  Maybe it could work?”

Henry groaned.  “This isn’t really helping, Dad.  We need to do _more_.”

“There are a lot of people out doing more.  But you’re the Author, and if anyone has a chance of finding anything—”

“That’s it!” Henry cut him off, jumping to his feet.  “We need the other storybooks.  The ones from Grandpa’s house.  I’m sure there’s something else in there.  There are a lot of blank ones, but there are _old_ ones, too, ones from Grandma Morgan’s time and earlier!”

“Great.  Let’s hop in the car and go get them, then.”  Bae knew that Belle had driven over, and he didn’t think his stepmother would mind if he stole it for a bit.

“There’s no need for that.”  Belle’s voice was cheerful as she walked up; in the background, Bae could see Morgan and Blue exchanging hard words.  “I can help.”

“If you want to drive, I can go help Killian and Tink.”  Bae half hoped she’d say yes; he really wasn’t the comb-through-books type.  _That skill must have bypassed me when Henry inherited it from Pop, because he sure as hell doesn’t get it from the maternal side,_ Bae thought wryly.  _Then again, he probably learned it from Regina.  She’s not afraid to crack open a book._

In fact, he knew that Regina was doing just that at the moment, casting protection spell after protection spell on every ‘bomb shelter’ the dwarves created.  She’d done a damned good job raising Henry, and even if Bae would always hate himself for not having been there, he couldn’t regret the way his son had turned out.  Belle’s laugh, however, brought him back down to earth.

“Oh, no.  You don’t get out of research _that_ easily.”  A wave of her hand suddenly made a swirl of white and golden smoke appear in front of Henry.  When it dissipated, a stack of worn storybooks revealed itself.

“Cool!” Henry sat back down and grabbed one without preamble, and Belle plopped down across from them in the booth to do the same.

“Come on, Bae.”  Belle gave him a teasing smile.  “I know you can read, so you have no excuses.”

“Guess I don’t, yeah.”  After all, he’d just told Henry how other people were doing ‘more’ to prepare for the fae.  What kind of crap example would Bae be setting if he ran off now?

* * *

 

Emma still remembered exactly what Mordred had said all those months earlier, word for damned word.  _“This gauntlet is enchanted.  Its magic will out-live me, so even if you kill me, it’ll still choke your son to death.”_   He’d been willing to kill Henry then, willing to hurt a thirteen-year-old boy just because Henry was the Dark One’s son.  Mordred had lost, but Emma had never forgotten, and now she found her right hand snapping up, darkness boiling through her veins.

Mordred was already bleeding badly, and she’d kicked the Greater Sapphire away.  He couldn’t use that to save himself, and his legs seemed not to work.  Maybe he’d broken his back in his fall; Emma didn’t really care.  She had waited a long time to get revenge on the man who had tried to lock her away in the Vault of the Dark One, and now she could hear the clamor of voices in her mind _screaming_ for her to punish him.  Had Danns’ not held the dagger, she might have been able to stop herself, but right now she didn’t want to.  She just wanted to watch him _die._  

Closing her fist cut Mordred’s airflow off, and a pleasing little squeak for air escaped him as he clawed at his throat.  His right arm flopped uselessly, but his left came up, magic sputtering in his palm.  Emma waved that away viciously, victory bubbling through her.

“You tried to choke my son to death,” she hissed.  “Now it’s your turn.”

Mordred couldn’t answer, of course, and that was okay with Emma.  It was also okay with the darkness, and with every Dark One save Nimue—whose voice suddenly boomed into her mind.

_What the hell is_ he _sorry for?  I volunteered for this!  Tell that fool it isn’t his doing._

Emma almost snorted out loud.  _Tell him yourself.  You’ll see him after you’re all free and he’s dead._   She almost asked why Nimue cared, but she had a distant almost-memory of Nimue and Mordred being best friends, at least before Nimue volunteered to be Merlin’s guinea pig and take on the darkness.  _We aren’t so different, are we?_ The thought startled her into opening her hand; Emma had never wanted to be like Nimue.  But she wasn’t the only one who had thought they knew what they were doing with the darkness, only to find it utterly overwhelming.

_Welcome to the club_.  Zoso’s laugh was bitter, but Emma found her eyes drifting to Mordred.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he’d gone mostly still.  Killing him would be a mercy, and it would—

Power slammed into her, rocketing Emma across the mountainside and slamming her back against the door.

* * *

 

His mother had told Killian stories of the fae when he’d been little.  One of the first lessons he remembered learning was that a fae could never be trusted.  _Stay away from them, my love,_ Ragnelle had told him.  _They will trick you and they will play their games, and you will never be the same again._ After the war—which he barely remembered—the fae had been banished from Camelot.  His mother had always told him and Liam that was the only good thing about Mordred’s rule, and although he now knew that she’d been wrong in blaming his uncle for Gwaine’s death, he didn’t doubt that getting rid of the fae had been for the best.

Now, however, those very same creatures were about to invade the first home he’d had since Camelot, and it made Killian furious in ways he could not even begin to describe.

“Have you ever met a fae before?” he asked Tink as they headed away from the _Jolly Roger._ Killian felt naked without a weapon—particularly now that he lacked his hook—and he’d wanted to grab a sword.

Tink winced.  “Aside from Nuckelavee?  No.”

“I—I’m sorry.  Like a fool, I didn’t think before I asked.”  He hadn’t missed the way Tink’s face had gone pale or how she’d missed a step; that bastard of a fae had treated her horribly, even if she’d stood up to him and eventually escaped.

“Don’t be.  It happened.”  She shrugged.  “I learned a lot from it, and now I’m going to protect others from people like him.  I’m okay.”

“If you say so, love.”  Killian was pretty sure that ‘okay’ was a distance away for Tink, but he did know that she’d been seeing Archie for counseling ever since her escape.  He was her friend, not her doctor, so it wasn’t his business.  

“All right.”  Tink squared her shoulders.  “Galavant is waking up the Land Pirates, and Leroy got the rest of the dwarves, so let’s drop by the convent.  The other fairies might not always be really good in a fight, but they’ll be able to heal people if needed.”

That made him frown.  “Don’t you think Blue will wake them up?”

“I don’t trust Blue to do _anything_ these days, and when we left, Belle was busy freeing her from those bands.”  Tink snorted.  “I doubt she’ll accomplish much of anything.  Or at least nothing useful.”

“She seemed to honestly regret her part in what happened.”

“Blue _seems_ a lot of things.”  Tink rolled her eyes.  “Maybe I’m just bitter, but she’s always got her own agenda.  We can’t trust her to take care of anyone but the fairies.”

“Aye.  That I can agree with.”  Killian hadn’t had many run ins with the Blue Fairy, of course—aside from when he’d sucked all the fairies into the Sorcerer’s Hat, to his everlasting shame—but he knew enough not to trust anyone who claimed to be the soul of goodness and light.  In his experience, people who spent so much time _saying_ how good they were had something to hide.

Tink flashed him a smile, and they headed towards the convent together.  At least moving about the town kept Killian from worrying about Mordred and Lily both; his uncle and his, well, _friend_ , were on separate sides of this battle.  Both were dragons, which meant they could very well wind up fighting one another, an idea that made Killian’s stomach roll.  His Uncle Crocodile was there, too, and while he’d learned how difficult to kill Rumplestiltskin was the hard way, he still worried a little for him.  _For Bae’s sake.  I’ll never like the old bastard_ , he told himself.

Still, family was family, and his really was a mess at the moment.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother to notice where Emma had fallen.  He didn’t want to hurt her if he didn’t have to, but he knew better than anyone how hardy the Dark One was.  Being forced to fight for Danns’ wasn’t Emma’s fault, but Rumplestiltskin had bigger concerns at the moment.   He could fix Mordred’s bleeding—which he did quickly, his hands flashing over his brother’s wounds—but the broken back and the variety of dark spells sapping his life away were something else entirely.  Even the Sorcerer’s power couldn’t heal Mordred here and now; all Rumplestiltskin could do was put a metaphorical band-aid over each grievous wound.  The rest would have to wait for later, when a dozen fae weren’t attacking.

Slamming his free hand down on the ground at Mordred’s side, Rumplestiltskin _exploded_ his power outwards, forming a dome around himself and his brother.  The magic shimmered in the air, going red, then purple, then black and green as spells impacted against the hastily built shield.  That impromptu ward wouldn’t hold for too long, Rumplestiltskin knew, but it should give him enough time to build a doorway and get them out of there.

“Did…did you close it?” Mordred rasped, each word weaker than the one before.

“Yeah.” 

Rumplestiltskin let his eyes sweep over his brother, taking in the bloody left leg, the broken bones, and the half-frozen right arm.  He didn’t have to use much magic to see what was happening.  Mordred would die if not given help soon.  He might die even with the best of help; his injuries were both magical and mundane, and the Sapphire had burned him dry.  Rumplestiltskin had stabilized him, which could delay the inevitable, but…

Why did that thought hurt so damned much?  A few months earlier, they’d been trying to kill one another.

“She’ll…she’ll try it—again.”  Mordred wheezed painfully, his body twitching sickly.  “You have to…have to stop her.”

“What?”

“She killed Arthur to open it.”  A hand suddenly grasped his arm, and Rumplestiltskin watched Mordred almost pass out from the effort.  “She’ll use one of the fae.”

“That won’t work.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head quickly, wondering if the pain was affecting Mordred’s mind.  “She doesn’t _love_ any of them enough.”

Whatever response Mordred meant to make was overcome by the sudden collapse of Rumplestiltskin’s hastily erected shield; it blasted apart in a shower of black and golden sparks, allowing five—no, _eleven_ —different attacks to come their way.  The fae had been battering away at the barrier ever since Rumplestiltskin had thrown it in their path, but now they broke through with a vengeance.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin flung both hands up, using one as a giant scythe to sweep the rightmost fae off their feet and slam them into the mountainside.  The ones on the left he kicked into the air, hoping to dump some into the endless expanse of clouds beneath where they were, but they all managed to catch themselves.

Rumplestiltskin threw up another shield, this one smaller than the last and far more dense, but he knew that it would not last.  _Even this immense magic cannot hold them off forever.  There are too many of them._ Glancing at Mordred, Rumplestiltskin made up his mind.  _I’ve got to get him out of here, or he will die.  Danns’ doesn’t give a enough of a damn about any of the fae.  She can’t sacrifice a loved one she doesn’t love._

Summoning the Greater Sapphire from where it lay to Mordred’s right, Rumplestiltskin tucked the glowing blue gem into his pocket, ignoring the power calling to him.  He had plenty of that, and all he needed was to draw a portal.  There was no need to draw on dead Circe for that one, particularly since Danns’ was standing by the door again, trying to undo what he had done.  _Not my problem_.  Another glance at Mordred made him grimace.

“It’s time for us to go.”

“No.”  Mordred shook his head, which made him gasp in pain. 

Rumplestiltskin wanted to shake his brother, lifting his hand to draw the portal that would take them home.  “Don’t be any stupider than—”

“She’ll use a willing sacrifice!”

That made him stop cold.  Damn it all, that was the _one_ other thing that would do the trick.  No love was required, not if one of the fae was willing…and they all fanatically loyal, weren’t they?  Eyes wide, Rumplestiltskin twisted around to watch just as Danns’ raised the dagger once more.

“Dark One, to me.”  Emma was there in an instant, scowling and miserable.  She looked none the worse for wear after Rumplestiltskin had hammered her, though, and he was glad to see it.

Calmly, Danns’ turned to the short, dark-haired fae who stood by her side.  Her voice softened, _gentled,_ and Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach drop out.  “We must free your brothers and sisters, Vidia.  Will you help me?”

“In any way I can, My Lady.”

“You know what I am asking.”  Danns’ did not look like she regretted asking someone to die, not at all, and Vidia looked almost _proud_.

The pretty little fae beamed. “Of course.” 

“See?” Mordred hissed bitterly.  “Vidia’s the kindest in the entire cruel lot, too.”  A  hacking cough punctuated the sentence.  “She’ll do it.  You—you have to—”

“Stop her.  Yes, yes, I know.”  But leaving Mordred there would mean Mordred’s death, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin stopped to wonder if letting the fae through might not be a disaster.

_Even magical creatures can be killed.  There’s always a way.  We have allies enough, and—_

“Then do it”—a bloody cough—“damn you!”

His hesitation had cost, though.  Danns’ had already turned to Emma, who looked sick at the idea of being used so.  “Kill her, Dark One.  _Now._ ”

Rumplestiltskin was on his feet before the sentence started, gathering magic as fast as he could.  Teleporting into the midst of the fae surrounding the doorway would be suicidal, even for him, but he could attack Danns’ from here.  He would not be able to save Vidia, because a command like that was inescapable and Emma would _have_ to comply, but—

“Oh.”  The word came out in a laugh, and Mordred managed to summon up the energy to look at him like he was mad, but this changed everything!  _“_ Oh, oh, _oh.”_

Emma had already ripped Vidia’s heart out, but by the time she was done crushing it, a familiar weight rested in Rumplestiltskin’s right hand.

* * *

 

They’d been gathering weapons since midnight, but David knew it wouldn’t do much good.  Some of the Camelotians had been shadowing them for even longer than that, which left David with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.  _They knew_ , he realized.  Arthur must have told his loyal followers that he and Danns’ would return with the fae soon, because David was pretty sure that there wasn’t an able-bodied (if morally-handicapped) fighter sleeping in Storybrooke tonight.

On the bright side, at least the Musicbrookers were on their side.  This was shaping up to be a nasty fight, and no one had even introduced guns or magic to the mess yet.  The dwarves were still out creating safe places for people to take shelter.  Ruby, Ella, and Isabella were working out how to supply those shelters with food, blankets, and other necessities, while Regina and Astrid put protection spells on them.  Killian, Galavant, and Richard continued tromping around town, rounding up those willing to fight, just like David had been until now.  However, his real job was figuring out how to fight this battle, and David couldn’t do that without some careful planning.  So, he and Robin headed back to Granny’s, hoping Henry and the team of researchers had found some answers.

Unfortunately they ran afoul of Sir Lamorak along the way, who stepped right in David’s path—and neither of them missed the way his hand was on his sword hilt.

“Arming your town won’t do you any good.”  Lamorak sneered.  “It’s best you surrender now before _my_ king returns.”

David snorted.  “You haven’t been here very long, so I’ll let you in on a little secret.  We’re not really the _surrendering_ type.”

“And we’re really good at fighting against impossible odds, too,” Robin added cheerfully. 

“You’ve never met anything like the fae.”  Lamorak didn’t seem to care that he’d just let on that he knew where the Black Fairy was, but then, David had never pegged him for being super intelligent.

Or even halfway intelligent, really.

“No, but we’ve dealt with all kinds of horrors.  Your Black Fairy and your precious king won’t be any different.”  He shrugged.  “So, why don’t you go back to skulking around in the darkness?  I’m sure it’s a valuable use of your time.”

“I’ll make you pay for insulting my monarchs.”  Lamorak’s eyes narrowed ominously, but David could tell that the idiot was going to draw his sword before the blade even made it an inch out of the scabbard.  And if there was one real bonus about being in the modern world, it was that guns were a _lot_ faster to draw than swords.

“This world has a saying that works for situations like this,” he said after he’d jumped out of Lamorak’s range.  “Don’t bring a sword to a gunfight.”

“Generally speaking, it means you’re screwed.”  Robin spoke from the right, where he’d moved to stay out of David’s line of fire—and to provide backup with his own gun drawn.

Lamorak glared.  He would have been easy to kill, but David hoped that a little mercy might prove to the _other_ Camelotians who were watching that peace was an option.  There were plenty of them, too.  Some were armed knights, but others seemed to be just _people_ who weren’t sure what the coming battle would bring.  _We have to live with them,_ David knew.  _We can’t kill them all, so that means there has to be a peace on the other side of this war._ Squaring his shoulders, he spoke as much to them as he did to the knight before him.

“Go home, Sir Lamorak.  We’re not looking for a fight.  This is your home as much as it’s ours, and _no one_ wants to destroy it.”

“You won’t rule here for long!” But Lamorak did sheath his sword, which counted for something.  David lowered his gun, and to his right, Robin did the same.  The last thing they wanted to do was shoot Lamorak, after all.  That could ignite a battle here and now.

“I don’t.  I’m the sheriff.  We have elections coming up next month to decide who runs the town, remember?”  Maybe he could get them thinking about peace instead of war.  It wouldn’t work on the frothing-at-the-mouth knight who wanted a battle, but the rest of the people might listen.  “No one’s going to take over Storybrooke by force, particularly not tonight.  Our main concern is keeping everyone safe.”

Lamorak scoffed.  “So you say.”

“I do say so, because it’s _true_.  We’re not a danger to anyone who follows the law.”

“Your laws are rubbish.”

“No, they’re what we call _modern_.”  Robin piped up immediately.  “They take some getting used to, but they’re actually pretty good.  Trust me, I know how weird it is.  I didn’t come over with the first curse, and I’ve been playing catch up ever since.  But there’s a lot to be said for the modern world, and modern law.”

“Such as _what_?” Lamorak demanded.

“Such as not having kings who can order someone’s death by decree.  Or a world where the local strongman can demand you pay taxes you don’t owe.”  Robin’s eyes swept over the crowd.  “You don’t have to sacrifice your freedom in order to be treated fairly.  That’s not how it works here.”

“ _Everyone_ gets a vote in the elections,” David added, watching some of the Camelotians perk up.  “No matter where you were born, or what realm you came from.  This is _our_ town now, and we’ll face whatever comes together.”

Lamorak seemed to realize that he’d lost, though he did mutter something about ‘only facing things if you’re alive to do it’ as he slinked way.  Still, many others in the crowd actually seemed to listen to what they’d had to say, and David found himself experiencing a slight glimmer of hope.  There was still a battle to come, but maybe they could keep most of the innocents out of it.  _And maybe we can prevent a full-scale war while we’re at it._

_Maybe._

* * *

 

“Iron!” 

Henry’s head snapped up as Belle said the word like it was the answer to everything, but it made him want to smack his forehead into the table.  “How come _I_ didn’t think of that?” he groaned.  “It’s in all the stories.”

“Probably because it will only work on minor fae,” his step-grandmother—now his only grandmother, really, unless he wanted to call his mom his step- _great_ -grandmother—said with a kind smile.  “This book doesn’t say why, but it indicates that the major fae are immune to it.”

“That’s not nearly as promising as one might hope.”  Henry’s dad looked up from his own book with a sigh.  Henry knew that Bae didn’t like reading the way he did—and he _definitely_ wasn’t as in love with books as Belle was—but he was trying to help.  He’d even found a few things about how to placate the fae with offerings of bread and milk, though Henry wasn’t sure they’d want to try that.

“It’s still something, though, right?” _Don’t feel bad about not finding something,_ Henry told himself firmly.  _Belle is_ the _champion researcher of Storybrooke._   Besides, he’d thought of the books they were using, and that counted for a lot.

“I wish we could find something that might stop all of them, though.”  Belle frowned.  “Or _why_ the major fae are immune to iron.  If we knew that, we might know how we could stop them, or at least slow them down.”

“They aren’t immune,” a new voice put in, and Henry twisted around to see his actual great-grandmother striding in with Tink by her side.  Tink seemed to be Morgan’s protégée these days, which Henry thought was really cool.  Blue had always ignored her, and Tink deserved better.

“Then can we use it?” he asked eagerly.  “Do we need a _lot_ of iron for it to work, or what?”

“Unfortunately, no.”  Morgan grimaced.  “All fae are prone to being stopped by iron, but the more powerful ones learn how to work around it.  As must I.”

That made Belle blink.  “You’ve never seemed to have a problem with iron.”

“That’s because I avoid it where I can.”  Morgan shrugged.  “And I have a workaround, as will Danns’ and any other fae worth naming.   She won’t bring the less powerful ones in the first wave, not unless she’s able to bring them _all_ through.”

“Is there anything that might work on them?” Bae spoke up as they all swallowed that news.  Henry tried not to get discouraged; at least they knew something.  And it looked like Morgan knew more, based on the grouchy look she was now wearing.

“Silver.  Silver will work on anyone who has ever employed dark fae or fairy magic.”  She glowered.  “And on me as well, so do keep it clear of me.”

“On you?” Henry couldn’t help asking.  He knew that Morgan was half fae, but still…

“Yes.”  Her smile was sad.  “I’m not proud of everything I’ve done.  I’ve used plenty of darker methods to fight for what I felt was right, and some of them leave a mark.  Particularly now.” 

Tink spoke up before Henry could ask more, glancing at Morgan.  “If silver will hurt anyone who _ever_ used dark fairy magic, wouldn’t that include Blue?  Especially if how you think she locked the fae away is right.”

Morgan’s laugh was cold.  “Oh, I’m sure it would.  But she’s an original power. It won’t kill her any more than it would Danns’.”

“Where _did_ Blue go off to?” Belle looked around, as if suddenly surprised to see the chief fairy missing.  Truth be told, Henry hadn’t noticed her leaving, either; he’d been too engrossed in finding ways to stop the fae.

“Blue is gathering the fairies together.  They won’t fight, but they’ll heal people who are hurt, and help protect the bomb shelters the dwarves are making.”  Tink shrugged.  “It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we’ll get from her.”

“But it goes without saying that you’re not playing nurse.”  His dad gave Tink a crooked smile, and she snorted.

“No.  I’m here to fight.  If it comes to that.”

* * *

 

Everything _changed._

Emma didn’t even notice Vidia dropping to the ground or the door popping open again.  For the last few months, she’d lived like she was in chains, knowing that any moment she could be commanded to do _anything_.  There was a feeling of being trapped that she could never escape, and Emma had known that she would never get used to it.  She’d hated every time Danns’ had given her that superior and smug smile, every order she couldn’t fight, and every person she had to hurt.  Emma even hated killing _Arthur_ , much though she’d wanted to.  Even the darkness in her hated Danns’, and all the other Dark Ones—with the possible exception of Nimue—feared her.  Until, suddenly, the world seemed to shift out from under her, and for one blissful moment, the chains vanished _._

Then they returned, but lighter and somehow less painful. 

“What have you done?” the Black Fairy demanded as Emma wheeled around to face her.  Fae gathered in the doorway once more, but Emma didn’t even notice them.  Both of Danns’ hands were empty.

_She doesn’t have the dagger._

Too late, Emma realized that put her in danger.  Fury filled Danns’ green eyes, and the very air seemed to shake as she called upon magic powerful enough to make even the Dark One queasy.  She needed to—

“Emma!”

The shout was more a warning than a summons, but Emma still felt the magical tug.  She could have fought it, but instead Emma teleported herself to where she knew the dagger was, realizing that the deal she had made with Rumplestiltskin had _finally_ come to fruition.  Danns’ had been careful for months, too damned careful for Emma’s tastes, but the bitch had finally lost the dagger!  Emma could have cried in relief if they weren’t surrounded by fae and in a ridiculous amount of danger.

Mordred was still alive.  Part of Emma was disappointed in that, but she pushed the thought aside as Rumplestiltskin scrambled to his feet.

“Here.”  He pressed the dagger in her hands, making Emma go rigid with shock.

He was giving her…her freedom?  “What—what are you doing?” she stuttered after a moment, clinging to the dagger for dear life.

The chains were _gone_.  Utterly gone.  Like they’d never been there, and she could finally be herself again.

“Get Mordred out of here.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured, and a door shimmered to life right behind them.  “Take him to my mother.”

“What the hell are _you_ going to do?” Emma still felt off balance, but she could see the Greater Sapphire glowing in Rumplestiltskin’s right hand, and it made her strangely nervous.

Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “Someone has to keep her from opening that damned door, and I’m the only one who can.”

“You—?”  Emma couldn’t help gaping.

“Don’t look so shocked, dearie.  You’d do worse.”

“Yeah, but I’m the Savior!”  Those words wanted to stick in her throat, even as Zoso whispered: _Not anymore, you’re not._ Emma felt herself deflating.  “Or I was.”

Rumplestiltskin’s grin was sharp.  “Apparently it’s catching.”

A cough made Emma look down before she could answer.  “Try…to incinerate some of them for me, would you?” Mordred whispered. 

She didn’t need magic to see that he was fading fast, or that the fae were rushing towards them and their doorway.  Still, Rumplestiltskin snorted out a laugh.  “Try not to kill one another while I’m away, will you?”

“You’d better be right behind us,” Emma snarled, reaching out with magic—her magic, _all_ hers!—to lift Mordred into the air.  The man was a prick, and he’d tried to kill her son _and_ Baelfire, but he seemed to be on the right side.  That would have to be enough.

_And he was my best friend,_ Nimue pointed out.

_You’re not helping_ , she shot back as Mordred groaned and Rumplestiltskin teleported away without even a swirl of smoke.  Emma didn’t turn to watch him appear in the midst of the fae around Danns’, didn’t watch the flash of gold and red power that filled the air.  She just pulled Mordred through the door, pausing along the way to summon the multi-colored chain on the ground to the side.  The last thing any of them wanted was to see Gleipnir end up back in Danns’ hands, and Emma figured she could ignore the chorus of voices who had ideas with what to do with said chain.  Her choices were her own again, and that was worth any battle she had to fight with the darkness.

“Ow!  Watch”—cough—“where you’re floating…me, would you?”

Her distraction had led to Mordred hitting the edge of the door, and while part of Emma thought it served him right, he did seem to be in a lot of pain.  _He’s dying._ Nimue sounded sad, which made her more human than Emma could ever remember her being.  It was almost frightening, but she didn’t have time to contemplate what that meant as she pushed Mordred ahead of herself and then stepped through the door.

Right into Granny’s, of all places.

“Mom?” Henry yelped, jumping to his feet.

It was Morgan, whoever, who lunged forward the fastest.  “Mordred!”

* * *

 

Timing a spell to arrive right before you teleported into the enemy’s midst was tricky, but Rumplestiltskin had done it once before.  _Against ogres, not fae,_ the voice of his perpetual pessimism complained, but he shoved it aside.  What he was doing was stupid, but it had to be done.  There was no arguing that.  As Emma had nearly pointed out, Rumplestiltskin was no hero…but as he’d said, he was the only one who could do this.  He even knew how to without killing himself.

He hoped.

A few fae were caught in the blast radius when his first attack arrived, original power projected _through_ the Sapphire.  His power combined with what was left of Circe’s to scorch the ground straight down to the bedrock, and the pulse was strong enough to force even Danns’ back a dozen feet.  That was all he needed; Rumplestiltskin appeared without warning, mere feet away from the still open door.  The blast of magic utterly incinerated what was left of Vidia, and the two fae who had been about to step out of it turned straight to ash.  Danns’ shouted something, but Rumplestiltskin ignored her, reaching out with his own magic—avoiding the Sapphire was hard, and the double dose of incredible power was already making his head spin—to drag the door shut.

_Boom._   It closed hard enough to shake the mountainside, and Rumplestiltskin did not hesitate.  He slammed the Sapphire straight against the wood, _channeling_ everything he had into it.

Blue had used a sacrifice to keep it closed.  Danns’ had used two to open it.  Rumplestiltskin did not have time to exploit the old loophole and reuse Vidia’s death; he could feel Danns’ gathering great power even now.  No, he would have to use a sacrifice made centuries earlier, when Danns’ had killed Circe to protect Reul Ghorm.  She’d taken Circe’s power, encasing it in the very pendant Mordred had been so addicted to, and now that pendant was in Rumplestiltskin’s hands.  Once, Circe faced off against two faeries for reasons lost to history.  Now what was left of her would stop her killer from enslaving humanity.

Power crackled through him, burning out of Rumplestiltskin’s fingers and into the face of the door.  The wood splintered and then ignited, a tornado of magic ripping around Rumplestiltskin.  He leaned into the door, hoping his magic would shield him from the flames, and willed the pathway between the worlds to burn.

One moment passed.  Danns’ flung a spell at him, but it ricocheted off the vortex of power surrounding him.

Two.

Rumplestiltskin could feel the Sapphire drawing on his very soul, but he could feel his own power—his, finally, now that he’d embraced all he had to be—answering and protecting him.  He still felt like every molecule of energy he possessed was being drained dry, but the burn continued.

Three.

He could feel the doorway sealing, and the pathway it protected melting away.  Danns’ was shouting at the fae to attack him, but Rumplestiltskin knew they wouldn’t get through in time. 

Four.

_Whoosh!_ The pathway closed in a rush, the door itself burning to nothing and melting into the mountainside.  The Sapphire pulsated one last time and then went dark, its power collapsing and leaving Rumplestiltskin on his own.  Jumping away from the door, with his power still swirling in a tornado of golden magic, Rumplestiltskin noted without any regret that one foolhardy fae had come close enough to him to be sucked up with the door.  He twisted, sending another burst of magic towards those who tried again to attack him, and then teleported away.

Too late, Danns’ made to follow him, but Rumplestiltskin was already lunging through the doorway to Storybrooke and slamming it shut behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter One Hundred and Three—“Yet the Dream Survived,” in which Mordred is healed by someone unexpected, Emma revels in being free of control, Rumplestiltskin faces embarrassment, and Storybrooke continues to prepare for war.


	103. Yet the Dream Survived

Emma had maneuvered Mordred over to the closest table, where Morgan was already leaning over her son, her hands flashing with magic.  Henry had lunged forward to hug Emma tightly, noting the dagger in her hand and celebrating her freedom.  David and Robin had walked through the diner’s door just in time to see Emma come through, and David was hugging her, too, tightly and joyously.  Belle, on the other hand, stood riveted next to the stack of books she no longer cared about.  She _knew_ who had gone with Mordred to the stop her grandmother, and Rumple still wasn’t there.

“He’ll be okay.” Bae’s voice startled her almost as much as his hand landing on her shoulder did; Belle jumped.

“He’s not here yet.”  She hated how small her voice sounded.  The stone-framed doorway had appeared right in the middle of Granny’s only a minute or two before, but Emma and Mordred had come through almost right away.

Yet there was still no sign of Rumplestiltskin.

“C’mon, Belle.  You know my dad.  He’s a tricky bastard, and he’s tougher than he thinks he is.”  Bae wore a gentle smile when she turned to look at him, and Belle tried her best to nod with confidence.

_This isn’t goodbye,_ she’d told Rumplestiltskin before he left.  He’d been worried, then, though.  Mordred’s condition made that apprehension seem well-founded, but Belle knew that Bae was right.  Rumple could be strangely fragile, but he _always_ fought for his family, and to get back to them.  She knew that.  She’d have to believe that—

The door slammed open with enough force to shake the diner, and suddenly Rumplestiltskin was three feet away from her, spinning around with magic in his hands that closed the doorway and the path behind it.  The door vanished as Belle felt her knees go weak in relief.  Bae squeezed her shoulder again, and for a moment, she was fairly sure that it was only  his grip that kept her on her feet.  Grinning, Bae gave her a gentle shove in the direction of his father.

“I told you he’d be okay.”

“Yeah.” 

Belle’s throat was suspiciously thick, but she felt like she could float when Rumplestiltskin turned to her with a tired smile.  She could feel the magic swirling around him; the power vibrated her down to her very bones, but Belle stepped forward to embrace him, anyway.  That magic wasn’t the darkness Rumplestiltskin had once surrounded himself with, not at all.  This was light and protective, stubborn and fierce, _pure_ power instead of toxic darkness.  It was all him, and Belle would have been lying if she tried to say that it wasn’t alluring.

“Hey.”  Rumplestiltskin pulled her close for a moment, and she could feel some of the tension in him relaxing.  He seemed exhausted, and smelled of fire, ash, dirt, and darkness, but he was all right.  And he was _home_.

“Hey, yourself.”  Belle pulled back to look at his tired face.  “Did you stop her?”

“Mostly.”  He grimaced, a weary tremor running through him.  _Too much magic in too short of a time,_ Belle knew.  “Some fae got through.  Perhaps a dozen, maybe a few more.  Not all of them.  We”—Rumplestiltskin glanced at Mordred—“we stopped her.”

“And Emma has the dagger back, too.”  Belle said the words with a smile, noticing that Bae had moved over to where Henry and David still stood with Emma.  Much to her surprise, Emma extended a tentative hand to Bae, who took it with a bashful smile.  “What happened?”

Part of her wanted to ask if her grandmother was dead, and part of Belle knew it would be for the best if that were so.  Yet she’d mourn for Danns’, and mourn for everything that might have been.  _How would my mother feel if she were in my shoes?_  Belle wondered suddenly, and then realized that she had no idea.  Colette had never spoken of her mother, except to say that she’d been beautiful.  Perhaps those words left unspoken meant more than anything else.

“The old deal Emma and I made finally came through,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, interrupting her thoughts.  “Danns’ ordered her to kill someone who was innocent enough for the dagger to revert to me.”

It went without saying that Rumplestiltskin had given the dagger back.  Belle knew her husband well enough to know that the idea of controlling the Dark One made him more than a little nauseous.   She hadn’t understood what damage Zelena had done to her husband until it was too late, but Belle could see the lightness in Emma now.  There was _hope_ in Emma’s eyes like there hadn’t been before, and seeing that made Belle smile.  None of them knew what Danns’ had done to Emma any more than they’d known the depths of how Zelena had hurt Rumple, but hopefully, Emma would be able to get the help and the support she needed.

“Rumple?” Morgan’s voice broke into her reverie, making Belle and her husband both turn to look at his mother.  “Do you have the Sapphire?”

“What is left of it, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin extended his left hand, and only then did Belle see the suddenly dim blue stone he held there.  Its chain and setting had all but burnt away, and the Greater Sapphire seemed _smaller,_ now.  _Circe’s power is gone,_ Belle realized as Morgan’s face fell. 

“I can’t heal him,” Morgan whispered, suddenly looking vulnerable.  “My magic is still too dark at its core.  It won’t work.  With the Sapphire, I could have, but…”

Belle felt her husband tense, emotion ripping across his face.  He was _worried_ about Mordred, Belle realized.  The brothers had been at odds for so long that the idea of Rumplestiltskin growing close to Mordred had seemed ludicrous, but he wasn’t just concerned for Morgan’s sake.  She could feel him bracing himself, could feel  him calling up magic that was still rubbed raw from whatever he’d done to stop her grandmother, and Belle laid a gentle hand on the center of his chest to stop him.

“Can I?” she asked Morgan.  “My magic…well, whatever it is, it’s not dark.  And healing has always been something I find, um, kind of easy.”

Immediately, Morgan glanced at Rumplestiltskin, and Belle felt her heart soar a little when he nodded.  “It’s a good idea.  Were you trying blood healing?”

“Yes.”  Morgan sighed heavily before suddenly straightening.  “But that…”

“Would work,” Rumplestiltskin finished for her.  “Their blood link is close enough, I would say.”

Belle often forgot that Mordred was her uncle as much as he was Baelfire’s—the fact that she’d married her half-uncle’s half-brother was just too weird for words.  But she _was_ related to him by blood, and that meant she could actually use blood healing.  Belle had never done it before, but she knew from her reading that blood healing was every bit as specific as blood magic.  A great deal of skill was required to use it, and it didn’t negate the careful and meticulous need to heal someone _properly_ , but blood healing did increase the efficacy of healing spells by a factor of at least ten.

“Would you?” Morgan sounded so young, and so very afraid.  Belle stepped forward and grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. 

“Of course I will.” 

* * *

 

Emma felt _safe_.  Safe and almost whole, like she could actually be herself again.  There would be no summonses to pull her away from family, no commands to force her to hurt those she cared about.  She was still the Dark One, and she’d still have to the ever-present urge to embrace the darkness, but at least she could do that as _herself._   She felt like she could walk on water, like there was real hope that everything would finally turn out all right.  Having Henry close by her side and her dad right there made her feel even more secure, and when Bae wandered over, she grabbed his hand on impulse. 

Her smile felt shy, even to her.

“Are you all right, Emma?” David asked gently, watching her with worried eyes.

“Yeah.”  There were a few aches and pains, but nothing she couldn’t fix.  Being the Dark One was miserable in a lot of ways, but having that much magic flowing through her body really did make her very resilient.  “Better than Mordred, that’s for sure.”

Henry glanced back at the table where Morgan, Rumplestiltskin, and Belle hovered over his great uncle.   “He looks bad.” 

“He got hit pretty hard.”  Emma grimaced.  “Some of it by me.”

“It’s not your fault if you were being controlled,” Henry said immediately, and Emma felt her smile turn strained despite her best efforts.

“I did some pretty bad things, kid.” 

“Henry’s right.  You can’t help what Danns’ forced you to do.”  Bae squeezed her hand, and Emma felt her heart flutter oddly.  And for once, Nimue didn’t pipe up with something obnoxious, either.

“What happened?” David’s voice was still gentle, but Emma still had to look away.

“I killed Arthur,” she admitted softly.  “Danns’ needed to sacrifice someone she loved to open the door to the Lands of the Fae, so she ordered me to kill him.  And then another fae, later, after Rumplestiltskin closed the door.  That’s, uh, when I got the dagger back.  Or he did, and he gave it to me.”

That seemed like a really short version of a very long battle, but Emma was too spent to go into detail.  Fortunately, her dad seemed to sense that, because he just nodded and accepted her explanation.  “It’s good to see you free,” David said softly.  “I’m sorry we couldn’t find a way before—”

Emma shook her head quickly.  “It’s not your fault, Dad.  It’s no one’s fault.  And I’m okay.”  Her smile felt a little more natural this time.  “Or I will be, anyway.”

“If we can do anything, promise you’ll let us know.”  Her dad’s worried look made Emma stop before she could snap at him for being overprotective.

“I promise.”  Emma bit her lip.  “At least we finally have revenge for Mom?”

David’s smile was sad enough to break Emma’s heart.  “I think she’d be happier to know that you’re free.”

“I miss her.”  The whisper startled out of Emma before she could stop it, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes.

“Oh, Emma.”  David stepped forward, and Emma let go of Bae to find solace in her father’s arms.  David’s voice was a whisper against her hair.  “I miss her, too.  But we’re together, and Snow will live on as long as we hold her in our hearts.”

“Yeah.”  _Dark Ones do not cry_ , she tried to tell herself, even though it was an utterly stupid lie.

“You know what we’re going to do?”

Emma sniffed, trying to hold back her tears.  “What?”

“We’re going to fight for the town and the people she loved.  We’re going to be better, because of her.  Can you do that with me?”

“I can try.”  She took a deep breath.  “It’s hard, sometimes, but I want to help.”  _I might not be the Savior these days, but I can damned well do my best.  Particularly if it means killing some of Danns’ precious fae._

David just kissed her on the forehead, and Emma felt safe.

* * *

 

Morgan watched the white light glowing from Belle’s hands with a mixture of awe and trepidation.  Mordred lay prone and pale on the table, barely breathing for all that Rumplestiltskin had obviously stabilized his condition before sending him through the portal back to Storybrooke.  His back was broken and multiple internal organs had been damaged by what _had_ to be a fall from a great height, and Morgan had found a mixture of frostbite and burns all over his body.  She’d done her best to help him, only to find that her magic—which had been reawakened by Emma’s innate darkness—was still too dark to actually _heal_ someone.  She’d never been so handicapped, at least not when she had magic, and Morgan found it terrifying.

Almost as terrifying as the fact that Danns’ granddaughter was healing her son.

Yet she knew Belle.  She knew that Belle had a good heart, and she had watched Belle use Fionna’s legacy to remove those bands holding Reul Ghorm’s magic.  Belle _was_ Fionna’s heir far more than she was Danns’, which was something Morgan had _never_ expected.  Just like she had never expected her last son to save her firstborn’s life.

Morgan had always known who would be responsible for Mordred’s death.  She had Seen it when he was a child, had always known that Danns’ would be to blame.  Where she less honest with herself, Morgan would have claimed that knowledge had not caused her to fight against Danns’ from the very beginning, but she knew that it always been was a large part of her motivation.  She had Seen him dying in battle, had known that Danns’ would order the Dark One to kill her son.  Morgan had not known if the Dark One would accomplish the task or if Danns’ herself would slay him…but she had always known.

She had not counted on Rumplestiltskin being by his side.  She had not counted on Rumplestiltskin stabilizing Mordred and getting him _away_ from Danns’—no more than she had counted on Danns’ own granddaughter to be the one healing Mordred.  _Of all the things I Saw, this was never amongst them._   Yet she of all people knew that the future was always changing, and that the Sight was not perfect.  Morgan had just never dared hope.

A hand squeezed her arm, and she twisted to look at her younger son as he gave her a tired smile.  They could both see that Belle was winning the battle, albeit slowly.  Without blood healing, Mordred would certainly be dead, but Belle _was_ his blood relative.  Just as Rumplestiltskin was Mordred’s brother—and one of the two fools who had snuck off to fight that battle without so much as telling their mother.

“I haven’t forgiven the pair of you for haring off like that.”  She gave Rumplestiltskin a dark look, glad to have a deserving target for her ire.  “You might have _both_ been killed.  And Miss Swan with you.”

“It was a chance worth taking.”  Rumplestiltskin merely shrugged; his brother would have shrank at least a little.  Yet this younger boy of hers was strong in strange ways, for all his constant need for love and affection. 

She glared.  “You might have at least _told_ me.”

“You wouldn’t have stayed, and _someone_ had to be here in case we did screw everything up.”  His eyes flicked to Mordred.  “We very nearly did.”

“You used the Sapphire to seal the fae away.”  Despite her anger, Morgan had to nod approvingly.  “Even Danns’ won’t be able to break through that.”

“I know.”

“Are you all right?” Touching his arm lightly, Morgan took in the tired lines in his face.  Using the Sapphire had caused a good half of Mordred’s current weakness, yet Rumplestiltskin had done the same. 

“More or less.  I’m tired, but I’ll recover.”

“And your use of the Sapphire?”  She wasn’t letting him off that easily. 

An uneasy shrug.   “I am what I am, Mother.  I’ll make no apologies.”

“I’m not asking for apologies, you foolish boy.”  Morgan felt like shaking him.  She was _glad_ for what he was.  He’d finally embraced being the Sorcerer, really and truly, and the idiot child thought she was unhappy about it?  “I’m proud of you.  Try not to look so guilty about that.”

His mouth popped open, and his eyes went wide, but no words came out.  However, Morgan’s opportunity to gently needle her son was superseded by Belle straightening with a smile.

“There.  All done.”

Mordred’s head snapped around to look at Mordred’s face just as his eyes opened.  He blinked in confusion, staring up at all three of them.  “How…how am I _alive_?”

“Because your niece—who is also your sister-in-law—inherited everything good from her maternal line, and nothing bad,” Morgan replied bluntly.

Mordred let out a strangled cough, his wide eyes swiveling to Belle.  “You healed me?”

“Yes.”  Her smile was radiant, and was it just Morgan, or was Belle _glowing_ slightly?  That certainly hadn’t happened earlier!  Her smile only grew as Rumplestiltskin laid his hands on her shoulders, and Belle leaned back against him.

Magic, gold and purple, danced around the pair, almost too faint for even Morgan’s eye to see.  _True Love at its finest_ , she thought, watching their magic weave together for a few moments before dissipating.  Belle was coming into her own; she didn’t have the full strength of Fionna’s power, but Morgan was beginning to wonder if there was a half power buried underneath the librarian-turned-sorceress.  It wouldn’t be the first time such power had skipped a generation, after all.

“Why?” Mordred whispered.

“Because you didn’t deserve to die.”  Much to Morgan’s surprise, Belle reached out and took Mordred’s hand, squeezing it gently…and she watched Mordred’s smile soften.

He’d wanted Belle dead, in the beginning, just as he had once tried to kill Colette.  Now he seemed to be falling under the spell of her kindness, much like everyone else.  “Thank you.”  Mordred glanced at Rumplestiltskin.  “And you, too, I suppose.  Though it took long enough for your little deal with the Dark One to pay out.”

Rumplestiltskin just snorted out a laugh.  “I didn’t see you coming up with something better.”

“I _did_.”  Was her eldest son _pouting?_   “You just stopped me.”

“With good reason.”

“To hell with your logic.”

“Boys!” Morgan got in before Rumplestiltskin could retort again, but part of her absolutely reveled in their childish little spat.  Her sons had finally done something _together_ , and if the price she had to pay for seeing the two of them start acting like brothers was their running off to fight an insane battle, well…she could deal with that.

Both looked at her innocently, however, and Belle’s little giggle absolutely ruined the seriousness of the moment.

* * *

 

The doorway was never going to open again.  Her people were trapped forever—until Danns’ pulled all the realms together, anyway.  Once she did that, no amount of power via the Greater Sapphire would keep the fae locked away; they would be free and able to assist her.  Until then, she would simply have to use the resources she had.  Resolute, Danns’ turned away from the door, not allowing her disappointment to show on her face.  She was impressed with how the portal had been closed, of course, even if she was a tad irate over the Sapphire’s destruction.  _I had plans for Circe’s power_ , she thought irritably.  That was two of her plans that Rumpelstiltskin had ruined in one day—or three, if she counted what she had intended to do to _him._

That did not matter, now.  She had work to do, and although events had not gone entirely according to plan, she still had almost twenty fae at her disposal.  _Even without Vidia._ That was another sore point; Vidia’s death had reopened the door for a short while, but it had lost Danns’ the dagger, too.  _I should have seen that coming.  I asked her because she was the most gentle and most loyal of the fae…and it turned out that she was just innocent enough._

She could not blame Rumplestiltskin for that one.  Danns’ had lost the Dark One due to her own mistakes.  The rage building inside her would not be allowed out today.  No, Danns’ needed to think, and to plan.  She would not lash out without reason.  She was smarter than that.

Yet there was someone else who required blame, and Danns’ was not prepared to allow certain things to slide.  “Maleficent!”

She used magic to project her voice, making sure both dragons could hear her.  They had continued flying blissfully overhead, either ignorant of what was happening or willfully ignoring it.  There was no way that they could have missed the battle, which meant her remaining dragons were of questionable loyalty.  Which she had already known.

Danns’ staggered slightly as Maleficent’s wings caused a huge downdraft; the larger dragon landed closer to Danns’ than strictly necessary, her wings beating rhythmically.  Her huge eyes stared at Danns’ for a long moment, and something in them made the Black Fairy pause.  Silently, she summoned the Stone of Giramphiel, holding it in her palm and hiding it from view.  She did not think Maleficent was stupid enough to try to attack her, but one never knew.  Then Lily landed slightly behind and to the left of Maleficent, and both dragons transitioned into human form.

“You called?” Maleficent’s voice was ice cool.  _She knows what happened.  She’s not even pretending not to have seen it._

“I did.”  Danns’ knew that she needed to tread carefully.  She did not _have_ to have Maleficent and Lily on her side, but now that she’d lost Arthur, having two powerful dragons _not_ opposing her was wise.  “You missed the battle.”

Maleficent’s smile was slow and sly.  “Such a pity.”

“Did it occur to you that you might _assist_ in said battle?” Not snapping at Maleficent—or cursing her on the spot—took all of Danns’ self-control.  But she did need allies; Danns’ knew better than anyone that she couldn’t rule all the realms without having some humans on her side. 

“Hardly.”  A shrug.  “You seemed to have plenty of fae on your side, and I did not want to risk either of us being hit by those spells you were throwing about.  I assumed you would call if you desired assistance.”

Damn the woman, Maleficent was _clever_.  Danns’ could not exactly fault a thing she had said, yet she had the feeling that Maleficent’s loyalties were waning.  She had been a stalwart ally when Lily had still been burdened by Emma’s innate darkness, but now…now Maleficent seemed to be concerned with other things.  _I am not sure that she is ready to betray me, but I must be careful._   For a moment, Danns’ contemplated seducing Maleficent, and then she tabled the thought.  Perhaps later.

“Of course.”  She nodded graciously; Danns’ would accept Maleficent’s inaction slide.  For now. 

“And now?”  Maleficent made a great show of looking around at the fae.  “I trust you won’t expect us to transport everyone home?  It would require quite a few trips, and your people will be vulnerable in the meantime.”

Danns’ did appreciate having intelligent servants, so the question made her smile.  “No.  That was never my plan.  It is easy to create a portal to the center of all the realms.”

“With what, if I may ask?”

“This.”  Drawing her wand out of her sleeve, Danns’ swirled it in the air, slowly bringing its point down to aim at the ground.  She could not create a door like the Sorcerer could, but a portal did not need to _look_ like a door to function.

Her portal was a silver and black whirlpool that ripped its way into the rock at their feet, swirling faster and faster.  Wind whipped around her, power and magic filling the air.  Danns’ took a deep breath, glancing back at the mountain side just once.  She hated leaving her people here, hated abandoning those who had trusted her to free them.  Danns’ was many things, and she would never try to tell herself that she was neither callous nor cold, but she did care for those who followed her.  _Loyalty begets loyalty_.  As if on cue, Jhudora stepped up to her side.

“We are ready, My Lady.” 

At least the fae who had come through were the most eager, the most loyal.  “Excellent.”  She gestured for Maleficent and Lily to precede them.  “After you.”

Was that a slight scowl on Maleficent’s face?  Danns’ did not care.  If someone had seen her portal open—doubtful, as she’d placed it in the very same underground caverns in which they had once locked Lancelot away—Danns’ intended to lead with her more disposable allies.  Maleficent’s loyalty was suspect, so she could bear the brunt of any attacks that greeted them on the other side.

Of course, there were no such attacks.  A few minutes later, when Danns’ stepped through the portal with her fae on her heels, the caverns were empty and echoing, exactly as she had hoped.

“What now, My Lady?” Jhudora asked, stepping forward and speaking for all of the fae.

Danns’ smiled coldly.  “Now we prepare to conquer Storybrooke.”

* * *

 

They were as ready as they could be.  It was four in the morning, and Regina was ready to fall off of her feet, but the town was as defended as she could make it in one night.  _Or morning, I suppose_ , she thought wryly.  Dawn would rise soon enough, and she had two sons to pick up from Granny’s.  Roland was sleeping upstairs with several other toddlers, watched over by Ella while their parents worked to secure Storybrooke.  So far, no fae had appeared, and Regina was beginning to think that—if they’d even come to town yet—they weren’t going to act tonight.  So, it was time to get some sleep while she still could.  First, however, she stopped by the Sheriff’s Station to pick up her hardworking husband.

“Did David run off and leave you to run things by yourself?” she asked with a tired smile.

“Gina.”  Robin rose from behind the desk with a smile.  “Hey.  You done out there?”

“As much as I can be.”  Regina shrugged.  “Working with the fairies was hardly my first choice, but we did manage to enchant a dozen or so safe areas, like the library, Granny’s, the school, the grocery store—hell, I can’t remember half of them right now.  I’m too tired.”

“Me, too.  We formed up several groups of people to fight the fae if it comes to that.  And I got Tad to say he’ll help us.”

“You did?”  That news sent a thrill of wakefulness through Regina, and she felt herself grin.  “That’s fantastic, Robin!  I thought you said that he wanted to stay neutral.”

“He did, but we—Richard and I—managed to change his mind.  I think it’ll even stick.”

Stepping forward, Regina leaned in to kiss her husband soundly.  “I knew you were brilliant.”

Robin made an embarrassed little sound.  “I’m sly, anyway.  But it works.”

“And I happen to _like_ sly.”  She looped her arm through his.  “C’mon.  Let’s go pick up Henry and Roland, and then head home.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

They both knew that they wouldn’t get nearly enough sleep that night—Roland was probably the only one who would, due to his nap at Granny’s.  Henry was bound to be a typically over-tired teenager the next day, both keyed up because he got to stay up late, and cranky because he wouldn’t want to admit that he was tired.  But Regina had dealt with that before, and she’d face it again.  It was just part of being a parent.  So, they headed to Granny’s to pick up their assuredly cranky boys, and then go home.

* * *

 

Henry had gone over to talk to Mordred, which part of Bae found kind of weird, but not that bad.  It hadn’t been that many months since Mordred had been determined to threaten Henry in order to get at Emma, but Mordred really _had_ changed.  Bae hadn’t expected his uncle and his father to ever get along, but they’d run off to fight the fae _together_.  Yeah, they’d been a bit dumb about it—at least if you listened to Morgan’s irate ranting—but they’d mostly succeeded.  That meant Bae wasn’t really worried about letting his son talk to Mordred, not after all that.  Besides which, Mordred looked too tired to threaten anyone at the moment.

And it gave him a chance to talk to Emma alone, too.  He’d have to be an idiot to have argued when Emma pulled him off to the side, finding a corner near the bar that gave them a bit of privacy.

“I’m free,” she whispered, and the tiny smile on Emma’s face just warmed his heart.  Then she shrugged, glancing down at the dagger in her hand.  “Mostly, anyway.”

“Freer, anyway?”  It was the best Bae could offer, but it did make Emma smile a bit more.  “And on the road to real freedom.”

That made her flinch, and glance at where his father stood with Belle.  “I—I think so, yeah.”

“Don’t let the darkness win now, Emma.”  Reaching out, Bae grabbed her hand.  He _knew_ that look, knew the indecision in her eyes, and could guess at how the voices in her head were arguing that _this is better_ , and Emma was the Dark One and could live like that forever.  “You’ve got a real chance to be rid of that thing without dying.  Don’t let those bastards talk you out of it.”

Blinking, Emma turned back to face him.  “I keep forgetting that you saw and heard them at their worst.”

“Perks of being the Dark One’s kid.”

“Yeah, well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to damn well make sure that Henry never has to experience that.”  The way her eyes flashed was all the _old_ Emma, and Bae just nodded in return.

“I’m right there with you on that one.  Definitely not happening.”  He squeezed her hand again.  “But we know how to stop that, and it’s by saving _you_.”

“Yeah.”  Emma swallowed hard.  “It’s just…hard, you know?”

“I know.  But you don’t have to do this alone.  You’ve got a lot of people who are gonna stand by your side and give you all the help you can handle.”

“People like you?”  The eyes she turned on him were suddenly hopeful enough to make Bae shiver.

“Yeah.  You know I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Even just being my friend if that’s all I want.”  It wasn’t a question, but Emma’s sad-sounding words still made Bae’s heart catch in his throat.

“I meant that when I said, it, yeah.”  Keeping a straight face was a struggle; Emma had seemed like she was warming to the idea of getting back together, but if she wasn’t…well, Bae wasn’t in this for himself.  “Still mean it, too.”

“I know.”  Hazel eyes met brown.  “But that’s not what I want.”

“It isn’t?” he squeaked.

“No.  It’s not the darkness that wants you, Neal.”  Her smile turned a little bashful, and Bae was pretty sure his heart was beating so hard that it could record a song or two.  “It’s just me.  None of them really like you that much, anyway.”

“Oh— _oh._ ”

Emma stepped forward, kissing him gently, and Bae just kind of stopped thinking about anything bad.  He just kissed her back, ignoring Henry’s quiet exclamation of glee.  Their son could be obnoxious later.  For now, he’d just show Emma how much he loved her.

* * *

 

“You know, I’ve always liked you in leather.”  Belle leaned on his arm just a tad too heavily, and the look in her blue eyes almost light Rumplestiltskin on fire.

“You—you _what_?” he stuttered before he could stop himself.

He would ignore the fact that his brother and grandson were watching this exchange and snickering.  He _would._

“Especially the pants.”  Belle grinned, but there was something in body language that made Rumplestiltskin pause.

“Were you—sweetheart, how much magic did you do before we got here?”

She shrugged. “I freed Blue from those bands on her.  Morgan helped.”

“Bands?”

“Bronze ones.  Or was it copper?” Belle glanced at Morgan, who just shrugged.  “It’s why she came by to talk to me about magic.  My grandmother isolated Blue from her magic, and Blue couldn’t get them off.  So, we did.”

_Belle broke through something powerful enough to isolate an_ original power _’s magic?_ Rumplestiltskin felt like his heart was going to stop.  He was so damned proud of her.  “That’s…that’s extraordinary.”

“I had help.  And a good teacher.”  Belle grinned again, squeezing his arm. Then suddenly, she came up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and it took several moments for Rumplestiltskin’s brain to start working properly.

“I suppose you did.”  Rumplestiltskin had to resist the urge to lean in to kiss her again; Mordred and Henry were _definitely_ talking about them.  The desire to teleport them both home was almost overwhelming, too.  “That’s not my point, though.  Doing a lot of powerful magic does things to people, particularly when you aren’t used to it, and you’re—”

“I _always_ liked you in leather.  Even back in the Dark Castle.”  The serious look on Belle’s face was ruined by the way her eyes were shining, though.  “That’s not a result of me doing magic, or me being tired.  I actually feel quite wonderful.”

He was still trying to form an answer for that when Morgan stepped forward, speaking to the pair of them quietly.  “Don’t get all worked up about it, Rumple.  Some people find magic an aphrodisiac.  Your wife appears to be one of them.”

“I—what—” He turned to Belle, feeling helpless and lost.  “You are?”

Belle shrugged.  “Maybe I just love my husband.”

“That’s a yes.”  Morgan pointed at the door.  “Go practice making grandchildren for me if you wish, but do not make the rest of us watch it.”

“ _Mother_!”

“I think we already mastered that skill, Morgan.”  Belle giggled, despite what was obviously an attempt to sound serious.

Rumplestiltskin just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.  His mother’s response did not improve his situation at all, though.

“Nonsense.  That skill can always use improvement.”  Morgan smiled slightly.  “Now do leave the rest of us in peace, and go help your wife with her…situation, Rumple.  I doubt that either of you lacks motivation on that front.”

Rumplestiltskin was still trying to find words to reply to that when Belle teleported them back to the Sorcerer’s House.  Soon after that, he lost the ability for coherent speech, but he wasn’t complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Four—“And the Land Was Still”, in which Morgan and Maleficent come to an understanding, David walks into a trap, Belle has a heart to heart with Mordred, Regina has to face Danns’ after her deadline, and Rumplestiltskin is asked for help.


	104. And the Land Was Still

Three days passed in relative peace.  Morgan wasn’t sure what to make of that; she’d expected Danns’ to strike almost right away.  Instead, Danns’ seemed to be gathering her power, acclimating the fae to Storybrooke, and building alliances.  _She killed her figurehead and needs a new one.  We both know Belle will not serve in that role, particularly after what happened with Zelena, so she must find someone new._

Who Danns’ reached out to was the question.  Regina had already indicated that she intended to reject Danns’ offer, and most of the fools from Camelot who had remained loyal to Arthur would never suit Danns’ purposes.  She needed someone people would follow, someone who commanded respect in at least one of the three realms currently resident in Storybrooke.  Fortunately, there weren’t many men or women who made that list, and Morgan knew as well as Danns’ did that Belle was the most ideal candidate; she was the legitimate heir to Camelot with Arthur dead, and she was well known and loved in Storybrooke.  Fortunately, Belle wasn’t about to ally with her grandmother.

But then _who_?  Gnashing her teeth, Morgan strode deeper into the woods, searching for potion ingredients.  The dwarves had been hunting silver non-stop (unfortunately, there was no spell that could _make_ silver appear, and Storybrooke’s mines weren’t of that type, so they were reduced to going door-to-door), and Mordred had offered to forge silver-tipped weapons for use against the fae.  Morgan was hunting for the few ingredients that would fuse the silver magic to plain weapons.  Viviane had taught her to do so long ago, despite Morgan’s fae blood, but finding the ingredients was always the hardest part.

For a land rooted in fairytales, _white_ wildflowers were certainly difficult.  They’d been the easiest thing to find back home, yet here?  Here they were nowhere to be found.

Morgan felt like kicking a tree. 

“My, you look angry.”  The voice came from behind her, making Morgan whirl around to face a slender blonde woman, who was watching her with a bemused expression.

“Maleficent, I presume?” she asked, watching the dragon-sorceress closely.  Morgan didn’t think Maleficent was here to start a fight, but she _had_ allied with Danns’.  And Morgan knew how Danns’ felt about her.

“Yes.  And you are Morgan of Cornwall.”

“I am.”  She was always pleased when someone called her that rather than ‘le Fae’.  Magic users usually remembered her correct reputation; it was the fools from this world who thought they were reading _The Sword in the Stone_. 

The silence stretched between them as the two women evaluated one another, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.  Morgan didn’t see any hostility in Maleficent’s expression, nor feel any danger in the air.  Maleficent seemed to be _thinking_ , waiting, and Morgan was content to let her do so.  Of course, the fact that the younger woman stood right next to the only patch of white wildflowers probably aided her in that decision; Morgan needed those stupid flowers, and she was not about to walk away because of a little staring contest.  Finally, she decided to speak.

“This meeting is not an accident, is it?”

“I was prepared to say that I sought these infernal little flowers, but no.”  Maleficent’s smile was small.  “But our mutual acquaintance is watching me, so I dare not reach out to someone in town.”

Morgan snorted.  “Danns’ would like you meeting with me less than anyone else.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered.”  The pretty face creased with a genuinely amused smile.  “She does seem to despise you quite thoroughly.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

“I know.  That’s why I’m here.”

That made Morgan’s eyebrows rise.  “Killian does go on about your daughter rather incessantly, including his hopes that she might abandon your current allies.”

“Yes, she’s rather sweet on him, as well.”  Maleficent shrugged.  “I am not making promises, mind, but I am…interested.”

“And you’re not going to my son or Regina because Danns’ or her minions could notice.”  That explained the in-the-woods meeting, but how in the world had Maleficent known she would be here?  Morgan had magic enough these days to know if she was being tracked.  If Maleficent was talented enough to slip such a thing by Morgan, well…she would not have needed a refuge from the fae.

Maleficent seemed to sense the unasked question.  “The mother of a dragon is always easy for another dragon to track.”  She smiled, and the expression made her look much younger.  “It marks you in the way only another dragon could see.”

“Interesting.”  Mordred had never mentioned that, but Morgan was hardly surprised.  Mordred was often so sly that his right hand didn’t tell his left what it was doing.  That tendency had gotten her eldest in plenty of trouble over the years.

“Luckily for you, it was a skill Arthur never cared to develop.”  The slight wince spoke volumes.

“You were there for that.”  Morgan felt her voice go gravelly, and struggled to keep her emotions in check.

“I was.”

“Did he die well?”  Morgan had to know.

Maleficent cocked her head.  “Do you ask that about all your enemies?”

“He was my stepbrother.”  She took a deep breath, sequestering those ancient emotions away.  “I loved him, once.”  _Before Danns’ corrupted him beyond recognition.  Before power became more important to him than justice.  Before his ambition ate him alive._

Arthur had been a sweet boy, Morgan remembered, always kind and loving.  He had been Igraine’s pride and joy, so little like Uther in the beginning.  They had all hoped that he would be _the_ king to bring Camelot back from the edge of darkness.  For a time…he had been.

“He did not disgrace himself, but I would be lying to say that he was not surprised.”

She sighed sadly.  “I think he was the only one who thought she would never kill him.  Everyone else always knew that he would outlive his usefulness someday.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”  Maleficent’s sympathetic expression was surprisingly genuine.  “I did not like him, but no one deserves to be slain by the one they love.”

“Thank you.”  Morgan squared her shoulders.  “She will slay many more before the end of this, though, if she is not stopped.  Will you help us, or are you limited to expressing sympathy?”

Maleficent laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement.  “I can see your reputation for being blunt is not overstated.”

“I see no reason to curb my tongue.”

“Fair enough.”  The dragon sorceress looked away for a moment.  “I joined Danns’ to keep my daughter safe.  And I do owe her for removing the extra darkness from Lily.”

“I would say that you’ve paid that debt already.  I hear you’re the one who freed Danns’ from Zelena’s little trap.”  Not rolling her eyes was hard, but Morgan managed.  Barely.

“Yes, but it’s the getting out without _dying_ that concerns me most,” was the dry response.

“Then don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said don’t.  Don’t leave her, not until the end.  She doesn’t need you as much now that her fae are with her, so you should have to do very little in the meantime.”  Morgan shrugged coldly.  “Wait until the last, and then betray her.”

Maleficent’s eyebrows shot up.  “And here I thought you would advocate some more honorable course.”

“Don’t confuse me with the company I keep.”  Morgan snorted.  “I believe in what works.”

“I can see where your son inherits that trait.”  Maleficent smiled slightly, and from her, the words did not seem to be an insult.  Rather, a large compliment instead.  “Both of them, I think.  Though you seem to be colder still.”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Hardly.  I find it refreshingly honest.”  Her eyes burned into Morgan’s.  “They don’t call me the ‘Mistress of All Evil’ for nothing, after all.”

“I imagine they do not.”

Their discussion turned surprisingly frank at that point.  What Morgan wanted was obvious; having a spy amongst Danns’ ranks could mean the difference between thousands and hundreds dying.  She knew how Danns’ thought, too, which gave her an edge.  Morgan knew what Danns’ would _believe_ , and between them, she and Maleficent started working on a plan that would save both Maleficent and Lily.  Morgan wasn’t acting out of the goodness of her heart, of course; she’d stopped doing that a few hundred years before Maleficent was born.  But if their plan played out, Maleficent could provide information they _needed_ , and that was worth more than a little personal risk.

* * *

 

David really shouldn’t have answered the call alone, but Robin had to run to the school to pick up a suddenly-sick Roland, and the caller had indicated that the robbers had already left.  So, he headed out to the edge of town, stepping into Humphrey Breakfall’s house with his gun in hand.  The back door had been left open by the thieves, but much to David’s surprise, the living room seemed to be untouched.  Even the television and all of the (for Storybrooke) expensive electronics were still there, which meant—

“I was hoping you would come alone.  This does save quite a bit of trouble.”

Spinning around, David didn’t hesitate for a moment before aiming his weapon at the woman who had enslaved his daughter.  Every instinct he had screamed to just _shoot_ her, but he couldn’t do that.  Not when she didn’t seem to pose a threat.  _Revenge isn’t worth it,_ he told himself firmly.  Emma was safe, now, and they’d keep the dagger away from this psychotic fairy.  “What the hell do you want?”

“There’s no need for that.”  A wave of her hand made his gun straight up vanish, and David wished he was carrying a sword.  Danns’ drifted towards him, and it took all of David’s self-control not to back away more than a few cautious steps.

“I’ll repeat the question.  What do you want?”

“You, of course.”  Her smile was kindly, and _something_ in the air sent a shiver down his spine. Part of David wanted to melt forward, wanted to dive straight into Danns’ arms, but something in him rebelled just as quickly as the thought occurred to him.

But not fast enough.  He found his feet wouldn’t move, and worse yet, David took a tiny step towards her.  “Why me?”

“Because you _matter_.”  Green eyes met his, and David felt like he was drowning.  Desperately, he tried to dredge up every reason he had to back away, but his legs still wouldn’t work.  “And you deserve to be more than you are.”

“I’m—I’m not—”

“Of course you are.”

“ _No._ ”  The word grated out painfully.  _Help me, Snow._ A pulse of warmth helped chase that sudden desire away, and David shivered.  Hard.  “I’m afraid that I’m not interested.  I hear you have a bad track record with lovers, and an even worse one with husbands.”

“Only with those who are unworthy.”  Danns’ stepped forward, cocking her head and studying him intently.  “Is it being the Heartless King that makes you more resilient, or is it that you loved and lost True Love?”

“Honestly, I don’t really care.”  He made himself smile.  “You can kill me if you want, but I’m not going to help you.”

“Do you think I am such a monster that I would kill you for rejecting me?”

“I know you’re monster enough to control and hurt my _daughter_ ,” David growled.  “I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d _want_ to join you after that.”

She just shrugged.  “Reason does not always win over ambition.”

“It does for me.”

“Then you are truly one in a thousand.”  Danns’ smile seemed sad.  “It is almost a pity…and yet, some things are not meant to be.”

The finality in her voice was frightening.  “Is this when you try to kill me again?”

David had not forgotten how it felt to have his— _and_ _Snow’s!_ —heart crushed, how the darkness had reached up and claimed him, only to retreat.  He’d gotten two chances to live through death that he would never be sure he deserved, and if he had to die today, David was content in having made the right choice.  He didn’t want to die, and had so much to live for, but he knew he couldn’t stop Danns’ if she was determined to kill him.  _I won’t dishonor my family by jumping in her bed, not even to save my life._ David had promised to protect the people of Storybrooke, and he’d do that no matter what.  Even if that meant dying.

Danns’ laugh startled him out of his dark thoughts.  “Of course not.  I would never kill someone for rejecting me.  Where would the fun be in that?”

“You didn’t seem so picky last time around.”  He could hardly believe his ears.

“Well, your daughter required punishment, and you were the most convenient choice.”   Another shrug.  “Still, despite your surviving that experience, I do think the punishment was sufficient.  Do give Emma my regards, would you?”

David would do no such thing, and she didn’t wait for a response, anyway.  Danns’ disappeared in a swirl of silver smoke, leaving him standing in an empty living room.  The shakes hit him a few moments later, and David had to wait a few minutes before he could manage to pinch himself.  _Well, I’m not dead and I’m not dreaming.  I guess that means I need to get back to work._

* * *

 

She’d gone to check on Mordred, who had—according to Killian, anyway—been ridiculously stupid about staying in bed and resting.  Belle had healed him, of course, but her brother-in-law was apparently just as bad as Rumplestiltskin at allowing himself to be healed.  Morgan had taken him to her house, over Mordred’s irate objections, but Belle still wanted to check on him.  She’d healed a few wounds on Rumplestiltskin in the past, but she’d never done magic of that magnitude, and Belle just wanted to be sure he was all right.

Somehow, the fact that she would find him sitting on Morgan’s couch watching television never occurred to her.  Particularly not Disney’s _Beauty and the Beast._

Belle stood staring in silence for several long moments, utterly dumbfounded.  Finally, Mordred turned to her with a crooked grin.  “You really do look like your cartoon counterpart, you know.”

“I…I didn’t know you knew what a television _was_ , let alone about Disney movies,” she managed after a moment.

“I’m a quick study.”  Mordred shrugged.  “And your stepson might have loaned me the—what do you call it?—movie disc.”

“DVD.”  Correcting him was automatic, though Belle had a hard time not staring at the image on the screen.  Almost-Belle was staring at the enchanted rose, much like Belle had once done herself.

Mordred waved off the correction.  “Right.  What are you doing here, anyway?  If you’ve come to check on me, you can see that I’m nearer to death by boredom than by any other cause.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t escaped, to be honest.”  Belle had to smile at Mordred’s petulant expression.  Although he’d been born _many_ centuries before her husband, she often thought of Rumplestiltskin as the older brother. 

“Mother’s practically cursed me to stay on the couch,” he grumbled.  “Near enough, anyway.”

“What did she do?” Belle wanted to believe that Morgan wouldn’t actually keep her son inside via magic, but…

“Threatened to tell my dear _brother_ about some of my less savory childhood antics.”  Mordred scowled.  “Blackmail is an efficient tool.  I have remained inside.”

Belle had to stifle a giggle, though it came out as an unladylike snort.  “My heart bleeds with compassion for you.”

“ _Someone’s_ has to.”

Smiling, Belle made her way over to sit next to him on Morgan’s gray leather couch.  “So, I take it that you’re feeling well enough to complain?”

 “Thoroughly.”  He actually quirked a smile back.  “Though I doubt that’s why you’re here, so out with it.”

“What makes you think that?” she had to ask.

“Intuition.”

“Right.”  Belle took a deep breath, and decided that—since she couldn’t distract herself by worry for Mordred—that she should just get to the point.  “Rumple told me what happened to my—to Arthur.  I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“If I—?”  He cut off, staring at her like she’d gone mad.  “You really are as nice as she is, aren’t you?”  Mordred’s gesture at the television was borderline rude, but Belle ignored that.

“I try.”

“You succeed with disturbing frequency.”  Mordred looked away for a moment.  “I tried to kill him myself, you know.  More than once.”

“I know.  But knowing that you needed to stop him doesn’t mean you actually wanted him dead.”  Belle reached out to put a hand on his arm, fighting back her own mixed emotions.  Arthur had been her grandfather, and she’d wanted so badly to be close to him.  He’d chosen Danns’ and power over love, of course, but that didn’t mean Belle wouldn’t regret what might have been.

“I think I’m a cold enough bastard to have wanted it, but not like that.”  Mordred grimaced.  “He could have been so much more.  He wasn’t like that, not when I was a kid.”

“He wasn’t?”  Most of what Belle knew about Arthur, she had learned from Arthur himself or from Morgan, both of which were decidedly biased sources.

“No.  He was everything he was supposed to be, back then.”  Mordred looked sad.  “I idolized him.  Gwaine and I both did.”

_Killian’s father,_ Belle remembered.  Gwaine was a brother-in-law (and a cousin of some sort, she supposed) who she would never know.  “Will you tell me about him?  About how he was before Grandmother got ahold of him?”

Mordred turned to her in surprise, seemingly shocked that she’d ever ask that.  A long moment passed before he nodded.  “If you like.  I’m…bitter these days, but I’ll try to remember the good moments.”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

 

Regina Mills was waiting outside her home when Danns’ returned.  She was almost surprised to find the former Evil Queen there, but Danns’ headed out to meet her, regardless.  For a moment, she contemplated attempting to seduce _Regina_ in lieu of David, but she discarded the notion just as quickly.  Fae ‘love’ magic was powerful, but its one antithesis was True Love.  A blind sorceress could have realized what Regina and the former outlaw shared, and Danns’ had no desire to weather rejection twice in one day.  So, she simply walked outside with her head held high, greeting Storybrooke’s nominal leader with a smile.

“Mayor Mills.  You remembered my deadline.”

Four days she had given her.  Four days to decide if she was going to be an enemy or a neutral  party.  Of course, Danns’ had every intention of dragging Regina onto her side eventually—but when she won, that would be inevitable.  She always kept her promises, after all. 

“I did.”  Regina looked mildly uncomfortable, but the woman really was all brass and sass.  Not many people had the guts to look at Danns’ like she was a threat, not something to be feared.  “And I came to do you the courtesy of saying ‘no thank you’ to your face.”

“I beg your pardon?”  Surely Regina was not so stupid as to pass up the opportunity to keep her entire—magicless!—family safe.

“I won’t betray my friends.  My family is more than just Robin and my children, and unless you’re going to promise them _all_ safety, you don’t have a deal.”

“You are well aware of why I cannot do that.”

“I figured.  But it’s not going to change my mind.”  Regina shrugged, finally looking a little nervous.  “I wasn’t very different from you, you know.  It took me a long time to see past my own darkness to realize that family was more important to me than power.”

“I did not offer you safety so that you could lecture me.”  Danns’ could not stop the words from snapping out; she could tell what Regina was getting at, and she didn’t like it one bit.  _My family is limited to Belle and her unborn child.  In the end, they will understand._

Reul was family, too, but Danns’ knew that they would never see eye-to-eye.  Being locked in a millennia old battle did not mean they loved one another less; only humans thought family and power were a zero sum game.  _Fools._

“Sure.  I said what I came to say.”  Regina shrugged.  “Just don’t be surprised when choosing power over family bites you in the ass.  Karma tends to work like that.”

The impertinent woman teleported away in a swirl of red smoke before Danns’ could reply, and part of her wanted to chase Regina down and make her suffer for those words.  But no.  She was above such petty vengeance.  _Besides, I am sure that I have several fae who would_ love _to take her as their own,_ Danns’ thought with a cold smile.  Regina would keep.  Danns’ plans were advancing nicely, and she would not let her own anger ruin them.

* * *

 

The bell ringing told Rumplestiltskin that he had a visitor, so he made his way to the front of the shop, only to find a very shaken David Nolan standing there.  That made him stop cold.  “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”

“I…I think I need your help.”  David swallowed hard, looking around as if he expected someone or something to jump out of the shadows.

Not demanding something in return still took something of an effort, but Rumplestiltskin quashed the urge.  People were looking at him differently after word of his actions at the Fae Lands had gotten around, and he thought he really _liked_ that.  “Dare I ask why?”

“I ran into the Black Fairy.  I think she was trying to seduce me.”

“Huh.  Isn’t that…interesting.”  Blinking, Rumplestiltskin focused on the magic around David, and yes, he could see black and silver threads—along with some ominous glowing red ones—surrounding the prince.  Danns’ _had_ tried to seduce David, which had to be the dumbest move she’d yet made.  Still, she’d used the fae’s legendary ability to inspire lust and phony love, which worked on most people.  Watching the magic play around David was _fascinating._

David looked at him incredulously.  “Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, it didn’t work, did it?”  He couldn’t stop himself from shrugging; Rumplestiltskin was still watching the magic with rapt attention.

“Gold!” 

The desperation in David’s voice finally snapped him out of it, and Rumplestiltskin raised a hand, yanking the threads that held the spells together and drawing them away from their intended victim.  A twist of his wrist pulled them into a small glowing ball, which he held up for David to see.

“There.  Her spells are gone, and you’re fine.”  A small voice in the back of his head told Rumplestiltskin that he should have said more, that he should have _explained_ , and he rather thought that it sounded like Belle.

“Um, thank you.”  David’s smile was still uneasy.  “I, uh, just…”

“You want to understand.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and listened to his inner Belle.  “You’ve heard of fae ‘love’ magic?”

“Yeah.”  The other man grimaced.  “Henry told me about a few stories he found in the old storybooks.”  David gestured towards Rumplestiltskin.  “You’ve probably heard about them from the same source, I imagine.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “He and Belle are researching together, yes.”  Belle loved having someone go through the books with her with the passion Henry showed, he knew.  Rumplestiltskin liked books and knowledge, but his appetite had always run more towards the _practical,_ aside from reading a book or two for amusement.  Henry, on the other hand, drank books up almost as quickly as Belle did.  But that wasn’t the point.  “At any rate, magic can’t make someone fall in love, but the fae can make someone _think_ they are in love.  That’s what Danns’ tried on you.  And failed, I believe.”

“It almost worked, but then I thought of Snow.  And then it didn’t.”  David probably had no idea his hand was on his heart.  “Is it…is it because I have her heart?”

“Partially.  I expect True Love itself would be enough of a barrier, but you and your late wife…you share the epitome of True Love.”

“Shared.”  David looked like the word broke him, and something twisted inside Rumplestiltskin.

“Do you love her any less because she is gone?”

“No!  Of course not.”

Rumplestiltskin just gave him a look.

Finally, David nodded.  “Right.  I know she’s with me.  I’ll never doubt that.  But I guess it’s still nice to have proof, sometimes.”

“I imagine it is.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t pretend that he knew how David felt; even when he’d thought Belle was dead, he’d never experienced the howling emptiness that he knew David lived with every day.  David was far stronger than he gave himself credit for.  In his shoes, Rumplestiltskin would have gone to pieces months ago.

David seemed to shake himself.  “She said that I mattered.  Was that just her trying to seduce me, or does that have to do with the Heartless King prophecy?”

“You’d have to ask my mother about that one.  It’s her prophecy.”

“Maybe I will.”

* * *

 

Mal had done quite a few foolish things in her life, but this one might just be the most insane of them all.  _On the bright side, that means it might actually_ work. 

Their trip to the Lands of the Fae (or, more appropriately, the doorway that still trapped the bulk of the fae) had proven one thing to Maleficent: Danns’ viewed all humans as expendable.  Belle _might_ be an exception to that rule, but Arthur should have been as well.  So, there was no telling who Danns’ might decide to kill next.  Oh, there would be a purpose to it—with Maleficent’s erstwhile _ally_ , there was always a purpose—but Danns’ would kill without a moment’s hesitation.  She’d sacrificed her own husband to get to the fae, and if she was prepared to kill Arthur, that meant that Maleficent and Lily were not safe, even if they stayed loyal.

Yet outright betrayal would earn them Zelena’s fate, which meant Mal had to tread carefully.  She hadn’t even told Lily about this plan; if it exploded in her face, perhaps that could shield Lily from the worst of the fallout.  _Or perhaps not.  You can always back out and continue as you were if you want to turn coward,_ she told herself with a scowl.  No.  This was the best course of action she had.  The only way to survive Danns’ was to betray her right at the end; otherwise, the Black Fairy would make butchering Maleficent her top priority.  So, she had to appear loyal, while not alienating those who would hopefully win the coming war.

“Maleficent.  I did not expect you today.”

Danns’ house was surprisingly free of all fae save Jhudora, which left Mal more worried than she wanted to admit, but now wasn’t the time to press on that front.  “I encountered someone earlier whom I thought you might be interested in.”

One eyebrow rose as Danns’ turned to face her.  “Oh?”

“Morgan of Cornwall.”

“I know plenty of her.”  Danns’ snorted, her eyes drifting back down to the map of Storybrooke that lay on the dining room table.  “What new information could you have that could interest me?”

“None, at present.”  Mal allowed herself a slight smile as Danns’ looked up again, her eyes sharp.  “But there is an opportunity for more.”

“Go on.”

“You planted Accolon in her bed many years ago.  She’ll not fall for another man in that role, but I may have a chance.”

Green eyes narrowed, but she could see interest there.  “You?  What would make you do such a thing?”

“I am not a fool,” Maleficent said bluntly.  “I know I cannot match your fae for loyalty”—she nodded towards Jhudora, who was lurking in ominous silence off to the right—“so I must make myself indispensable.  And I know how you hate Morgan.”

“I am certainly not fond of her.”  The smile was cold.  “Why do you think she would warm to you?”

“We spoke.”  She made her shrug as casual as she dared.  “There was a certain…interest.”

Danns’ cocked her head.  “You do seem her type.  When she’s not bedding mindless inferiors, that is.”

“That I am most certainly _not._ ” 

“Very well.  See what you can do, and let me know how it goes.”  Danns’ nodded a dismissal, and Maleficent left without another word.

Jhudora watched her leave with a mixture of distrust and hunger, and leaving that house was a bigger relief than Mal wanted to admit.  Had she not advanced her own proposal, she might have had to bed one of the fae to guarantee Lily’s safety.  _They are creatures of lust and power.  Do not forget that._   This plan would have to suffice for the time being, and it had the advantage of being supremely better than all the available alternatives.  Maleficent hardly found the idea unattractive; Morgan was still a handsome woman, for all her many centuries.  She was hard-bitten and stained by darkness, but so was Mal.  And although she enjoyed Tad’s serenades and attempts at fairytale-type romance, Mal had to admit she had never been the swooning damsel type.  It was getting old.

* * *

 

“You really should lose the castle, you know.”

Those words made Mordred throw a sideways look at his nephew.  He was _still_ stuck in his mother’s house—lest Morgan make good on her threats, but it was only for another day—and Killian had dropped by shortly after Belle had left.  If he didn’t know better, Mordred would think his family was conspiring to keep him resting and entertained, but there was no way they’d do that for him.

“What do you mean, ‘lose’ the castle?” he asked.

“First off, it’s an eyesore.”  Killian started ticking points off on his fingers.  “Secondly, it’s archaic; it’s a few hundred years behind the nicer castles back home.  Thirdly, if you want to stop playing evil sorcerer in the castle, you have got to be rid of the damned thing.”

Mordred let out an inarticulate sound of dismay.  “It’s _mine_.”

“Aye, and it sends a message that you don’t like anyone else.”

“Well, generally speaking, I don’t.”  Mordred didn’t see how that mattered.

“It’s still not smart to _advertise_ that.”  His nephew sighed theatrically.  “Uncle, you’re not a stupid man.  Have you or have you not decided to be a part of this town?”

“I am a King!” he snapped before he could stop himself, and then realized how foolish he sounded.  “Or I was, anyway. I’m not just some townsperson.”

Killian snorted.  “At last count, there are at least six bloody kings in this town.  And probably at least as many queens, though some of them are more dangerous than others.  You’re hardly the most impressive of the lot, Uncle.”

Mordred wanted to argue, but he really hadn’t been much of a king lately, had he?  Oh, he’d ruled what was left of Camelot before it collapsed, but that didn’t count.  He’d ruled over a land where people became monsters and time passed at a crawl, and worse yet, the mess Camelot had become was due to _his_ mistakes.  He’d wanted to protect his people, and yet when he’d tried to stop time to trap Danns’ in Camelot, he’d only hurt Camelot’s people.  Danns’ had still escaped, and he’d never managed to fix what he’d done, either.  He sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.”  Admitting it out loud was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder even than accepting Rumplestiltskin as his brother. 

“It’s one of my more endearing habits.”  Killian grinned, but Mordred scowled.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”  He felt like he’d said those words to Gwaine a hundred times when they were younger; Gwaine had shared Killian’s bombastic streak, even if his sense of humor had been far less low.  Still, they both tended to use humor to deflect attention away from uncomfortable situations, and sometimes, being around Killian made Mordred miss Gwaine so much that it _burned._

Killian laughed, and it was Gwaine’s damned laugh.  “Never!”

Sadness overcame Mordred for a moment, and he swallowed hard.  He’d lost both his brothers—and the sister he’d hardly known—so many years ago.  Now he had another brother, two nephews, a great nephew, and assorted other family, including a sister-in-law who was also his niece.  He’d never expected to _live_ long enough to have to deal with this.  He’d always known that his mother had Seen his death, and Mordred had counted on that coming soon.  _If I died in that battle, I wouldn’t have had to figure out how to live_.  Now, here he was, looking at having a life beyond the battle where he’d expected to die, and Mordred wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Granted, he could still die in the next battle, though that thought wasn’t as comforting as he expected.

“I made you my heir.”  The words blurted out of him as the silence stretched on, and Mordred regretted them the moment Killian twisted to look at him in shock.

“What?”

“If I died.  I wrote my will before we left, and I left everything to you.”  He managed a shrug.  “Including the bloody castle you hate so much.”

Mordred wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Killian struck speechless before, but now his nephew stared at him with huge eyes.  Several moments ticked by before Killian seemed to find his voice.

“I—not that I’m not grateful, Uncle, but I’d rather you be around than inherit a castle.”

Mordred found himself smiling crookedly.  “Well, I wouldn’t suggest living in it, anyway.  The damned thing takes an enormous amount of magic to keep standing, and it would probably collapse on you.”

“Ah, so I’m clearly _not_ your favorite nephew.”  The words were a quip, but Mordred felt he had to address them.

“That’s not it at all.  You were the first person here—aside from my mother, of course—who treated me like family.  That’s not something I’m _used_ to, but I wanted to let you know how grateful I am.”  He squirmed uncomfortably, hating emotional conversations like this.  Growling at people and being an ass was so much easier than telling truths.

“Aye, well, you almost ruined it with the lies, but I can’t lay claim to never having betrayed those I care about.”  Killian’s smile was almost as uncomfortable as Mordred felt, and _that_ really did make him feel better.

“Apparently it runs in our family,” he said dryly, and then changed the subject before things could get even more awkward.  “But where would you have me live without the castle?  I’m not moving onto your ship!”

* * *

 

Seducing King Richard had not gone as planned, either, and Danns’ was left with her last choice of ‘partner’.  Had the former king not had a dragon to back him up, she might have gotten further in her efforts, but the damned dragon had apparently fetched Richard’s _wife,_ and the woman in question distracted her moronic husband enough that Danns’ efforts were for naught.  _He’s a giant child.  It’s probably for the best._   Danns’ wasn’t sure if she would have been able to stomach sleeping with such a man, anyway.  Richard was too damned _good_.  From what she could tell, even when he’d played the part of Evil Conqueror, he hadn’t done it well.  So, he was out.

And Sir Lamorak was in.  Fortunately, the fool had always been halfway to in love with her, and what remained of Camelot’s knights would follow him.  That was hardly the coup she had sought, but it would have to be good enough.

“Does it not bother you to step into dead man’s shoes?” she asked idly, stroking his arm as they sat on her couch together.

Lamorak shook his head.  “If Arthur forced your hand into killing him, he never was worthy of you in the first place My Lady.”

“Perhaps not.”  She adopted a sad expression.  “I do wish it had not been so, though.  And I hope you and I can understand one another.”

“As do I.”  His eyes gleamed with ambition.  “I will do whatever is required to give you what you desire.”

Danns’ leaned in to kiss him.  “And I will have you right by my side…. _King_ Lamorak.”

She was nearly ready to make her move, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter One Hundred and Five—“The Powers that Tend the Soul,” in which David finds an unexpected ally, Emma and Bae talk about her future, Mordred goes to his brother to complain, and David goes to ask Morgan about the prophecy of the Heartless King.


	105. The Powers that Tend the Soul

Storybrooke Cemetery was a dull place, and not fit for the grave of a king.

Standing with Lamorak at her side, Danns’ studied the memorial through the magic swirling around it.  No one else could see it, yet, including her assembled friends and allies, but she could see each stone settling into place, could see the cairn building slowly.  It was not in the shape of Arthur’s former funeral pyre, for all that she had chosen the place where Arthur had come ashore for his grave.  No, this statue was of Arthur in his prime, of a warrior stepping out of the waves and ready to do battle.  She would always remember him that way, not the startled and frightened man who she had killed to protect the future they had both wanted.

There was no body to be buried; the final sealing of the door to the Fae Lands had destroyed what little remained of Arthur after the magic was through with him five days earlier.  But Danns’ did not need a body to build a suitable remembrance, so she stood on the shore to do so, raising her hands as her spell finished its work.  Drifting away like mist, her magic moved aside to reveal the twelve foot tall statue of Arthur, and she felt those behind her whispering in approval.  Many of their loyal Camelotians had come—and Danns’ had already mentally marked those who had _not_ —and they needed to see their king sent off in a royal fashion.

She nodded to Lamorak, and he stepped forward to address the crowd.  Fortunately, he remembered the words she had told him.

“We have lost our king, but our battle is not yet over!  Arthur died to give us a chance at the future we have _all_ dreamt of: a future of a realm united under our banner!  Camelot will live on, regardless of what trials we must face.  _And Camelot will reign!_ ”

The humans cheered; Danns’ fae simply smiled and waited.  She could see Jhudora shifting impatiently; she was Danns’ principle lieutenant during Nuckelavee’s absence, but she had never been good at waiting.  Still, Jhudora’s many lusts would be fed soon enough.  Danns’ simply had to ensure that her power over the people of Camelot remained intact with Arthur gone.

So, she stepped forward, joining Lamorak before the assembled throng.  “Arthur and I learned that our daughter, the stolen Princess Colette, died before this town came to be.  Our heir _should_ be our granddaughter, the Princess Belle, but she has chosen not to assume her rightful role yet.  In the meantime, I trust in Arthur’s cousin Lamorak to take on the mantle of Lord Protector of Camelot.”

No one seemed surprised, though a few gasped as Lamorak sank to one knee before Danns’, bowing his head.  _Some may miss the subtlety of Camelot’s ‘ruler’ submitting to me.  Most will not._ Danns’ bit back the urge to smile.

“Lord Lamorak, will you swear yourself to me, to protect the people and beliefs of Camelot, and to uphold the legacy of my late and dear husband?”  She kept her voice quiet and serious; there would be no laughter today.

“I do, My Queen.”  He kissed her hand when she offered it, and then Danns’ raised Lamorak to stand beside her.  “And I will lead us to victory!”

He’d departed from script with that last declaration, but Danns’ managed not to wince.  It went over well with the knights, at least, and they were Lamorak’s main concern.  After all, there were two battles yet to come, and Danns’ would only fight in one of them.  She would have to trust in Lamorak to see the second one through, despite his history of being more of a blunt instrument than a leader of men.  For the first time, she truly missed Arthur.  Danns’ did not regret doing what had to be done, but Arthur would have been far better suited for the battles to come.

Still, there was no changing that now, and she needed the fae far more than she had needed him.

* * *

 

“It’s been too quiet.”  Robin gestured at the empty jail cells with a knowing look.  “I mean, I don’t want to be one to complain, but the fae have been in Storybrooke for a week, and nothing has happened.  Something is seriously _wrong_.”  

“Tell me about it.”  David sighed, rubbing his eyes.  Neal had kept him up most of the night, and while he’d rather lose sleep for his son than for yet another crisis, he understood exactly what Robin was saying. 

Quiet times like this _never_ lasted in Storybrooke.  At least not since the curse, and he’d spent most of that in a coma, so David had scant little experience on that front.

“Gina was talking about the elections last night,” Robin said after a moment.  “They’re in forty-one days, and she’s going to open nominations next week.”

“Who is she going to have run it?”  David couldn’t; he hadn’t been elected as sheriff, and Emma wasn’t exactly on the town’s ‘trust’ list at the moment.

“She mentioned King Midas.  Everyone respects him, and he’s more impartial than anyone else in this town.”

David’s eyebrows shot up in surprise . “He’s not running for mayor?”

“No,  he’s sick of political power and games.”  The new voice made David spin around, only to find Midas in the doorway—followed by a very disgruntled looking Francis Herman.  “He is, however, thinking of opening a brewery.”

“Midas!” David rose and held a hand out to the man who had almost been his father-in-law.  They’d gotten on pretty well since those days, and Midas had often been the voice of reason during their recently trouble times.  “What brings you down to the station?”

“I came to make sure Francis actually talked to you.”  Midas turned a glare on his companion.  “So, talk.”

King Francis—Judge Herman in this world, but they really hadn’t had much in the way of trials, so he was free to indulge in whatever trouble Midas had caught him in—shifted nervously.  “Um, I came to tell you about Arthur’s knights.”

“Arthur’s dead, mate.” Robin came over to stand next to David, eying Francis warily.  And with good cause; Francis had been power-hungry and unpredictable even back home.  Here in Storybrooke, he wasn’t exactly the kind of judge that David wanted to try a case in front of.

“Yes, but his followers are now attached to Lamorak.”  Francis’ glanced at Midas, as if waiting for the other king to kick more information out of him.  When Midas only glared, Francis let out a theatrical sigh.  “They’re gathering an army.”

“An army?” David couldn’t stop the incredulous question from coming out.  “With what weapons?”

Francis shrugged.  “They wouldn’t tell me that.  They just wanted my support.”  He crossed his arms defensively.  “Which I didn’t give them.”

“What he’s saying is that he withdrew after Arthur died,” Midas added, rolling his eyes.  “But most people don’t seem to have.  They’re gathering up every malcontent from three realms.”

“Great.”  David wished that he was surprised by that last bit.  Storybrooke’s troublemakers generally stayed pretty quiet due to the frequency at which disasters and evildoers appeared, but he knew they’d jump at the chance to support someone nefarious.  They’d been lucky that most of the villains who’d come to town hadn’t tried to gather a significant following, otherwise this kind of situation might have come up sooner.

Robin studied Francis closely.  “Do you have names?”

“Why would I?  I just—”

“Of course he does.”  Midas gave Francis another glare, and Francis wilted.  Again.  “And he’ll be happy to help.”

“Right.  Of course.”  Francis straightened, and David could see him becoming a politician once more.  The curse hadn’t done Francis any favors; it had made him even more venal and power hungry than ever before.  The fact that Thomas had been allowed to marry Ella at all was still a shock, given what a snob Francis could be.

That thought led David down a road he _really_ didn’t want to be on.  “Thomas and Ella aren’t involved in this, are they?”

“No!  Of course not.” 

“Good.”  David knew that Thomas didn’t always see eye-to-eye with his father, and he was very glad to learn this was another one of those moments.  Thomas was a good sort, and Ella was a godsend to every parent in town.  She helped Ruby out at the diner and ran a daycare service with Aurora.  They were both good friends, and David was damn relieved that they hadn’t been dragged into this mess.

_And it’s only getting messier,_ he thought as Robin started jotting the names Francis provided down.  They were lucky that Midas had bullied Francis into helping, but it wasn’t like they could arrest anyone.  Even Lamorak wasn’t guilty of any more than having gotten in a drunk fight with another knight—at least not yet.  But at least they knew, and that would hopefully give them an advantage when things finally came to a head.

* * *

 

He had, as Killian had so _helpfully_ suggested, given up on his castle.  For now, Mordred was content to live with his mother, but he was already chafing at that.  He loved Morgan, of course, but no one transitioned well from ruling a kingdom to sleeping in their mother’s guest bedroom.  _Perhaps I will ask Rumplestiltskin if he has any other properties.  Surely handing one over to his brother would not be a hardship._   After all, Mordred knew that Rumplestiltskin hardly needed the money!  He refused to haggle like a fishmonger, but Mordred thought they could work something—

A giggle cut into his thoughts, and Mordred found his feet carrying him into the kitchen.  His mother was there, laughing at something and looking decidedly happy.  But that wasn’t the problem.  The fact that _Maleficent_ was sitting so close to her certainly was.

“Mother?”

“Mordred.  You’re back early.  I thought you were eating lunch with Killian.”

“I _was._ ”  His stomach lurched ominously; Mordred knew that his mother never brought anyone back to the house, particularly not someone who was in bed with the enemy. 

_The less thought about who Maleficent is in bed with, the better!_

“You have met Maleficent, have you not?”  Morgan was giving him that I-know-what-I’m-doing look that Mordred knew too well, and he struggled to dredge up a polite smile.

“In passing, yes.”  He turned to look at his mother’s guest, who really was far too good looking and well-coiffed for a simple _lunch._   “I was under the impression that you were of Danns’ persuasion.”

Maleficent shrugged.  “Needs must.”

Morgan didn’t even twitch, and Mordred knew her well enough to know where this was leading.  Or where it had already _led_.  “Mother, if I may call your attention to your experiences with Accolon—”

“You may not.”  She cut him off serenely.  “You may join us if you promise to behave, however.”

“No, thank you.”  Mordred managed to grit the words out before fleeing. 

He had no desire to watch his mother get involved with someone new, particularly not a dangerous relationship like this one.  Having the misfortune of being Morgan’s eldest son, he remembered nearly all of her various affairs, save that with his own father.  _Thankfully!_   But he did remember his horrendous stepfather, Lot.  He remembered Merlin, of course, who had fathered Mordred’s little sister who had been killed so young.  That wouldn’t have been too bad, and he supposed he could write off Rumplestiltskin’s father as a drunken mistake, given what Rumplestiltskin had said about him.

But that didn’t really account for Urien or Guinguemar, both of whom he was fairly sure Morgan had only taken to bed to annoy Lot.  There had also been Corrant, who Mordred had liked more than all of the others, Merlin included.  Well, except Elaine of Corbenic.  He had liked _Elaine_ a lot more than all the others, particularly because Elaine hadn’t been a potential source of yet another sibling.  Looking at it that way, Mordred supposed he should be happy that his mother had gone for another woman this time, though the fact that Maleficent had just accompanied Danns’ a’Bhàis to the Lands of the Fae really should have turned his mother off.  With their luck, Maleficent was simply following Danns’ orders, just as Accolon had been.

Not that that fact changed a thing.  He knew her too well to think Morgan gave a damn about the risks.

* * *

 

Somehow, they always found themselves walking in the park.  Or, in this case, back at the swing set.  _Maybe it’s because our first ‘date’ was breaking into an amusement park and sitting on the swing ride,_ Emma thought with a small smile.  Was this a date?  She wasn’t sure.  She wasn’t even sure if _dating_ was the right word when you got together with the guy you’d once been ready to marry.  She certainly wasn’t ready for that, not yet, but Emma felt pretty happy about the current situation. 

Leaving aside the fact that being happy at all was kind of scary, Emma was doing okay.

“So, you think about what you’re gonna do now that you’re free of the crazy fairy?” Bae’s voice was light, but Emma could hear the seriousness behind his easy tone.

She’d spent the last six days reveling in her freedom.  She’d spent a lot of it with Henry, a good amount of time with her dad and Baby Neal, and even invited Bae over to have dinner with her and Henry once.  Henry hadn’t burned that set of grilled cheeses, either, which had impressed both his parents.  But now Emma was getting antsy.  She liked being free, but having nothing to do was driving her insane.  The worst part, however, was that she already knew what she wanted to do.  She just wasn’t sure if anyone would _let_ her do it.

“I think I might like to help my dad out.”  Emma knew her voice had gone a little quiet, and she tried to square her shoulders and seem confident.  “I know no one wants the Dark One as sheriff, but I’d like to help.  I _need_ to help.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and Emma started to get her back up before Bae’s face split into a grin.  “That’s great, Emma.”

She blinked.  “You think so?” 

“Yeah.  That’s _you_.  I never would have pegged you for the law enforcement type back when we stole the same car, but you found yourself here with that.”  He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it.  “It’s good to hear you thinking like you again, too.”

“I feel better.  A little, anyway.”  Emma was almost afraid to admit it.  “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes counts, yeah?”

“I hope so.”  She let out a breath, only to have Nimue’s voice echo in her mind: _This is the best you’re going to get.  Don’t mess it up._  

Bae’s sudden question made her jump.  “So, did you start thinking about when you want to end this?”

“End what?” Emma’s heart hammered against her chest.  He couldn’t mean—“You and me?”

_You should have seen this coming, little girl,_ Zoso mocked her.  _No one stays with the Dark One.  They all leave._   A silent sneer.  _That’s why you should take what you want._

_Shut up!_ Strangely enough, those words did silence Zoso.  For once.

“No.”  Bae scowled.  “I’m talking about getting the darkness out of you.  Quitting this Dark One stuff for good.”

“Oh.”  Emma felt like she could breathe again.  “That.”

“Yeah, that.  The big ol’ elephant in the room.”  His smile was crooked.  “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got the dagger back.  Danns’ can’t stop you, now.”

“I know.”  Emma closed her eyes, clinging to Bae’s hand harder than she wanted to admit to.  “But…what if it doesn’t work?  What if it makes me worse?”

She wanted to trust Rumplestiltskin, she did.  But Emma knew how powerful the forces inside her were, and she knew how easily everything could get screwed up.  Nimue had started with good intentions, trying to control a terrible darkness that was killing people, yet in the end, she’d become a monster, too.  _He’s a tricky one,_ Zoso warned her.  _Don’t trust the spinner._   Listening to Zoso rant about his successor was almost enough to make Emma agree to try here and now, but she knew that Zoso wasn’t wrong.  Rumplestiltskin probably knew what he was doing…but what if he didn’t?

“I know you and my dad haven’t always had the best relationship, Emma, but I know he wants to help you with this,” Bae said gently.  “He hates the darkness, too.” 

She let out a shaky laugh.  “He never seemed to before.”

“Nah, he liked the power.  He just knew the darkness was the price to get it.”  Bae shrugged.  “I don’t agree with that, but I _get_ it.  Particularly now that I’m older, and I know what kind of crap life he had when I was a kid.  He tried to protect me from the worst of it, but looking back, it’s pretty obvious.  No one ever helped him, not until he had the power to _make_ people stop abusing him.”

“I can’t really imagine him without power.  Even when he wasn’t the Dark One, it didn’t take long for him to become the Sorcerer.”  Emma hadn’t liked that much at first, but now she was really grateful that it was Rumplestiltskin she was dealing with, and not Merlin.  Rumplestiltskin might be a tricky bastard, but it probably took a tricky bastard to figure out how to dismantle the mess inside her.

“It was different.”  Bae took a breath.  “But the point is that he knows what being the Dark One does to you, and he’s gonna do his best to help you.  I know trusting is hard, but you’ve got to try.”

“I know.”  Emma took a deep breath.  “Just let me…let me be me a little, first.  Not for long.”

“I’ll hold you to that, all right?”

Her laugh was shaky, but Emma nodded.  “All right.”

* * *

 

“The fae grow impatient, My Lady.”  Jhudora’s tone was respectful, but Danns’ was hardly fooled.  She rolled her eyes.

“You mean _you_ are growing impatient.”

“My Lady, I—”

“No.  Do not lie to me, old friend.  We both know that you hunger for chaos and destruction.”  Danns’ softened the blow with a smile.  “But I would have you no other way.”

“Forgive me.”  Jhudora bowed her head slightly.  “I simply wonder when we will commence our conquest.”  She sneered.  “And why we need the humans _again._ ”

“Humans are fickle creatures.  Although most of them will intuitively recognize us as their betters, they are still stubborn enough to want one of their ‘own’ leading them.  Hence the need for Lamorak.”

“He’s an empty-headed fool!’

“Of course he is.  I have no desire for a true partner.  When the time comes, my granddaughter will take his place.”  Danns’ waved her hand dismissively.  “But Lamorak will unite Arthur’s knights well enough.”

Jhudora scowled.  “I do not like him.”

“Nor do I.  But Arthur’s death served to free you, and now Mordred is dead as well.  That is worth putting up with Lamorak.”

Jhudora stared at her like she was insane.  “Mordred is not dead.  Yara saw him in town yesterday.”

_“What?_ ”

Rage ripped through Danns’, and it took everything she had to step on her instinctive desire to rip someone or something to pieces.  For a moment, she wanted to lash out, to _burn_ Jhudora for those words, but Danns’ stopped herself.  Yes, Yara was probably right.  She had always been attracted to Mordred, and it was not likely that she would be mistaken.  Yet Danns’ knew that those spells _should_ have killed Mordred, which meant someone had saved him.

Who didn’t matter.  What mattered was that Arthur’s bastard was alive, and she not going to let Mordred survive Arthur for long.  She owed her late husband that much.

* * *

 

Belle was just packing up the picnic lunch she’d brought to the shop when Mordred burst through the door, looking like he’d swallowed something awful.  Rumplestiltskin spun to look at his brother, opening his mouth to ask what terrible thing had happened, only for Mordred to get in first.

“Our mother is sleeping with _Maleficent_.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “Is that all?  And here I was, expecting an all-out attack on Storybrooke by the fae.”

His brother shook his head repeatedly.  “This is _much_ worse.”

“How so?” Watching Mordred squirm was rather enjoyable; Rumplestiltskin thought that perhaps he should feel bad for that, but he didn’t.  “Whom Mother invites into her bed is surely not our concern.  And the less I hear about it, the better.”

“Are you serious?  How can you _not_ think that this is—that this is—”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “This is me feeling like I’m the older brother again” 

“Do not tempt me to do something terrible to you,” Mordred snapped, pointing an imperious finger at Rumplestiltskin.  Who didn’t feel very threatened.

Belle’s giggle interrupted what other half-hearted threats Mordred might have made.  Mordred turned a betrayed glare on her, and she only snickered again.  “I’m sorry.  But you _are_ behaving a bit childishly.  Morgan is an adult.  Surely she can be in a relationship with whomever she wants.”

“That’s not the point!”  Mordred took a deep breath, seemingly pulling himself together with an effort.  “I’m not sure if she’s doing this to annoy me or to annoy Danns’.  If it’s the former, well, feel free to laugh at my expense.  It’s the latter that worries me.”

“You’re thinking of Accolon.”  Belle nodded sympathetically, glancing at Rumplestiltskin.

He just waved a hand.  The gesture was dismissive, but it also activated a quick spell to make sure that no one could eavesdrop.  “Maleficent is no Accolon.  If she’s acting in such a manner—with our _mother_ —it’s because she wants to build a quiet bridge onto our side.  Not so she can betray us.  Her ‘allegiances’ are rather public at the moment, after all.”

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t forgotten his last conversation with Maleficent, after all.  She’d tipped him off that Danns’ was preparing to head to the Lands of the Fae—and her daughter had called Killian when their departure was imminent.  Mal wasn’t nearly as loyal as Danns’ might hope, and this was—at least on the surface—an excellent opportunity.  Morgan had undoubtedly seen that as well.  Rumplestiltskin knew how his mother thought, and he was certain this was just Morgan exploiting the chance she had been given.

“You think this is just a ruse?” Belle cocked her head thoughtfully, reading his expression.

“It isn’t,” Mordred cut in.  “I _know_ Mother, and I know the look on her face.  She’s bedding the dragon bitch.”

“That’s hardly kind of you to say.”  Belle gave Mordred a hard look.

“What?  She is what she is.  It’s not an insult.”

Rumplestiltskin, however, had ignored that exchange as Mordred’s words sank in.  Intellectually, he knew that he shouldn’t have a problem with the mother he had met as an adult sleeping with someone he had known for a century or so, and yet… This feeling of disgust mixed with morbid fascination was strange.  “You truly think they’re sleeping together?”

“Yes.”  Mordred’s voice was a growl.

Belle put a hand on his arm.  “It’s hardly a big deal, Rumple.”

“She’s not your mother.”  He wasn’t sure how he felt, but it wasn’t normal.

“See?  Finally, someone understands!”  Mordred looked almost comically relieved.  “So, what are we going to do about it?”

“You’re not going to do anything!”  Belle glared at them both, her blue eyes fierce.  “Morgan is an adult who has the misfortune of having the pair of you for children.  It’s _her_ choice.  So, you’ll be polite and supportive, you understand?”

Rumplestiltskin knew that tone, and more importantly, he knew she was right.  “Yes, dear.”

Belle spun to glare at Mordred, who glared back for a moment before heaving a great sigh.  She didn’t have to say anything.

“Of course.  I apologize.”  He glanced at Rumplestiltskin.  “Please tell me that you’ll at least drink with me over this travesty.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “I think you’re asking the wrong family member for that one.” 

“I said _drink_ , not ‘get drunk’,” Mordred retorted.  “And Killian generally drinks swill and swill that is pretending to be rum.  I’m hoping for a higher quality of beverage, thank you very much.”

Rumplestiltskin just laughed.

* * *

 

Killian wasn’t sure if this meant they were dating, but this was the third consecutive day that they’d gone out for a meal together.  Today, it was a late lunch, since Lily was having dinner with her father, but Killian was glad to spend time with her whenever he could get it.  He hadn’t fallen for her half as quickly as he’d fallen for Emma, but somehow that didn’t feel wrong.  Not at all.  His love for Emma had come on hot and fast, burning brightly and deeply, consuming him with a fire so great that he could think of nothing else.  Whereas his feelings for Lily had come over him quietly and gently, building greater and greater until one day Killian realized how much she meant to him.

He hadn’t even kissed her, and yet Killian could not remember caring for someone so deeply and completely.  And he could _talk_ to her.  Lily had her darkness, much as he did, but they both knew what it was to scrape their way towards the light.  Neither of them were completely there yet—even if Killian had come further along that road than Lily had—but they both knew what it was like to choose darkness and then try to make up for that.

“So, what now?  Do you get to play taxi for the Dark Fairy again, love?” He hadn’t meant to bring the subject up, but Killian was _worried_.

Lily grimaced.  “Don’t remind me.  That trip was…well, it sucked.  And now the fae are prancing about and telling Mother and I about how we’re unimportant and insignificant little humans.”

“They sound like friendly sorts.”

“Hardly.”  She snorted.  “I’ve tried to avoid them, but that Jhudora chick…I want to roast her alive so badly that it gives me indigestion.”

Killian had to laugh.  “I’d tell you to go ahead, but I like you living, and the other fae might not be so generous after such a deed.”

“You sound like my mother.”  She stuck her tongue out at him, which only made his grin grow.

“Your mother is a wise and fierce woman, I think.”

“You bet she is.”  Lily’s own grin was fierce and sharp. 

Her loyalty made him soften.  “You really love her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!”  Lily suddenly faltered.  “Why wouldn’t I?  You think I shouldn’t?”

“No, not at all.”  Realizing how wrongly he’d said that Killian reached out to grab her hand.  “I am envious, really.  I barely remember my mother.”

“And I didn’t know mine until I was almost thirty.”  Smiling crookedly, she squeezed his hand in return.  “It’s a screwed up world, isn’t it?”

“Aye.  But at least we can make it a little better with our actions.”  He hadn’t believed that, once.  Not when he’d turned pirate after Liam’s death and decided to take out his hatred on the world.  But Killian had learned better.

“Maybe.”  She grimaced.  “I don’t know.  It’s…complicated.”

“It’s never too late to come in from the cold, you know,” he said as gently as he could.  “You’ve made a great start on that front.”

“It’s hard.”  Lily glanced down at the table.  “I know what you’re going to say.  You’re going to say that we should just get out now, before things get worse.  But it’s complicated.  And, maybe it’s selfish, but I really don’t want to die like Zelena did.”

“Honestly, I’d rather you stick with the psychopathic, husband-killing fairy if it means you staying safe.”  Killian shrugged.  “Perhaps that’s selfish of me, too.”

 “Then here’s to being selfish.”  Lily lifted her beer, clinking it against his glass with another crooked smile.

Killian raised his glass to her in return.  He could live with where they were.  There were battles to come, but there was still hope for the future, and that was more than he’d had in his life for a very long time.  On impulse, he raised Lily’s hands to his lips and kissed it, and the smile she gave him warmed his heart.

* * *

 

Finding Morgan was a bit of a challenge; David had stopped by her home twice, only to find her not there both times.  This time, however, she opened the door just as he was about to walk away.

“Sheriff Nolan.”  She looked surprised to see him, but smiled anyway.  “Or do you prefer Prince Charming?”

“David will do, actually.” 

“David it is, then.”  Morgan cocked her head.  “What can I do for you?”

“I, uh, wondered if we might talk.  I had some questions about that Heartless King prophecy of yours.  If you don’t mind.”  David didn’t really know what the etiquette of asking about a prophecy was.  Were you not supposed to talk about it?  Could he just ask?  Was she going to be angry?

“You’d best come in.” 

Morgan gestured for him to follow, and then closed the door behind him when David did.  Soon enough, he found himself in Morgan’s living room, seated on the couch with a glass of lemonade—of all things!—in his hand.  Morgan settled in across from him, sipping her own drink and looking thoughtful.  Several moments passed in silence, as David did his best not to start peppering her with questions, until finally, Morgan spoke.

“What brings this question up?  Why now?”

“When the Black Fairy tried to seduce me, she mentioned it.  And I realized that I don’t know the first thing about what that really _means_ ,” David admitted.  “The part about me not having my own heart is pretty obvious, but she said that I mattered.  Why _does_ that matter?”

Morgan let a breath out.  “The first thing you must understand is that my visions are not…well, they are not _concrete_.  I write what I See, and it isn’t always clear.  And I often don’t remember what I saw after they are done.”  She gestured at her head with a crooked smile.  “That’s why I have to write them down.  My power as a Seer is old, and therefore unpredictable.”

“Are you saying that you don’t remember anything about your prophecies?” David tried not to sound disappointed, but it was hard.

“I’m just trying to prepare you for how incomplete this answer will be.”

“Incomplete is better than what I’ve got.  All I know is what Henry found about heroes uniting under the Heartless King to fight the darkness.”

“Ah.  Well, I’m afraid there isn’t too much more to it than that—though I am hardly the first Seer to speak of the Heartless King.”  Morgan leaned back, looking thoughtful.  “Merlin did, and I believe Viviane Saw it, as well.   The prophecy may be older still.”

“There’s got to be something more to it than just leading people against the darkness.”  David checked his impatience as best he could, but it was hard.  He was willing to do whatever it took to keep Storybrooke safe, but having even a vague idea what was expected would really help.

Morgan cocked her head. “Do you think leading people isn’t important?” 

“No.  Of course not.  It’s just—what am I supposed to lead them to do?  Am I leading armies in battle, or am I leading politically?”

“Perhaps both.  Perhaps neither.”  She smiled.  “Which would you rather do?”

“I’m a lot better with armies than I am with politics.  Snow”—David felt his voice break, but forced himself to continue—“Snow was always good with words.  I’m better with a sword.”

“Then it’s lucky for all of us that there is a battle to come.”

“Even with those new silver weapons, all the leadership in the world won’t stop the fae’s magic.”  David was nothing if not practical, and besides, he hadn’t even _seen_ those silver-tipped weapons that Rumplestiltskin and Mordred had promised.  He trusted Rumplestiltskin to produce them far more than he did Mordred, but not having them was still a little scary.

“Do you think this will only be a battle between magic users?”  Morgan snorted sadly.  “I wish it were so, but I fear that this war will touch everyone before it is over.”

David really wished she hadn’t said those words, because he knew it was true.  And he would have done anything to prevent it.  “Arthur’s followers are already flocking to Lamorak.  And more people, too.  Even some from Storybrooke.”

“I don’t think you came here to ask me about that prophecy, did you?” Morgan’s brown eyes bored into his, serious and sad all at once.  “You already know what you have to do.”

“I guess I just wanted to make sure that there isn’t something else there, something the Black Fairy can exploit.”

Morgan laughed.  “She already would have, if that was the case.”

“So there’s no more to the prophecy, then?  No hidden doors or loopholes?” he had to ask.

“No, that’s my son’s stock in trade.  I tend to be more blunt, in case you haven’t noticed.”

 “Yeah, that’s become kind of obvious.”  He had to chuckle.  “But thank you, all the same.  I guess I just had to be sure.”

* * *

 

“She’s getting kind of scared again, I think.”  Henry had come to see his dad at the Sorcerer’s House again.  Having parents in three different places was kind of a drag sometimes, but he figured that it was a lot better than only having his moms.  Now he had a stepdad, too, along with a stepbrother and a soon-to-be adopted/stepsister (he wasn’t sure which the unborn baby technically was, but as far as Henry was concerned, she was going to be his sister and that was that).  Maybe someday his birth mom and dad would figure out that they were hopelessly in love and get back together, too, and then he’d only have _two_ houses to hang out in, but for all the best reasons.

In the meantime, however, it was nice to have Baelfire around to plot with when it came to Emma.

“Yeah.  I think the darkness is working on her brain and telling her that she’ll be okay like this.”  Bae sighed.  “I think she’ll get past it, though.”

“Would talking to her about it help?”  Henry was ready to free Emma from being the Dark One here and now; he didn’t really understand why she was being so hesitant.  Well, he _did_ get it, at least theoretically, but it didn’t mean he could really wrap his mind around how voices in your head could make you do things.  They were just voices, right?

“Not if it’s me.  I think I pushed as far as I can.”  His dad shrugged.  “Maybe not if it’s you, either.  We might need to give her a few more days to come around on her own.  You know Emma.  If you try to make her do something, she’ll just dig her heels in.”

Henry grimaced.  “Yeah.  You should have seen her when I was trying to convince her that the curse was real.”

 “I can imagine, yeah.”  His dad snorted with laughter, though, and Henry figured that he probably could.  After all, he’d known Emma a long time.

“So, are you two getting back together?” he asked before he could stop himself. 

“Henry, it’s—”

“C’mon, Dad.  She _kissed_ you, and if you think I missed the fact that you two are meeting in the park _every_ morning, you take after the stupid side of the family.”

“Don’t start flinging insults, kiddo.”  A hard parental look.  “That’s not the way to get what you want.”

“Being patient isn’t getting me there, either,” Henry shot back before he could stop himself.

“Henry.”  Bae could wear quite the glare when he wanted to, and it was seeing his usually laid-back dad angry that finally made Henry back down.  Not that the glare could hold a candle to Regina’s evil eye, but it was pretty different that Bae’s usual expression.

“Sorry.” 

The apology made his father sigh.  “I think we are, to answer your question.  We haven’t really talked about it, and I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Good.” 

Henry could think of about a hundred ways to push his parents back together, but knew better than to try them yet.  But once his mom wasn’t the Dark One…well, then all best were off.  Yeah, he was thirteen, and he knew that he should know better, but if the two idiots kept dancing around like they weren’t in love, Henry was definitely prepared to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

 

Dann’s turned the fae loose a few hours after the sun went down.  This time, the dance they caused was not in the center of Storybrooke proper; instead, they chose Musicbooke, victimizing a people for whom song and dance were a well-loved part of life.  Of course, that only disguised the true nature of the Dance of Death, and dawn arrived before anyone realized the true nature of the wild dance.  The dance might even have succeeded in killing Richard, Galavant, Isabella, and a score of others, had a young squire named Sid not been away from his home for the evening.  Sid returned the next morning to find that the dancing and merrymaking had grown frantic and forced, and he did the only smart thing a young man in his position could do.

He ran.

Fortunately, Sid was a smart sort, and he ran to Storybrooke’s Sheriff Station.  David wasn’t in for the morning, yet, but Robin had just arrived, and he picked up the phone to call in help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter One Hundred and Six—“In that Dawn,” in which another Dance is danced, Bae and Belle run afoul of thieves, Blue shows up to help, Danns’ frees a prisoner, Regina worries over her daughter’s future, and Emma makes a fateful decision.


	106. In that Dawn

There had been a time when Regina would have been too proud to ask for help, but she liked to think that those days were behind her.  These days, she was much more practical—made so by the war they knew was brewing wherever the fae were hanging out.  Waiting for the other shoe to drop was pure agony, but Regina knew she couldn’t afford to stand on ceremony when it did.  So, when Robin called her and said that one of the Musicbrooke squires had reported one of _those_ dances happening, she swallowed her pride and called her old mentor.

For once, Rumplestiltskin was nice enough not to serve up any crow before he agreed to meet her in Musicbrooke’s quasi-medieval looking town square.  The homes and shops Regina had created for their new neighbors were a strange mix between the old and the new, with modern appliances, electricity, and plumbing hidden inside buildings that looked like they had walked out of the Enchanted Forest.  Regina hadn’t really bothered to inspect her handiwork after she’d built the village, which now seemed to be a mistake.  _How am I supposed to lead these people if I don’t know them?_   Looking at the sheer size of Musicbrooke, Regina began to wonder if one mayor would be enough.  Maybe they’d need leaders for each of Storybrooke’s sub-towns.  And maybe they’d need to build an actual town for the Camelotians, too.  _Not to mention giving them a better name!_

“Enjoying the sight, dear?”

Rumplestiltskin’s question made Regina jump.  Looking at the town had let her pretend the frantically dancing people weren’t there, that they weren’t panting and gasping for air while there wasn’t a damned thing Regina could do for them.  A long time ago, she would have ignored the people who were a hairs-breadth away from collapsing, the children mixed in with the graybeards, and the two expectant mothers who were flushed and feeling the strain.  But Regina wasn’t that woman anymore.

“No,” she growled.  “Not at all.”

“You’ve stayed back because you’re afraid of being sucked in.”

“My, aren’t we astute today?” Regina gave him a dark smile, and then gestured to her right.  “I also brought back up in case you didn’t show.”

Emma stepped out of the shadows, looking angry but more herself than she had in forever.  “I’ll help if I can, but I’m not the best at unraveling magic.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring the little wife,” Regina said before Rumplestiltskin could comment.  “She seems to be turning out to be quite the sorceress.”

He just shook his head.  “Belle’s magic is _light_ —more so even than Miss Swan’s here.  Savior magic is enhanced by life’s struggles, and it’s got bite.  Belle’s the opposite.  At her core, she will always want to help people.”

“And this isn’t helping people?” Emma looked incredulous.

“Not until after the dance is broken.”  His eyes went distant.  “I’ll teach you both, if you like.  This takes more power than it does finesse, and that’s right up your alley.”

Regina didn’t ask which one of them he was talking to; she and Emma did have a lot in common on that front, and probably always would.  Much to her surprise, Emma hadn’t gotten too much trickier as the Dark One.  Instead, the darkness had served to only highlight Emma’s own worst self, dragging her deeper and deeper no matter how hard she fought.  Today, however, Emma learned right beside Regina as Rumplestiltskin taught them to pull the dance’s threads apart and them blast them into dust before the threads could reconstitute themselves.  Emma was almost pulled in when she drifted too close, but the Dark One was able to free herself with a blast of dark magic that almost made Regina jealous.

_I’m not the Evil Queen any more,_ she told herself firmly.  Yes, she’d always have that darkness at her core, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be better.  She might have to fight that battle every day, but Regina was damned well going to win.

* * *

 

The sound of his father’s workroom door opening made Bae turn left instead of heading towards the kitchen for breakfast.  He knew that Belle was in the kitchen—she was the one who had just yelled at him to come get some eggs before she decided to give them to Pongo—and his father had headed out a half an hour earlier to do lord knew what with Regina.  Bae really wasn’t a morning person, though, so he figured he might have heard wrong.  Or maybe he’d fallen back asleep for longer than he’d thought.  Shuffling down the hall until he reached the door in question, Bae found himself staring at it stupidly.

He _had_ heard the door opening, hadn’t he? 

“Moron,” he muttered at himself.  He’d probably still been half-dreaming, but then why had he imagined the distinctive sound of the workroom’s double doors creaking open?  Bae sighed, and turned away.  “Just imagining things.”

_Creak._ He hadn’t made it two steps before the doors suddenly popped open again, and Bae whirled around to find himself face to face with a white-haired woman with deep black eyes.  Her features were a little irregular, pointed and with every line exaggerated, and the scowl on her face only made her look even more otherworldly.  _Fae,_ his tired brain realized, waking up quickly.  _She’s a fae._

“What the hell?” Bae stumbled back as quickly as he could, but the fae’s right hand snaked out and grabbed him by the front of his rumpled t-shirt.

“Who have we _here_?”  She glanced over her shoulder, and Bae suddenly realized that she had three companions, all female and as fae-looking as she.  “He’s pretty enough to keep, don’t you think?”

“I admire your taste, Jhudora.”  The one to the left prowled forward, her hair as dark as Jhudora’s eyes.  In fact, they were almost exact opposites, right down to opposing eye and skin color.  “He’s worth keeping.”

Bae had to think fast.  Stories like this _never_ ended well.  “Whoa, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing in my dad’s house, but—”

“Ooooh, and he has magic in his blood.  Let’s take him.”  The second fae actually licked her lips.  _So much for mentioning Papa to get me out of this!_

“Do you have a name, pretty one?” Jhudora stepped forward, coming uncomfortably close.  Her eyes burned into his, and Bae squirmed as he tried to escape her grip.

“Not one that’s your business.”

Mouthing off probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Bae was out of options.  He didn’t have magic of his own, and although he was pretty adept with using magical _objects_ , the four fae were standing between him and his father’s room of toys and tricks.  He grabbed Jhudora’s wrist to try to make her let go of his shirt, but that didn’t work at all.  Her grip was like iron, and he just couldn’t escape her despite his best efforts.  Particularly since his defiance just made her laugh.

“Spirit _and_ a pretty face.  Not too long on brains, but that’s for the best.”  Her laugh was cruel, but what drew Bae’s eye wasn’t Jhudora’s gloating smile—it was the round box in her right hand.  It had a golden frame, and the top had small stars on a blue background.  Bae had only seen it once, but he knew exactly what it was.

_Oh, shit._ “Hey, I don’t know what you think you’re doing with that, but it isn’t—”

“Let’s be on with it,” the second fae spoke over him like he wasn’t even there.  “Play with your new toy later, Jhudora.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere.”

Bae almost didn’t recognize the hard voice coming from behind him; he’d never heard Belle so determined or so _coldly_ certain.  But he was able to twist around enough to see his stepmother, standing not far from his back and practically glowing with determination.  Her presence seemed to take the fae aback, because all four stared at Belle like they didn’t know what to make of her.

“I don’t take advice from little human women.”  Jhudora sneered after a suspiciously long pause.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am.”  A white glow began to fill Belle’s palms, and Bae felt a chill roll down his spine.  “You are in my _home_ , and you are not welcome here.”

“Well, then we’ll be leaving,” the second fae said flippantly, only to earn herself a glare from Jhudora.  Belle, however, got in first.

“You will not be leaving with my stepson.”

“And why should we obey you?” Jhudora cocked her head.  “You are fighting against our Lady.  We owe you no allegiance.”

Belle’s blue eyes flashed.  “Because I don’t think my grandmother would be happy to know you had harmed my family.  Or me.”

“Ah, but we have no intention of harming you.”

“And I have no intention of letting you leave with Baelfire without a fight, so _someone’s_ getting hurt.”  Belle didn’t seem to be bluffing, and even though Bae knew her a lot better than the fae did, and _he_ couldn’t spot the lie.  He knew she didn’t like hurting people, and generally wasn’t one to start fights, but damn it if he didn’t believe her.

“Fine.”  Jhudora shoved him back, making Bae stumble.  He barely caught himself before crashing into her, but Belle steadied him with one hand.  “He’s not worth the trouble.”

“Neither is that—oh, _damn._ ”

 Bae had never heard Belle swear before, but she had good reason to.  All four fae had vanished in identical swirls of silver smoke, taking the Sorcerer’s Hat with them.

“Son of a bitch.”  Bae was glad that _he_ hadn’t been taken, of course, but he knew enough to know how dangerous that damned Hat was.  Maybe not as well as Belle, but Bae knew.

“Are you all right?”  Belle’s hand was on his shoulder, and Bae nodded quickly.

“Yeah.  I’m fine.”  He could have not been, though, and that was kind of unsettling.  “Thanks.  I mean, um, that was kinda freaky, and you just saved my ass.”

“That’s what family’s for, right?”  Belle’s smile faded after a moment.  “Even if we couldn’t save the Hat, I’d rather you be safe.”

He smiled crookedly, not quite sure how to deal with Belle’s forthright care.  She wasn’t his mom…but he often thought that his life would have been a hell of a lot better if she had been.  “You were pretty freaking badass there, you know.”

That made her blush, and they laughed together.

* * *

 

Of course the blue bug showed up just as they were finishing up.  Regina and Emma headed into the crowd to help those who needed help, accompanied by David, Robin, and the entire posse that they’d assembled to deal with the aftermath.  Several fairies had come, too, and they dove right into the fray to help, too.  But not Blue.  Blue stood off to the side, looking disapprovingly at Rumplestiltskin.

_I should ignore her,_ he knew.  Belle would tell him just not to bother with Blue, but he’d seen that judgmental look one too many times, and it awakened something hot and pained inside him.  He didn’t care what she thought of him—he _didn’t_ —but it still burned to know that he would never do right in her eyes, when he was the one fighting for humanity while Blue sat on her sanctimonious sidelines.  She’d always claimed to have humanity’s best interests at heart, yet here _he_ was—Rumplestiltskin, the former Dark One, who had orchestrated the darkest of all curses to find the boy he’d abandoned, who had moved people like chess pieces without caring—helping people while she stood and did nothing.

“Is there something you _want_ , dearie, or did you just come so you could watch others do the heavy lifting?”

Was that a grimace on Blue’s normally maternal face?  “I came to help.”

“No, your _fairies_ came to help.  That’s what they’re doing right now.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t hold back his sneer.  “On the other hand, you’re doing a passable imitation of a statute.”

“Is there something bothering you, Rumplestiltskin?” Blue’s eyes flashed.  “Or do you simply dislike me on principle?”

“Well, now that you mention it, there is that.”  His smile was nasty, but he didn’t care.  “But the crux of that dislike is the fact that I find myself filling the role you have long since claimed as your own, just as I found myself battling to keep _your_ sister from freeing the fae while you slunk around Storybrooke doing precisely nothing.”

“I was unable to use my magic,” Blue replied stiffly.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “And apparently unable to provide any useful information until it was far too late.”

“I did my best!”

“No, you didn’t.  You had days between when Danns’ let you go and when she left to free the fae.”  He cocked his head at her, studying Blue’s pinched expression.  “It was almost as if she _knew_ you wouldn’t bother to help us.”

“Are you on a first-name basis with my sister, then? You sound so familiar with her.” 

“Oh, no.  You don’t get to play that game.  Not when I just went toe to toe with her to try to stop her from undoing your handiwork.”  Rage ripped through him, and Rumplestiltskin had to steady himself with an effort.  “What’s your plan then, _dearie_?  Are you going to stand back and let the fae and humanity rip one another to shreds so you can pick up the pieces afterwards?”

“No!  Of course not.”  She crossed her arms, glaring at him defensively.  “Why would I want that?”

“Why would you stand by and do nothing?” he countered.  “Why would you abandon the people whom you claim to care for?  There’s something _wrong_ with the world when I’m the one _helping_ while you’re standing by.”

Blue flinched.  “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, of course you don’t.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped back, giving her a mocking half-bow.  “I’m not one of those who has always trusted you.  You made sure I’d never do that very early on.”  Straightening, he shrugged.  “But there are a lot of people who are going to want to know why you’ve done nothing to help them.”

“You don’t understand.  I _couldn’t_ help, not without my magic.”  She glared at him.  “I didn’t see _you_ doing anything when you had none.”

The urge to giggle like the imp was almost overwhelming, but Rumplestiltskin managed to limit himself to arching one eyebrow.  “Having the moral high ground is a new feeling for me, but even I know you’re doing badly.”

“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” Blue hissed, and suddenly it was her turn to step forward.  “I have fought my sister for a thousand years.  You know _nothing_ of our battle.”

“Then why don’t you make me understand instead of turning your back on the humans who are actually fighting your war?  It’s not your fairies who are dying, Reul Ghorm.  It’s humans.”  Rumplestiltskin had never felt so angry on the behalf of humanity before, but watching Blue stand around and let people suffer infuriated him.

“You would not understand.”

“Try me, why don’t you?  I’m hardly some child that was born in the last few decades.”

She glared; he met her eyes stonily.  Rumplestiltskin really wasn’t used to the feeling of being the one in the right, but he knew that he couldn’t back down, now.  He was no hero, no ‘good’ man who would always do the right thing, but he could damned well do his best.  For her part, Blue looked acutely uncomfortable, like she didn’t know how to move ahead or what to do.  Finally, she sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

“Fine.”

* * *

 

This ruse was becoming disturbingly _real_ , and Morgan knew that any attempt to tell herself otherwise only made for a very poor lie.  And yet she just didn’t care; it was nice to be with someone again, even if she was certain that the ending would be terrible.    She’d never had good luck with relationships, let alone love, after all.  Her longest term relationship had turned out terribly, with Accolon having been spying on her for Danns’ all along.  Now, of course, she was involved with another woman, one who was _purposefully_ spying on her for Danns’.  But at least this time Morgan knew about it.

“How has she taken that last report?” she asked Maleficent over breakfast.  Mordred had fled the house near dawn, complaining that he couldn’t handle being around the both of them, but that reaction only helped their cause.

“She seems to believe that you are wroth with both of your sons.”  Maleficent shrugged.  “Given that it’s true, I can’t see why she’d argue.”

“Angry though I am, I’m hardly _wroth_ ,” Morgan objected.  “Or at least not to the point that I am hardly speaking to them.”

“Apparently Danns’ thinks your temper runs hotter than it does.”

“I’ve mellowed with age.”  Morgan sighed.  “Somewhat, anyway.”

Long past were the days when she’d released the darkness in her fury, after all, thinking she could control it and set it only on those who deserved to be harmed.  _I was a fool, then, and even if both my fool boys rushed into danger without consulting me, I cannot hate them for it._   She worried as only a mother could, of course, but Morgan didn’t think Danns’ understood how love and worry could so closely coexist.  Danns’ only loved on her own terms.

“Then I shudder to think on how you must have been in your younger years.”  Maleficent’s eyes danced, though, and Morgan had to chuckle.

“Oh, I was quite dangerous.”

“If you’re not still dangerous, I find myself extremely disappointed.”  Her faux lover’s smile seemed rather genuine, and Morgan found herself again regretting this subterfuge.  She rather liked Maleficent, after all, and the attraction between them was undeniable.  

“I hardly said that.”  Her own laugh felt surprisingly natural; Morgan should watch herself.  “But I do think you’ll survive whatever inferno I might conjure.”

Maleficent snorted.  “I should hope so.”

“How are things with your fellow dragon, anyway?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but Morgan couldn’t stop herself.  “The one who fathered your girl.”

“Friendly enough, but he’s horribly romantic.”  Maleficent looked rather put out at that, which made Morgan cock her head.  “He’s of the seducing and serenading type.  I like music well enough, and the experience of being serenaded is rather charming…but charm isn’t exactly what I’m looking for.”

“No?  And here I thought most women liked being charmed.”  She never had, but Morgan had never really experienced an actual courtship, and did not think she’d like one, anyway.

“Not I.  I prefer something…sharper.”

Their eyes met, and Morgan knew she was doomed.

* * *

 

Manipulating the Hat was ridiculously simple when you were an original power, particularly one who had been there when Merlin had created the Sorcerer’s Hat in the first place.  Danns’ needed a moment to re-orient herself where the Hat was concerned, but after that, a twist of her magic brought Nuckelavee tumbling to the ground at her feet.  He blinked, appearing slightly disoriented, and then righted himself, bowing his head to her.

“My Lady.”

“Nuckelavee.”  Danns’ held her hand out to her oldest fae, smiling as he kissed her knuckles.  “It is good to see you again.”

He rose gracefully, his eyes afire with fury.  “I am glad to be free.  How long was I trapped for?”

“Twenty-two days.”  Danns’ did not like admitting that it had taken her so long to free the most loyal of her followers, but she would not lie.  She also did not enjoy admitting that she’d had to arm Jhudora with the Ring of Dispell in order to break Rumplestiltskin’s wards guarding the Sorcerer’s Hat, but that hardly mattered, now.  Nuckelavee was free, and she knew he was of a mind to create chaos.

“Then there appears to be much time to make up for.”  Nuckelavee gestured at the Hat as it collapsed back into its box.  “Emma Swan’s darkness still remains inside.  Will you use it?”

“Perhaps.”  Danns’ was waiting for the right moment to give _that_ darkness a home.  Perhaps inserting it back in the Dark One would be most useful—Emma was disturbingly good at fighting back _the_ darkness without her own—or perhaps she would use it to attack someone else.  There were many possibilities.

For now, she would set Nuckelavee and Jhudora loose on Storybrooke, and allow them to wreak havoc.

* * *

 

“You okay, Mom?”

Emma couldn’t get the images out of her mind.  Yes, she’d actually been able to help with something—she’d learned how to stop that dance and had actually healed a few people afterwards, finding weird ways to pay the price of her dark magic—but she couldn’t stop _thinking_ about what had happened.  The first time she’d seen a Dance of Death, Emma hadn’t been so disturbed, but things had been different, then.  Now she was free, free to control herself and free to make her own choices…and she’d just watched a handful of people die because the fae felt the need to take others’ choices away.

“Mom?”

Henry’s hand landed on her arm, making Emma jump.  Whirling around to look at her son, she tried to keep herself from sounding startled, failing miserably.  “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and it’s not just that pale Dark One look you’ve been going for.”  Henry’s brown eyes studied her intently, and Emma tried to make herself smile.

“Yeah.  Of course I’m all right.”  She tried to smile.  “I was just thinking.”

“I might not have inherited your superpower, but even I can tell you’re lying.”

Emma shifted uncomfortably.  “I’m just thinking about the dance that the fae started.”

“Sid said it was bad.”  Henry hadn’t been there for the worst parts—thankfully!—but he’d come with David and the fairies to help after it was over.  If it had been up to Emma, she would have kept her son far away from that mess, but she knew that Henry was determined to help where he could.

“You’re making friends with Sid now?  Isn’t he a little old for you?”

Henry rolled his eyes.  “He’s only three years older than me, Mom, and don’t change the subject.  Why are you thinking about it?  Did something else happen?”

“No.  Nothing else happened.”  Emma tried to stop herself from sighing.  “It just reminded me of how it felt to be controlled, that’s all.”

“Are you okay?” Henry’s voice went quieter, and Emma managed a smile for him.

“I will be,” she promised.  “I just…I don’t like seeing anyone like that.”  _And I don’t like the reminder that I’m only a heartbeat away from someone else getting the dagger and being controlled like that again,_ she didn’t add.

Emma knew how lucky she was.  Rumplestiltskin could have kept the dagger, and maybe he even _should_ have.  Danns’ could take it from her, after all.  Probably even easily.  Emma knew that she couldn’t stand up to the Black Fairy in a fight; Danns’ was more powerful than she was, and knew how to use that power far too well.  _She_ will _take it if you wait too long,_ Nimue pointed out, even as Zoso and several others cackled in the background.  A cold chill ripped down her spine.  _Don’t give her the chance._   _You should strike first,_ Zoso taunted her.  _Not that you will.  Kill her before she can control you._

There was another option, Emma knew, but it was one that even Nimue shied away from.  Emma would have to be strong enough to do it for _all_ of them, but what if she wasn’t?  What happened if someone got the dagger again, and turned her back into a slave?  _Bae was right.  We have to do this,_ she told the others, only to be greeted by stubborn silence.  They didn’t like it, Emma knew.

But would they fight her?

* * *

Typically, Rumplestiltskin freaked out a little when Belle told him what happened.  “Are you both all right?”

“I already told you that we are.”  Belle stepped closer to her husband, taking her hand.  “Bae’s gone over to help Mordred and Killian with forging more of those silver-tipped weapons, and he was perfectly fine before he left.”

Bae had meant to stick around until his father returned—after all, they both knew how Rumplestiltskin could overreact—but Rumplestiltskin had been gone longer than any of them had foreseen.  In fact, he’d been gone long enough for Belle to do a locator spell to determine where the Sorcerer’s Hat had gone, not that the results had surprised her.  So, she’d told Rumplestiltskin all of that, including the fact that her grandmother had the Hat.  Unsurprisingly, her husband had been more worried about her and Bae than what they’d lost.

“All right.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a shaky breath.   “I’m sorry.  I know you think I worry too much, but…”

“But you worry because you love us.”  She came up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.  “I think Bae and I can both live with that, Rumple.  Though I am sorry about the Hat.  I wasn’t fast enough to stop them, and—”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s just magic.”  He turned to face her, his brown eyes soft.  “The Hat can be taken back.  Family is irreplaceable, and I know what you saved Bae from.  _Thank you._ ”

 “I still wish I could have stopped them.”  Belle didn’t like failing, and she didn’t like the fact that she hadn’t been able to figure out a way to take back the Sorcerer’s Hat before the fae escaped.  But she would have been lying to say that she wasn’t glad to hear her husband call the Hat ‘just magic’.  Once, she would not have believed him.  Now, she knew he valued his family over his power, and it made her warm and relieved in ways that almost shamed her.

The fact that they both knew that Danns’ would free Nuckelavee didn’t help Belle feel any less guilty, either.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, sweetheart, it’s that we can’t win all the battles.” Rumplestiltskin smiled wryly before wrapping his arms around her. 

She sighed, laying her head against his shoulder.  “I just wish I didn’t know how badly this is going to go.”

“What, with Nuckelavee?” Her husband barked out a laugh.  “He’s only one more fae.  With that merry band of murderers, that won’t really make much of a difference.”

“Rumple.”

“I’m serious, Belle.  Having one more fae won’t make your grandmother more invincible.  It’s still going to come down to a battle, in the end.  She’ll have her allies, and we’ll have ours.”

Belle bit her lip.  She didn’t want to ask the question, and really didn’t want to know the answer, but part of being a hero was doing what was right…even if it hurt.  “How are we going to beat her?” 

“I don’t know.”  She could feel him tense, and Belle understood why.  No matter how many allies they  had, Rumplestiltskin was still the only one who could face off with her grandmother.  He’d done it once, and she was _so_ proud of him for how well he’d done, but how would the next time go?

Neither of them knew, and Belle hated admitting that she was afraid to find out.

* * *

Regina swayed a little, but Robin’s hands were there to catch her before she could even think about falling.  Shaking her head, she straightened on her own, letting out a tired breath and giving the pile of papers on her desk the evil eye.  There was so much to do, and yet she couldn’t concentrate on any of it, all because of what had happened that morning.

“Gina?  Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”  Resisting the urge to snap was hard, but Regina gave it everything she had.  “I’m just tired, your daughter is kicking up a storm, and my ankles feel like tree trunks.”

Her husband shot her a pointed look.  “Will you yell at me if I ask you to sit down?”

“Probably.”  But Regina sank down onto the couch, anyway, glad to rest her aching feet.  She hadn’t thought about how much being on her feet all day would ache—or how extraordinarily _their_ daughter would respond to the magic she’d done that morning.

“Is there something you’re not saying?” Robin asked after a moment, sitting down next to her and watching her intently.  For a moment, Regina was tempted to snarl at him and demand why the hell he could read her so well, but part of her was touched despite her instinctive irritation.

“She’s magical.”  The words blurted out before Regina could stop them.  “Our daughter.  I could feel her magic joining with mine when we stopped the dance.”

“She—she is?” Robin’s mouth dropped open, and Regina only nodded mutely, trying not to hold her breath.  They almost never talked about the fact that Zelena was their daughter’s biological mother, but Regina could feel that hanging in the air, now.  Zelena had extraordinary inborn magic, and their daughter would, too. 

“Yes.”  She whispered the word when Robin said nothing, needing to fill the silence.  “She’s like her mother.”

“ _You’re_ her mother, Regina.  You’re the only mother she’ll ever know, and I trust you to help her learn to use that magic for good, not evil.”

A bitter laugh wormed out.  “That’s not exactly a tradition in my family, you know.”

“Neither is trusting in love and family, and yet you’ve learned to do that,” Robin countered, and before Regina could blink, he was on one knee in front of her, taking her hands in his own.  “I believe in you.  I will _always_ believe in you.”

“But what if I can’t? What if I mess her up?  What if I lead her down the road that both Zelena and I—”

“You won’t.”  He cut her off firmly.  “Is this why you’ve been so distant since the dance?”

“Yes.”  Regina bit her lip.

“You know, for such a brilliant woman, you can be downright silly sometimes.”  Robin moved back to be next to her, and Regina didn’t object as he pulled her into his arms.  “Did you think I wouldn’t want _our_ daughter to have magic?”

“I didn’t know.  I didn’t _want_ to know,” she admitted.

“You worry that because Zelena used magic to impersonate Marian, that I’ll only see that in our daughter.”

“No.  Not really.”  Regina shook her head.  “I know your heart is too big to blame your daughter, but…but I just…I just worry.”

“Well, don’t.  We’ll face this together, and _our_ daughter is going to grow up loved by both her parents.  And when she learns magic—if she wants to learn—she’ll have you to teach her.”

Leaning on Robin, Regina finally let herself nod.  Sometimes, she’d wondered what her relationship with her own mother might have been like if Cora had let herself _love_ , if Cora hadn’t been obsessed with power.  Maybe then Regina might have wanted to learn magic, if she’d seen it used for good things.  _I can be the mother that Cora never was,_ she decided.  And she’d learn from her mistakes with Henry, too.  As much as she’d loved her son when he was little, Regina knew that she’d wronged him.  She’d lied to him and tried to keep a huge part of herself hidden from him, all because she knew that Henry would never understand.   Yet, in the end, he’d proven her wrong.  He’d accepted her for who she was, and forgiven her for her many lies.  This time, however, she wouldn’t go down that road.  This time, she would try to be worthy of her children.

* * *

 

“Hey, Killian.”

Lily’s voice made him jump, and for a moment, Killian had to fight the urge to look around guiltily.  He still wasn’t entirely sure what they meant to one another, him and Lily, but he knew that she was still nominally on the Black Fairy’s side, which meant the fact that he was currently loading up the back of Leroy’s van with metal that his uncle would forge into weapons was more than a little, well, questionable where she was concerned.  Yet he couldn’t stop himself from turning towards her with a smile, ignoring the way Leroy and Doc—who knew a surprising amount about metallurgy, as it turned out—snickered.

“Lily.  What brings you out here, love?”  After all, he’d never seen her wandering around behind Storybrooke Hardware before, even if it was hardly Killian’s favored haunt, either.

Her shrug was accompanied by a little half-smile.  “I was looking for you.”

“Do you have nefarious intentions now that you’ve found me?”  He grinned.

“Do you want me to?” she fired back, and Killian felt his heart skipping a beat.  Damn, he wanted to take her out to sea right now, to fight with her and beside her, and damn the rest of the world. 

_Down, Captain,_ he told himself firmly.  He had obligations, and Killian would not run from them.  Or from his family, insane though it was.

“I’ll take anything you can shell out,” he replied, stepping forward and meeting her eyes.  Her gaze burned into his, and it was all Killian could do to stop himself from suggesting they find somewhere private.  “Alas, however, it will have to be when I have obligations aligned.”

“Your loss.”  Lily’s grin was saucy, but it faded after a moment.  “I actually came to ask you if you’d seen August.”

“That wooden man child?”  Killian knew that August was Lily’s friend, but he generally tried to avoid associating with him.  August always looked at Killian as if he was beneath the notice of a leather-clad motorcycle rider, and that irked Killian to no end.  He didn’t like feeling inferior, particularly when it was to someone who had generally misspent his life as thoroughly as Killian had his own.

“Stop calling him that.”  Lily glared at him.  “August is my _friend._ ”

Killian stopped himself from saying something else about August’s general level of selfish idiocy.  The other man _was_ close to Lily, and if he wanted to be close to Lily, he had to accept that.  “Aye, he is.  I apologize.”

“I’m more worried about where he went than I am your apology.”  She sighed, her shoulders slumping.  “We were supposed to meet for lunch, but he didn’t show.”

“Might he have forgotten?”

“Not likely.  August might have a bad habit of lying, but he’s not forgetful.  I dropped by Geppetto’s, too, and he’s not there.”  Lily’s scowl turned ferocious.  “And I’m no good at locator spells.”

Ah.  That explained her extra layer of annoyance.  “I’m sure your mother would help you with that one.”

“She’s with _your_ grandmother, and you can imagine where that is going.”  Lily rolled her eyes.

“I can?”

“What, have you been living under a rock?”  Lily shook her head, chuckling.  “They’re busy, and I’m not going to bother Mom when she’s finally having some fun.  I’d rather find August the hard way.”

“I can ask my Uncle Mordred for help with that, if you like.”  Killian figured that Mordred could certainly do a locator spell, and he still had to make sure that the steel was delivered, anyway. 

That meant trusting Lily not to tell Danns’ about their new weapons, but that was a chance Killian was willing to take.

* * *

 

Emma couldn’t sleep.

That wasn’t an unusual situation for her to find herself in, of course; she was the Dark One, and the Dark One didn’t really need sleep.  Usually—particularly since she’d gotten her freedom back a week earlier—she was able to close her eyes and clear her mind for at least a few hours, but she was antsy.  She couldn’t stop thinking about that damned Dance, couldn’t stop remembering how it felt to be controlled.  Emma didn’t like admitting she was afraid, and she _really_ didn’t like feeling helpless.  So, she went for a walk and tried to clear her head.  It was too late to do anything tonight, but in the morning, she would—

Emma stopped cold.  She recognized that whipcord thin form on the other side of the street, recognized his swagger and the cold grin he turned on her.  Looking at Nuckelavee made her shiver; she remembered the promises he’d made when Danns’ had held the dagger.  He’d looked at her like she was a piece of meat, like she was his to _use_. 

“Ah, it’s the lovely Dark One.  I’ve _missed_ you.”  Nuckelavee’s eyes danced as he strode forward.  “Did you miss me?”

Emma dodged his attempt to grab her arm.  “I missed you about as much as I’d miss a case of the hives.”  

“Pity.  But we’ll have time, soon enough.”  His grin turned wolfish.  “Let me give you a word of advice, _Emma Swan_.  Join with my Lady willingly, or you’ll find yourself forced again.  And next time…I guarantee we will not be so kind.”

“You want me to _willingly_ follow the woman who enslaved me?” Emma stared at him incredulously.  “What the hell makes you think I’d fight against my friends and family for _her_?”

Nuckelavee shrugged.  “Oh, I don’t think that you will.  You just know that you should.”

“The hell I do!”

His smile only grew, and but he teleported away before Emma could say anything else.  _You know he’ll make good on that threat,_ Nimue reminded her, sounding almost apprehensive.  For once, Emma didn’t doubt a word that any of the chorus of Dark Ones was saying; she knew they were right.  But it didn’t matter.  She’d already made up her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Seven—“In that Gloom”, in which the fae begin affecting everyday life in Storybrooke, David and Robin find a fight, Danns’ comes to visit Belle, Mordred and Killian volunteer as bait, and Rumplestiltskin prepares to remove the darkness from Emma once and for all.


	107. In that Gloom

The day started quietly enough, though Belle would argue that Mordred and Rumplestiltskin’s spat over who should enchant the weapons Mordred had been forging was certainly entertaining enough.  Much though she loved her husband, she’d taken Mordred’s side, which clearly irritated Rumplestiltskin on the drive back from the cabin.  Not that he’d say it.  Even when he wasn’t the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin was prone to sitting and stewing instead of telling her when something was bothering him.

“He’s right, Rumple,” she said after Belle could take the stony silence no longer.  “Your power isn’t needed for this.”

“It’s not a question of _needing_ , Belle, I just—”

“Could accidentally make a secondary power,” she cut him off quietly, earning herself a glare.

“That’s not the kind of thing you create by _accident_.”

“But you’ve never done it before.”  Belle wanted to shake her husband; Mordred had argued—rightly, she felt—that he was the only one of the two who could actually forge weapons, so Rumplestiltskin should leave the work to him.  And Mordred had been right about Rumplestiltskin’s power being _too_ much, though Belle knew that her husband hated letting others control important details.

The only answer she got was an annoyed huff, and Belle reached out to put a hand on Rumplestiltskin’s arm.  Perhaps there was something else at play here, something she didn’t know about.  “Do you not trust Mordred?  I thought the two of you were getting along well these days.”

“We are.  Mostly.”  But she could tell that the _mostly_ was just a qualifier; if having watched Rumplestiltskin and Mordred complain together over Morgan’s new relationship hadn’t showed Belle that they’d come to care for one another, she didn’t know what else did.

“But…?”

“But nothing.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “I just…it’s probably foolish.”

His failed attempt at a smile tugged on Belle’s heart, and she squeezed his arm gently.  “What is it, Rumple?”

“I’m nervous, I suppose.”  His voice turned very quiet as he pulled the car into the spot behind the shop and put it into park.  “Everything is coming to a head, and if we put _one_ foot wrong, all could end in disaster.”

Storybrooke had faced so many battles, but Belle knew better than anyone that Rumplestiltskin had never been at the center of things before.  Not like this.  He was always the manipulator, pulling strings in the background—if he participated at all.  Rumplestiltskin had never been a fighter, not until necessity forced him to become one, and while Belle merely looked towards the coming battle with trepidation, she knew that part of her husband wanted to recoil in terror. _Either that, or allow himself to be crushed by the pressure._   Rumplestiltskin had come a long way in the months since he’d become the Sorcerer, but Belle sometimes had to remind herself that this wasn’t his natural role.

“You’re not fighting this battle alone, remember?”  Moving in closer, Belle took Rumplestiltskin’s hand.  “We’re in this together, and there are a lot of people here to help us.”

His shaky sigh was audible.  “I know.  But in the end, it all comes down to me.”

“I believe in you, Rumple.  And I know we’ll find a way.  Together.”

“I don’t deserve you.”  Finally, he turned to face her, his expression tender and wondering.

“Love isn’t about deserving,” Belle replied.  “It’s about fighting for each other, and _with_ each other, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

* * *

 

“You know, that’s the second call I’ve gotten about spoiled food.”  David looked pensive as he hung up the phone, and it was his tone that got Robin’s attention far more than his words.  Then the words sank in, and he blinked.

“Come again?”

“Apparently, _all_ the milk at Market Day has gone bad.”  David shrugged.  “I asked if they had a power outage, and they said their refrigerators are running fine.  It’s weird.”

“Henry did say that’s one of the things that the fae do.”  Robin hated mentioning that, hated thinking that some sort of magical conspiracy was afoot just because of milk going bad, but they’d all been waiting for the other shoe to drop for far too long.  This certainly was a strange way for it to start, but he’d seen stranger.

“Is it?”  David grimaced.  “Great.  That’s just what we need.  Maybe we should ask Regina if she knows any food-preservation spells.”

Robin had to bark out a laugh.  “That one might be more up Morgan or Mordred’s aisle.  Regina loves the refrigerator and the freezer, says she doesn’t know what the old world did without them.”

“I understand that—damn.”  David cut himself off, grabbing the phone as it rang again. “Storybrooke Sheriff Station, how can I—whoa, slow down, Astrid.”  He listened for a moment, his expression growing more worried by the moment.  “We’ll be right there.”

Robin leapt to his feet as David did, checking for his gun instinctively.  He could read David’s face well enough to know they were in trouble.  “What happened?”

“Astrid says that some of the knights from Camelot are attacking Thomas and Ella behind the diner.”

They raced out the door together.

* * *

 

On one hand, Sid liked the modern world a lot.  On the other, he thought it probably said something about him that the first friend he’d made was a thirteen year old boy with a penchant for stories about _everything_.  Yet Henry really was very old for his age, and the kid was more genre savvy than anyone Sid had ever met, including Galavant—who usually seemed to figure out exactly what was supposed to happen, assuming that his ego didn’t overcome any logic.  Convincing Gareth of Henry’s worth, on the other hand, was pretty damn hard.

“He’s just a kid.  How useful can a kid be?” Gareth complained as the pair walked towards the library, where they were due to meet Henry.  “And do we _have_ to go somewhere so full of books?  That many words in one place gives me the creeps.”

“C’mon, Gareth, it’s not so bad.”  Sid shrugged cheerfully.  “Maybe there will be someone there you can flirt with.”

The only response he got was a glower.  Maybe it was too soon for Gareth, Sid decided.  What had happened with Madalena was—

That was a fae standing in front of him, so close that Sid almost plowed right into her.  He skidded to a halt and then scrambled back a step, looking around for help that wasn’t there on the empty road between Musicbrooke and Storybrooke.  To his right, he heard Gareth drawing his sword.

“You’re the one who ran from our dance.  I like your _spirit_.”  Jhudora prowled forward, and Sid gulped.

“Me?  No, I’d never do such a thing.  I’m just a plucky sidekick, not a hero.”  Nevermind that he’d raised armies and saved the day; Sid would call himself a sidekick from here to eternity if it got him away from a crazy fae.

Jhudora laughed, but her smile only grew when Gareth’s sword wound up in her face.  She cocked her head at the large man.  “And are you supposed to be the hero here?”

“Nah.  I’m more of a villain type.  Even tried my  hand at being an evil king, though I didn’t like that as much as I just like bashing people’s heads in.  Or slicin’ people up.”

“Well, then, step aside so I can take what I want.”  The way she looked at Sid made it uncomfortably clear what she wanted, and Sid swallowed even harder.

“Look, it’s hardly acceptable in polite society to just _take_ people, and you can’t—”

“Oh, I can.”

Jhudora stepped forward, and when Sid tried back up, his feet wouldn’t move.  But suddenly Gareth was there, interposing himself between Jhudora and Sid, swinging his sword to cut her right in half—

Except the blade disintegrated, and Sid watched in horror was Jhudora ripped Gareth’s heart out.  Moments later, its ash drifted to the ground around Gareth’s now-lifeless body, and Jhudora teleported them both away despite Sid’s howls of protest.

* * *

 

David and Robin rushed around the corner just as King Francis fell to the ground. 

“No!”  Thomas couldn’t get to his father, though, not with two knights attacking him.  He was defending himself with nothing but a shovel, though Francis didn’t seem to have had even that much.  To Thomas’ right, Ella wielded a shotgun like a club; there were one downed knight and another wounded one to prove why she’d been reduced to using it in such a manner, but other than that, the prince and princess were unarmed.

The five surviving Camelotians were definitely not, each with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.  David didn’t hesitate before shooting at one who had just killed Francis, but much to his surprise, the shot ricocheted right off of the knight’s armor.  That man—Sir Safir, he thought—staggered before wheeling to face them in fury, but he didn’t fall.  Meanwhile, David moved right and Robin went left, both with their guns up and ready.

“Stop where you are!” David shouted, watching Lamorak and the others assume a defensive formation.  Ella grabbed Thomas and pulled him back when he tried to dart for his father’s body, and Robin gestured the pair back so that he and David could cover them.

“Or what?” Lamorak’s grin was challenging, even with a helmet on.  “You’ll shoot us with your guns?”

“Don’t think I won’t shoot to kill next time.”  David hadn’t really wanted to kill Safir—he didn’t really want to kill anyone if he could defuse the situation without it—but he wasn’t going to stop if it was necessary.

Lamorak laughed.  “Whatever for?  We were merely settling a dispute.”  He shrugged, glancing dismissively at Francis’ dead body.  “It’s settled, now.”

“That’s _not_ how we do things in Storybrooke.”

“Isn’t it?  These modern laws are _so_ confusing.”

“Don’t give me that crap.  You knew exactly what you were doing.”  David was angry enough to spit nails, but he didn’t want to shoot all five knights.  Did he?

“And you’re all under arrest.  Put down your swords and put your hands up.”  Robin spoke up strongly, but none of the knights moved.

“Will you shoot us if we don’t?” Sir Yvain—who had been drunkenly dueling with Lamorak a little over a week earlier—asked smugly.

“Do you really want to find out?” Robin countered, but David really didn’t like where this was going.

“Just do it.  Kill them.”  Thomas looked ready to murder the knights with his bare hands.  “They killed my father!”

Lamorak shrugged again.  “Your father broke our alliance.  He knew the consequences.”

“You stabbed him in the back!”

Thomas started to lunge forward, only to be caught by Ella.  “Thomas, don’t.”  Her voice was quiet, but no less angry than his.  “Let David handle this.”

“Oh, yes, let the Heartless King handle us.”  Lamorak’s grin was lazy.  “Only he’s not quite heartless enough to kill us, and then where does that leave us?”

“It leaves you with a trip to jail in your future.”  David knew he was bluffing now, but what else could he do?  “Put your weapons down, _now_.”

“No.”

One heartbeat passed, and then two.  David didn’t want to shoot men who were only armed with swords, but they clearly weren’t going to surrender.  In fact, they looked like they wanted to fight him instead of that, and he had no idea how many nine millimeter slugs good armor could deflect before a bullet punched through.  He’d stopped wearing a sword in Storybrooke about a year ago, but David was pretty sure that he was going to have to start again.  _I have to stop them.  If I don’t, the glue that keeps Storybrooke together will start coming apart,_ he knew.  Heroes didn’t shoot people in cold blood, of course…but sometimes kings—or even former kings—had to make hard choices.

David squared his shoulders.  “I’ll shoot you if I have to.”

“My, that sounds… _extreme_ , doesn’t it?” The new voice made heads turn.  David had never thought he’d be grateful to see Danns’ a’Bhàis, but at least she could make her people listen.

“Your followers just killed an unarmed man.”  Robin didn’t lower his gun, either.

“Did they?”  Danns’ cocked her head, looking at Francis like he was a piece of dirt on the ground.  “Such a pity.  I’m sure it was a mistake.”

“Mistake or not, we have laws in this town.”  David was not about to let this get swept under the rug.  “Sir Lamorak and his companions are under arrest, and they’ll need to come with us.”

“Hm.”  Green eyes turned on him, and David shivered, despite himself.  “I think no.”

Something in him wanted to run from her, but David refused to back down.  “This isn’t optional.”

“Ah, but power is a law onto itself, isn’t it?”  Danns’ smiled slightly.  “Had you accepted my offer, I would have made sure you had the power to enforce your precious laws.  Since you rejected it…well, I cannot be held responsible for the consequences.”

“Are you openly declaring that you’re not going to follow our laws?”  A crowd was starting to form as people crept towards the standoff, and David figured that he could at least get her to say so out loud.

“Oh, of course not.  I simply disagree with your interpretation of them.”  A soft laugh.  “I will investigate the matter, and any wrongdoing will be appropriately dealt with.”

“You don’t have any authority to do that!” Thomas interjected angrily.

“I make my own authority.”  Danns’ waved her hand, and suddenly Sir Lamorak, Sir Yvain, and the others vanished in a cloud of silver smoke.  Even the dead knight’s body disappeared, leaving only King Francis lying on the ground in a pool of blood.  Danns’ eyes met David’s with another smile.  “Good day, Sheriff.”

She swept away, walking towards the library without even a backwards glance.  For a moment, David contemplated shooting _her_ …but he knew it wouldn’t kill her, and that would only start a fight here and now.  _Some battles are worth starting. Others need planning_ , he told himself firmly, hating the fact that he couldn’t stop her.  All he could do was watch Danns’ walk away with a sick feeling in his gut.

Thomas grabbed David’s shoulder roughly.  “You can’t let them get away with this.”

“We won’t,” Robin promised grimly.  “Just because we couldn’t get them today doesn’t mean we won’t get them.”

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but David got in first.  “Come on.  Let’s check on your father.”

The slim hope that Francis might still be alive vanished as soon as they reached his side, of course; he’d been stabbed straight through the heart.  _He broke their alliance by telling me about Lamorak gathering followers_ , David knew.  Francis had done the right thing and had paid the price.  How many others in Storybrooke would suffer the same fate?

* * *

 

The last visitor Belle had expected was her grandmother.  Arthur had come to see her the day before his death, but her grandmother had stayed away since Belle had sworn to be done with her.  Arthur had tried to make excuses before his _wife_ had killed him, but Belle was certainly not ready to hear them.  So, she turned to face Danns’ with a stony expression, crossing her arms and feeling absurdly small behind the circulation desk.

“Can I help you?”

Danns’ blinked, looking hurt.  “Do you not even have one kind word for your grandmother, Belle?”

“Not today, no.”  She brought her chin up.  Belle wasn’t sure which she was angrier about: Zelena’s death, or Arthur’s.  One Danns’ had done ‘for’ Belle, and the other was her _grandfather_.  Neither was right, even if Zelena and Arthur had both been villains.

“Are you still angry about Zelena?  I thought you’d be over that by now.”  Danns’ waved a dismissive hand.  “She had threatened you, and she knew the consequences for doing so.”

“That didn’t give you a right to _kill_ her!”

Danns’ looked at her like she was mad.  “Of course it did.  I protect my family.”

Those words felt like she had shoved a knife in Belle’s heart, and Belle stormed around the circulation desk, all but shaking in fury.   “Is that what you told Grandfather for all those years?  Before you killed _him_?”

“No one mourns Arthur more than I.” 

“Liar.”

“I do not expect you to understand the necessity of—”

Danns’ looked offended, but Belle didn’t care.  She’d had it, and cut her grandmother off sharply.  “No, I don’t.  And I won’t.  At least he was _trying_ to get to know me for who I am, not looking at me like some perfect porcelain doll who is supposed to fit into some human-sized slot in the horrific world you want to build.  You don’t care about who I am or what I want.  You only care about what _you_ want!”

“I am sad to hear that you feel that way.”  Danns’ seemed a little taken aback by her outburst, but it clearly was not enough to change her mind.  “But do not denigrate your grandfather’s sacrifice.  Arthur died to free a people who had been trapped for centuries.”

“Did you ask him if he wanted to sacrifice himself?” Belle really did want to know the answer to that question.  She’d asked Mordred what had happened, and he’d said that he didn’t _think_ Arthur had been willing, but he hadn’t been close enough to see for sure.  She supposed that she could ask Emma, but she wanted to know what Danns’ said.

“I knew his feelings on the matter.  I did love him.”

“Did?”  Belle stepped back, swallowing hard and wrapping her arms around herself.  “Death doesn’t stop love.  I know that from firsthand experience.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”  Danns’ smile was strained, and for a moment, Belle thought she saw actual sadness in her eyes. 

“You don’t show it well.  You killed him, and now you’re here to wage war on Storybrooke.”  Belle wished that knowledge didn’t hurt so much, but it _burned._

“I’m here to reach out to my granddaughter.”

“Before the war.  Yeah, I got that.”

Danns’ blinked.  “Yes, there will be a war.  You’ve known that for some time, now.”  She smiled sadly.  “But at the end of it, I will still be here.  And we will talk then.”

“Assuming there is a Storybrooke left to talk in.”  Belle hated sounding so bitter, but she hated the war that was coming even more.

“There will be.  I have no desire to destroy anything, Belle.  I know you think the worst of me, but I simply want to reunite worlds that should never have been torn asunder.” 

“But you’re willing to let thousands, maybe millions, die for that to happen.”  Belle wasn’t going to let Danns’ sweep that one under the rug with her talk about restoration.  Had her grandmother only wanted to ‘right’ things, Belle might have been able to stand by her—but not when so many lives hung in the balance.

Danns’ shrug was minuscule, but spoke volumes.  “I will do what I must.  The sooner I act, the fewer will die.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”  Belle had talked to Rumplestiltskin about the walls between the worlds, after all, and he had said that _any_ catastrophic collapse would do as they feared.  She’d read on the subject, too—what little there was on the relationships between different realms, anyway—and Belle was almost certain that waiting _longer_ would actually spare more lives.  Rumplestiltskin had managed to arrest the slide between the worlds, but they _were_ still drifting together, albeit very slowly.

“You will understand when it is over.”  Danns’ inclined her head.  “We will speak then.”

Belle watched her grandmother leave in silence, worry and pain gnawing at her gut.  She’d long since come to terms with the fact that she needed to oppose Danns’, yet it still hurt to do so.  _And she killed my grandfather._   Arthur had been a villain, and yet…

“You okay, Belle?”

Henry’s voice made her jump; Belle had all but forgotten that her step-grandson had been waiting for a friend to meet him in the library.  Still hugging herself, Belle turned to face him.

“I will be.”  She nodded firmly, hoping she could make herself believe that.  “It’s just…sometimes knowing what you have to do isn’t hard, but acting against family always hurts.”

“I know how you feel.”  Henry came up beside her, smiling crookedly.  “It was like that when Mom was the Evil Queen.  And sort of like that, for a little while, with Emma as the Dark One.”

“Yeah, I imagine you do.”  Belle managed a bright smile.  “So, where’s your friend, anyway?  I thought he was supposed to be here by now.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.  I thought Sid was coming by, but maybe he forgot.”  Henry shrugged.  “I don’t know him really well, you know?”

“Well, why don’t we go take a look around town?”

Getting out of the library would be good, Belle decided.  She wanted to take a look around town, anyway, and see if the fae were out and about.  She knew her grandmother well enough to know that Danns’ wouldn’t have come by if things were not about to explode, and that meant they didn’t have much time.

If any.

* * *

 

Bae didn’t expect to find _Emma_ there when he opened the door to the Sorcerer’s House.  Not a lot of people came by the house; most preferred to seek Rumplestiltskin out in the shop or find Belle in the library.  That did at least keep the house pretty quiet, though Mordred had practically been sleeping in one of the guest rooms since Morgan and Maleficent had gotten involved.  Mordred was out at the cabin making weapons again, though, which meant Bae had been the only one home, until Emma showed up.

“Hey.”  He couldn’t help smiling; Emma had been doing so much better since she’d gotten the dagger back, and Bae was always glad to spend time with her.

“Hi.”  She smiled a little self-consciously, and then gave Bae the little shrug that always did him in.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.”  He stepped out of her way quickly.  “Sorry.  I’m an idiot, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

Bae snorted out a laugh.  “Yeah, sometimes.  Come on, let’s go get a drink.  You want lunch?  I’m not the greatest cook, but I’m better than Belle.”

Emma followed him into the kitchen, but she stopped him before he could open the refrigerator.  “I actually don’t think a beer is a good idea.” Her laugh was shaky.  “And I’m not sure I can eat anything right now.”

“What’s wrong?” The catch in her voice made him turn to look at her worriedly.

“I’m ready.  I’m ready to get rid of this.”  Emma gestured at herself, swallowing hard.  “As soon as possible.”

“You mean…you’re ready to get rid of being the Dark One?”  Bae took a deep breath, resisting the urge to crush her in his arms.  “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”  Emma grimaced. “It’s now or never.”

Bae couldn’t stop himself from hugging her, and was glad when Emma squeezed him back just as tightly.  “Let’s call my dad, then.  He’s at the shop, but he’d damn well better drop everything for this.”

“Okay.”  Emma looked half terrified and half excited when they pulled back, and Bae grabbed for the phone.

* * *

 

“Might I have a word with you?” Tad asked as they waited for Lily to join them for lunch.  They’d taken to meeting once or twice a week like this—though today was at Dave’s Fish and Chips instead of at the Rabbit Hole—and Mal knew Lily liked it.  _Even if I find it terribly boring, Lily deserves to know her father._

Mal cocked her head.  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Of course it is.”  Tad was clearly trying to cover his unease with charm, and it was mostly working.  “I simply, uh, wondered where we stand.  You and I.”

“We’re Lily’s parents.  Isn’t that enough?”  Mal knew what he was asking, and she did find Tad terribly attractive, but she’d already realized that he wasn’t her type of man.  He was a rake and a flirt, which didn’t bother her a bit, but he was also the kind of outlaw who stole from the rich and gave to the poor.  His bite was nonexistent, and he was a good man at heart.

_Boring._

Tad sighed.  “That is all we are, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”  She shrugged.  “You’re a nice man, Tad.”

“You say that as if it is a bad thing.”

Mal couldn’t help snorting.  “They _do_ call me the Mistress of All Evil.”  She smiled.  “I’m a little reformed these days, more for our daughter’s sake than anything else, but I have no desire to turn into the next Regina Mills.  I’m happy as I am, darkness and all.”

“I’m hardy some paragon of virtue, you realize,” he pointed out.  “I’ve done awful things, as well as good ones.”

“And I have cursed innocents to sleep forever because I was annoyed.  The small evils you have done do not compare to what I have…and I’m satisfied with what I am.”  Mal shook her head.  “Besides, you’re not looking for your True Love and a happy ending.  You’re only doing what you feel you _should_ because we have a child together.”

Tad scowled.  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Of course not.  That’s why I’m here.”  Mal sat back and decided to be as truthful as she could be.  “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but we both know that neither of us is really what the other is looking for.”

“I suppose that could not be more accurate.”  He sighed.  “You are not angry with me for leaving you alone with our daughter?”

“How could I be?  She was stolen from me too early for me to have a chance to really resent you.”  Mal swallowed, hating thinking of the life her daughter had led before Emma had brought her to Storybrooke.  Mal knew herself, and if she had a chance to turn back time, to change _one_ thing, she would have given anything if it meant she could raise Lily.

Tad nodded.  “I still want to be in her life, even if it is not with you.”

“I don’t want to stop you.  Lily likes you, and I want her to be happy.”

“Friends, then?” Tad held his hand out, his smile seeming a little more natural now that he wasn’t trying to win her over, and Mal took it.

“Friends.”

Lily joined them a few minutes later, and Mal finally found herself relaxing.  Propriety said that she _should_ want a relationship with the father of her child, but Mal really just wasn’t interested.  She wasn’t prepared to admit what she was interested in—maybe!—but now at least she felt like she could be herself.  Maleficent was never going to turn into some redeemed hero type, and she was happier with her darkness.  This was who she was.  Embracing her own darker impulses didn’t mean that she had to side with Danns’; in fact, it meant that she _wouldn’t_.  Oh, she’d play her role and be the snake in the grass right up until the end.  That much she had already decided to do.  Now, however, she felt more like herself than she had in ages, and Maleficent was quite satisfied with that.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin was at his best when he was plotting and planning, and having discovered that he was descended from yet another manipulator only meant he had more tools at hand.  So, when Bae called and said that Emma was ready for him to pull the darkness out of her, Rumplestiltskin set a semi-dormant plan into motion.  He’d discussed the idea with his mother briefly after his return from the Lands of the Fae, but it was Mordred’s participation that mattered most.  So, he dragged his brother away from creating weapons and back to their mother’s house, where the three of them could talk without being overheard.

“Let me get this straight: you want to use me as bait.” Mordred sighed theatrically.  “I should have known.”

“Don’t be dramatic.  You’ll be fine.”  Morgan looked annoyed at the idea, too, but it was the best option, and she knew it.

“Oh, I’m not.  I’m rather looking forward to it, even.”  Mordred’s grin turned wolfish.  “Any chance to kill fae is welcome.”

Rumplestiltskin misliked that expression intensely.  “Try not to destroy my cabin while you’re at it.”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

“I _do_ prefer my property remains intact.   Particularly because, unlike you, I don’t use magic to hold structures up.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled his nastiest smile.  “And also because I will take the damage out of your hide, brother dear.”

Mordred opened his mouth to say something else, only for Morgan to get in first.

“Boys!”  She glared at each of them in turn.  “Behave or I will bash your heads together.”

“We’re hardly small children, Mother,” Mordred objected.

“And neither of us are terribly _likely_ to allow you to ‘bash our heads together’,” Rumplestiltskin added.

Morgan rolled her eyes.  “Act like toddlers and I will treat you as such.  Back to the topic at hand.”  She looked at him.  “Rumplestiltskin?”

Arguing with their mother was pointless, and they really _didn’t_ have much time, so he simply sighed and got back to the point.  “If you are willing to relay the information through Maleficent—”

“I am.”  Morgan’s nod was firm.

“In that case, try to make sure that the fae do not arrive too quickly.  We need their attention centered on Mordred for as long as it will hold.”  Rumplestiltskin thought that he could pull the darkness from Emma fairly quickly, but there was no way to know for certain.  _Particularly once the other Dark Ones decide they get a vote._

“One problem: they’re going to try to destroy the weapons we’ve created.”  Mordred shrugged.  “Unless we take the bulk of our stock elsewhere, first.  I can only hold off so many fae at one time.”

Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow.  He knew how effective a fighter his brother was from rather recent experience, and this modesty was unlike Mordred.  “Even in dragon form?”

“I, um…well, that hasn’t exactly worked, lately.”  Mordred studied his feet for a moment before looking up defiantly.  “Not since we returned.”

 “You said nothing.”  Morgan looked stricken as she put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder.

“It never was my favorite side of the family.”  Mordred’s shrug was anything but casual, though, and his smile was tight. 

“Oh, Mordred.”

“It is what it is, Mother.  There’s work to be done that matters more.”  Mordred glanced his way, and Rumplestiltskin was startled by the intensity in his brother’s gaze.  “You had best not fail.  I waited a lifetime to do what you’re doing.”

“I—I’ll do my best,” he stuttered, not quite sure how to deal with that strange trust in Mordred’s gaze.  Then again, they’d fought together—and they’d saved one another, too.

“Good enough.”  Mordred looked at their mother.  “Mother, tell your pet mole that we’re ready.  I’ll head out and warn the others.”

Rumplestiltskin waited for Morgan to nod before teleporting away.  Belle should have everything ready by now—and, being Belle, she’d gathered most of the family for this occasion.  He’d been of a mind to do this with no one but himself and Emma present, but Belle and Bae had both killed that idea on the vine.  So, Emma’s family would be there…at a safe distance.   Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to like it to recognize how much that would mean to Emma, so when he appeared in the courtyard of the Sorcerer’s House, he managed not to scowl at the others who had gathered.

Barely.

* * *

 

“Bloody wonderful,” Killian breathed after Mordred explained the plan to him.  “We’re bait.”

Mordred had to laugh.  “That’s what I said.” 

“So, what are we doing with the rest of the weapons?  I’d hate to see all of our handiwork destroyed.”  Killian gestured at the two trunks of enchanted swords they’d already created together; Killian was turning into a rather deft swordsmith, if Mordred did say so himself.  The dwarves had worked with them some, but Mordred and Killian had done the bulk of the work.

“We can take them to the mines,” Leroy volunteered, making Mordred’s head turn. 

“The mines?”  He hadn’t known Storybrooke _had_ mines.  _Is there anything this town doesn’t have, aside from proper castles?_

“Yeah, with the fairy dust.  No one goes down there but us these days.”

Doc shifted nervously.  “I don’t know if the silver and the fairy dust might have an adverse reaction…”

“Adverse like blowing the hell up?” Killian looked more offended than alarmed, but Mordred thought that the smartest of the dwarves might have a point.

“It could.  Or it could nullify all of our work.”  Forging silver-tipped—or edged—weapons was hard, and they didn’t have time to do this all over again.

“The convent?” Tink suggested suddenly, and everyone looked at Mordred.

He really wanted to argue, wanted to say that the fairies certainly shouldn’t be trusted with these weapons…but they really were out of options.  The weapons _had_ to go somewhere protected, and where else was there?  It’s not like he could send them to his brother’s house.  Not with the magics Rumplestiltskin was undoubtedly working already.

“Fine.”  Mordred tried not to growl the word.  “Take them there.  But be quick—we may not have much time.”

Leroy turned to the three other dwarves who had been helping.  “C’mon, boys.  Let’s load up the van.”

Doc, Dopey, and Bashful jumped into motion, and Mordred stepped forward to a few of the less well-crafted swords out of the nearest chest.  If he was going to lose some of his handiwork, it might as well be the shoddier pieces, he figured.  After doing so, he turned towards his nephew.

“You should go with them.” 

Killian stopped cold.  “Why would I do that?”

“The fae are coming.”  Mordred tried not to grimace, but he knew the effort failed.  “You should not be here.”

“I may lack magic, but I don’t lack courage.”  His nephew scowled deeply.  “I’ll stay.”

“Killian—”

“No.”  Killian’s voice was surprisingly firm.  “You may think that you’re marked for death after escaping it once, but I disagree.  If you’re going to dance with death, Uncle, I’ll dance beside you.”

Speechless, all Mordred could do was stare.

* * *

 

This was the test.  This little act of ‘loyalty’ would tell if the fae believed her, or if the Black Fairy had realized there was a traitor in her ranks.  That was likely the last thing Maleficent would learn before she died, but somehow, she felt at peace with that.  _Or I would if I had warned Lily,_ she thought, trying to ignore the knot of pain in her chest.  It was safest for Lily not to know, of course, but that didn’t make Maleficent feel any better.  She needed to tell her daughter what she was doing, particularly since she knew that Lily leaned more and more towards the side of the heroes—or towards Killian Jones and the redemption he offered, at any rate—but Maleficent wasn’t entirely sure how.

It wasn’t that Lily wouldn’t understand so much as she wasn’t sure if Lily wouldn’t insist they simply break with Danns’ once and for all.  Maleficent knew how dangerous that would be, and she _thought_ Lily understood as well, but her daughter was hot headed enough to worry about.

“The so-called heroes are creating weapons tipped with silver,” she told Jhudora when the white-haired fae finally deigned to pay attention to her.  “Morgan accidentally mentioned it in my hearing.”

“Morgan of Cornwall doesn’t _accidentally_ do anything.”  Jhudora’s lip curled up in a sneer, and for a moment, Maleficent felt her heart stutter in fear.

Then she regained her composure, sniffing in amusement.  “She may not to _you_ , but I assure you that I’ve caught her in far more compromising situations than you could ever hope to.”  Mal allowed herself a casual shrug. “She spoke to Mordred about _where_ they are creating said weapons, as well.”

That did it.  She could see the interest flaring in Jhudora’s eyes, but Mal refused to volunteer anything until she was asked.  Finally, Jhudora gave in, her gaze hungry and angry all at once.

“Where?” the fae hissed.

Mal did not dare smile.  “Rumplestiltskin owns a cabin in the woods.  I can show you where it is.”

* * *

 

“You can do this, Mom.”  Henry had noticed the way Emma was fidgeting, the way she kept drifting closer and closer to his dad.  He didn’t object to _that_ , of course, but he thought that Emma might need some reassurance.

“Yeah.”  Her teeth were gritted, though, and her knuckles were white around the dagger in her right hand.  “I just want to get it over with.”

“I know you can do it.”  Emma had explained what she wanted to do while Rumplestiltskin started whatever magic he was doing, and Henry thought it was pretty amazing.  Emma wanted to save _all_ the Dark Ones, not just herself, and he knew that everyone had been impressed.

“We all believe in you, Emma.”  David’s voice was quiet, but strong.

Emma’s nod was jerky.  “I’m sorry.  I just want you to know that in case…well, in case things don’t work.  I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.  I never thought it would be so _hard_ , and I…well, I’m just sorry.  For everything I put you—”

“Stop it.”  Unsurprisingly, it was Regina who cut in, her expression fierce.  “Stop talking like you’re dying, because you’re not.  You’re going to be fine, and then you’ll go back to driving me crazy with your Savior optimism.”

“I hope you’re right.”  Emma sounded very small, and her uncertainty made him swallow.

“I am, so stop whining.”  Regina glared at Emma for a moment before transferring her death gaze to Rumplestiltskin as he approached.  “And you’d better not screw this up, _Sorcerer._ ”

“I’m so glad to know I have your vote of confidence, dear.”  His smile was sharp, but Henry thought he saw some genuine amusement in his grandfather’s eyes.

Regina just rolled her eyes.  “Not all of napped through the mess when that crap came out of _you_ last time, and we’d rather not experience that again.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”  Rumplestiltskin turned to Emma.  “Shall we?”

“You’re ready?”  Henry could see her eyes focusing out in the courtyard, where Rumplestiltskin had been by himself until a few moments ago.  

Emma nodded, this time looking more certain.  “As much as I’ll ever be.”  Then she turned to Henry.  “Stay back, kid, okay?  No matter what happens.”

“Mom—”

“No buts, okay?  This might get crazy, and the last thing _any_ of us want is that darkness infecting you.”  Emma looked at Bae and Regina.  “Hang on to him?”

“We will,” they promised together, and Henry swallowed as he watched his mom and his grandfather step away from the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Eight—“More than Love Met its Doom”, in which a trap is sprung, and Emma faces her predecessors as she tries to free them. Nimue, of course, has other ideas.


	108. More than Love Met its Doom

Morgan had called Mordred right after she ‘let slip’ the location of their little weapons foundry, but he still hadn’t expected the fae to show up so quickly.  Tink, Leroy, and Bashful had left not five minutes earlier in Leroy’s rusty deathtrap of a vehicle, which had given those who remained very little time to get back to work.  Much to Mordred’s surprise, Doc and Dopey had insisted on staying, with Doc pointing out that the fae would never believe this was their entire operation if only Mordred and Killian were present.  So, Doc had restarted the bellows and Mordred had gone back to work, enchanting silver to merge with metal as Killian worked the blade in the forge. 

He really wished Killian would have left.  Mordred _knew_ that his own days might very well be numbered.  Rumplestiltskin had kept him from dying in his last battle, and then Belle had unexpectedly healed him, but he wasn’t fool enough to think that reprieve would last forever.  No, he knew that he was going to die, but if he was going to do it, Mordred was damned well going to take as many fae down with him as he could.  _But not at the cost of my family._ The thought of losing any of his family members had become painful enough to make his chest hurt, and Mordred would have been lying if he’d tried to claim that Killian hadn’t become important to him.  He hadn’t been able to save Gwaine from Danns’ a’Bhàis…but he would do his damnedest to save his brother’s son.

Mordred lowered his hands, the magic in his palms dying as silver seeped into the red-hot blade.   “There’s still time for you to go.”

“Aye, and there’s time for you to leave as well.”  Killian’s look was downright annoyed.  “Yet you’re fool enough to stay.”

“I have a responsibility—”

“And I’m no less a part of this than you are!  I may not have magic tricks up my sleeve, but this is my home as well.”  Blue eyes burned into his, and the ferocity in Killian’s glare made Mordred blink.  “This is the first _home_ I’ve had since Camelot.  I’ll  not abandon these people now.”

Mordred swallowed.  “I just don’t want to fail you like I failed your father.”

Killian grinned.  “Well, in that case—”

Then the fae arrived, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had ringed the courtyard of the Sorcerer’s House with magic, yet he still wished that his entire family wasn’t present for this.  Of course, not a one of them could be convinced to leave.  The only members of their extended family who _weren’t_ present were either preparing to fight the fae elsewhere, or—in Robin’s case—keeping an eye on the rest of the town.  He’d overheard Regina mentioning that Robin had talked Tad into giving him a ride so they could overfly Storybrooke and watch for trouble, though Regina had warned them to steer clear of the Sorcerer’s House.  Rumplestiltskin was glad to see that his old student had thought of that, particularly given how unpredictable and untried most of the spells he had used were.

Some were designed to trap the Dark Ones if they tried to remain in the world.  Others were designed to keep the darkness itself from escaping while Rumplestiltskin did his work.  None would hold for too long, but all were necessary.  If one collapsed too early…well, that hardly bore thinking of.

“So, what do I do?” Emma asked when they were at the center of the courtyard.  She looked almost like her old self, having abandoned the black outfit for her old red leather jacket, but Rumplestiltskin could see the fear in her eyes.

_Good.  Fear keeps us from doing stupid things._  

“I will draw the darkness from you, and direct it here.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured at the Forbidden Fountain, still dead center in the courtyard.  “Then, you will use the dagger to draw our predecessors out—preferably one by one, but however you can.”  He quirked an eyebrow at her . “Assuming you still wish to save them.”

Emma’s nod was firm.  “I do.”  Then she frowned, and he could _see_ her drawing knowledge from the curse.  “But why the Forbidden Fountain? Doesn’t that just erase the memory of anyone who drinks from it?”

“It does.  But Oz’s Forbidden Fountain isn’t like any other Waters of Forgetfulness.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled thinly.  “It strips memories but also restores innocence.  The darkness may shield the previous Dark Ones from memory loss, but it cannot protect against the waters stripping _it_ away.”

Emma stared at him, and Rumplestiltskin found the grudging respect in her eyes more rewarding than he wanted to admit.  Emma had been the one to _want_ to save their predecessors, but he had realized early on that she would not be able to do so simply through the strength of belief and goodness.  Emma needed an edge— _they_ needed an edge—to help the others find peace.  He knew how the darkness worked, after all.  Its very nature worked against anyone wishing for redemption, and those still stuck in its throes would have a hard time _wanting_ to save themselves.  The Fountain, however, would help restore them to their original selves, to who each was before they became the Dark One.

“They’ll be their better selves again.”  Emma looked breathless.  “Who they were before.”

“Yes.  Though some of them were not particularly kind people to begin with, so don’t count too much on their better natures.”  There was also a strong chance that the waters wouldn’t manage to hit them all, and then they’d have to deal with that.

“Yeah.”  She grimaced.  “Most of them want peace, but some don’t.  Some of them are still howling for power and revenge.”

“As always.”

“Tell me about it.”

Their eyes met, and then Emma glanced over her shoulder at their assembled family.  “None of the Dark Ones can get to them, can they?”

“Ideally, no, but we’ll still have to be careful.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t like that, but he knew better than anyone that magic wasn’t perfect.

“Right.”  Emma looked back at him, and then drew the dagger from her boot, nodding crisply.  “Okay.  Let’s get this over with.”

Summoning magic to himself, Rumplestiltskin dropped deeply into the power he had inherited— _his_ power—and looked at the magic swirling around Emma.  She was ready, really and honestly ready in a way he never would have been, to give up the power.  Beneath the dark haze of magic around her, Emma practically glowed with goodness and light, and that wasn’t because of the way her parents had torn her own darkness away.  No, that was because of who she was and who she _chose_ to be.  Emma was the Savior, and all Rumplestiltskin had to do was free her.

She would do the rest.

* * *

 

There were too damned many of them, and the fae had landed right on top of them.  Acting on instinct, Killian had stabbed one short and dark fae right away, burying the half-finished sword he’d been working on in the bastard’s heart.  Unfortunately, the metal hadn’t been cool, and it twisted along the way, warping and bending.  When Killian tried to pull the sword free, it snagged on something—probably bone, but he didn’t really care. 

“Bloody hell!”  Swearing, he dropped the sword and dove for a second one, barely managing to avoid some purple and black spell that some other fae flung at him.  Mordred was dueling with a trio of fae to the right, while Doc calmly picked off others with the silver-tipped crossbow bolts the dwarf had insisted on creating.

Much to Killian’s surprise, that contraption was working.   He’d suggested silver bullets, but apparently Mordred’s metallurgy skills didn’t extend to firearms, and Doc had liked the idea of a crossbow, anyway.  But then one fae caught onto simply shattering the wooden bolts, and—

Another spell whistled by his head, and  Killian rolled away, his new sword in hand and finally coming to his feet almost face to face with another fae.  He sliced at her quickly, only for her to dodge and blast him in the chest with a hammer-like blow that made his heart want to stop.  Landing hard on his back, Killian struggled to breathe as the fae closed in on him, his limbs numb and not working right.  There wasn’t enough time.  He couldn’t make his body move, and his mind was blurry.  She bent over him, her silver eyes wild and hand outstretched.

“You’re a pretty one.  Perhaps I’ll keep— _you bastard!_ ”

Mordred had chucked a fireball at her before she could rip out his heart, making the fae dodge quickly.  She managed, but whatever numbness had held Killian prisoner released when she moved away, and he kicked out with both feet as she caught her balance.  The unexpected blow sent her sprawling, and Killian jumped to his feet before she could get up.  When she tried, he took her head off with one swipe of his new sword.

“Aye, I’m a pretty one.  But not for you, love.”  His grin might have been a bit bloodthirsty, but Killian had never shied away from a fight.

“Watch out!”  Doc’s voice rang out, and Killian saw _something_ glowing out of the corner of his eye.  Instinct made him duck just before fire flew over his head, and when he spun around to see who had attacked them, what he found was Dopey flinging burning firewood at the fae.

Dopey was grinning, and the fae seemed not to like having fire thrown their way.  Several had shied away, even one of the trio who had been battling Mordred—which allowed Mordred to fell one of the two remaining while the third avoided the flames—but then a sudden gust of wind filled the air, throwing the flames back towards the dwarves.  Both scrambled back, but a few flames caught Dopey, making the dwarf howl in pain.  Frantically, Doc beat the flames out, but when Mordred tried to shield the pair from an attack, power slammed into him.

Of course, Mordred sailed right into Killian, leaving them both in a painful heap on the ground.

“Do you not appreciate being lit on fire?” a familiar voice asked, and Killian wiggled out from under Mordred to see Nuckelavee walking towards them, smiling.

“Oh, look who’s out of the Hat, Uncle.”  Killian gestured at Nuckelavee with his sword, but the fae didn’t even break stride.

Mordred snorted.  “Some people don’t know when they aren’t wanted.”

“Says the so-called king without a crown.”  Nuckelavee’s smile was cold as he gestured at the rest of the fae.  “Kill the bastard.  Ignore the others.”

Killian raised his sword, opening his mouth to object, only to find magic teleporting him away.  He landed in a swirl of purple smoke, just a few feet away from Doc and the rather-singed Dopey.  Mordred had teleported, too, but in the opposite direction—and magic made the ground explode where they had been seconds earlier.  All the fae turned towards Mordred, however, completely ignoring the pirate and the dwarves.  That left Mordred on the wrong end of eight-to-one odds, but Killian was not about to let his uncle die like this.  

_I don’t care if the bloody idiot has a death wish.  I’m not going to stand by while he fights by himself._   Now it was time to see how many fae he could kill while they were busy ignoring him. 

* * *

 

Emma braced herself, and then on second thought, _didn’t_.  She had to relax.  She had to let the darkness go, had to _want_ it gone.  She could hear the others whispering in her mind, some disgruntled and others afraid, but for once, they were all waiting.  Waiting for her to make a choice.  For the first time since she’d become the Dark One, Emma genuinely didn’t feel a pull to embrace the darkness.  Oh, it had lessened in that short and wonderful period between Bae’s resurrection and Danns’ getting the dagger, but the pull had never actually vanished.  It had just simmered in the background, always there and never truly quiet, a part of what she was and utterly inescapable.  Now, however, she just felt a breathless feeling of anticipation mixed with a slight whiff of pure terror.  And hope.  She felt _hope_.

Glancing at Rumplestiltskin, she saw him nod.  Could he tell what she was feeling?  If anyone knew, he would.  Briefly, Emma wondered if the small piece of Rumplestiltskin’s soul that was stuck to the Dark Ones would be free once this was done, but then she put the thought out of her mind.  There was only one way to find out.

“Here goes nothing.”  Emma  nodded as firmly as she could, squaring her shoulders.  She was ready.

White light filled Rumplestiltskin’s hands, suddenly, there was a new pull.  At first, it wasn’t bad, but then the pressure built, and Emma cried out without meaning to.  She felt like her very soul was being torn out, and she fought against the urge to draw back, to close herself off and refuse to let it happen.  _This is not me,_ she told herself again and again.  _I do not need this!_

Slowly, darkness filled the air, twisting and turning like thick black threads of tar.  It moved more slowly than the swirling mass of darkness Emma had chased down to become the Dark One, more tentative and heavier.  The darkness inched out of her, burning delightfully as it did, making Emma’s breath short and fast.  She squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her jaw tightly and refusing to cry out, but it was hard.  Harder than she’d expected.  Emma really did feel like her soul was being shredded, like the voices screaming inside her were her own.  Vaguely, she heard someone shouting for Rumplestiltskin to stop, but the cry came from so far away, and Emma couldn’t tell who it was.  Was that Regina?  Henry?  She thought maybe Regina, and that worried her, because Regina knew about magic, and—

One last yank left Emma reeling, stumbling forward and barely catching herself before she fell on her face.  Her eyes popped open in shock, and then she suddenly realized that the darkness was gone.  She felt empty and relieved all at the same time, both herself and a stranger.  Emma’s head spun wildly for a moment, as if her equilibrium had been broken, but when it calmed down, she could focus on the swirling vortex of darkness floating in the air, on the way her hands were steady and her head was pounding.

It was so _quiet._

Emma swallowed hard.  “That’s—that’s it?”  

Rumplestiltskin nodded tightly, his eyes focused on the darkness as it whirled through the air.  The tar-like threads were starting to move faster and faster, whipping around the area between the two former Dark Ones like it was looking for a way to escape.  The wind around them was growing stronger, too, and Emma thought the lights from the house behind them were flickering.  A dangerous electricity definitely hung in the air, and she could feel the darkness fighting as Rumplestiltskin slowly turned towards the fountain.  When the Apprentice had drawn it free of Rumplestiltskin, the darkness—and those inside it—hadn’t known what to expect.  But now it did, and the elemental core of the darkness, the demon that had long since been chained to human power, did not approve.

“Can I help?” The words came out automatically, because Emma couldn’t stand there and watch this all go to pieces again.  And she sure as hell wasn’t about to watch someone _else_ become the Dark One!  Not after everything that had happened.  She’d rather take it back than let someone else suffer.

“Wait.”

“But I can see—”  Yet even before Emma’s hands could come up, she felt the _shift_.   Suddenly, the darkness compacted, the swirling tornado becoming a globe-sized ball.

_Crack!_

The black shimmering ball slammed into the fountain with terrifying swiftness.  Lightning crackled over the fountain, black and then white and then black again lightning dancing over the marble.  A whistling filled the air as the water boiled, turning a dark, dark gray before it transitioned back to clear.  Yet the water kept bubbling, and when Emma stepped forward, she could see the darkness swirling wildly within the fountain’s depths. 

“Miss Swan.”

She was too focused on watching the darkness to notice when Rumplestiltskin spoke; when she listened closely, Emma could still hear the whispers of her predecessors.  Was that because she held the dagger in her hand, or was it something else?  The words were indistinct, soft and lost against the still-boiling water in the fountain, and Emma stepped forward.  She needed to know what they were saying, needed to hear them just a little longer.  She was _used_ to them, after all.  She’d been the Dark One for three and a half months, and it had become who she was—

“Emma!”  Suddenly sharp, Rumplestiltskin’s voice broke through her haze, and Emma jerked back, turning to stare at him with wide eyes.

“I can still hear them.”

“As can I.”  He gestured at the fountain.  “If you wish to save them, now is your chance.”

“You say that like you think I shouldn’t.”  Emma couldn’t help sounding accusing; she was the Savior, wasn’t she?  Who would she be if she didn’t save people.  _A villain,_ a voice from inside her whispered, and it sounded almost like Nimue.  _That’s what you’d be._

_No.  That isn’t me._   This was who she was, for better or for worse.  Emma knew her course, and she was not going to allow herself to be distracted.

“No.  I think…I think you should.”  Rumplestiltskin looked unhappy to say those words, but he still said them.  “If they will let you.”

“Only one way to find out.” 

Taking a deep breath, Emma held the dagger aloft, focusing and—it was blank.  The dagger was _blank._   “My name is gone,” she sputtered without thinking.  “It’s blank.”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was slight, but the look in his eyes told her that he understood her soul-wrenching relief.  “And you are free.”

Taking a deep breath, Emma focused once more, summoning forth the most recent Dark One.  Much to her surprise, the process took longer than she expected.  Something shimmered in the air, something dark and light at the same time, and then simply _dissipated._ Was that all?  Emma felt like something was gone, but it didn’t feel like anything significant had left the fountain, so she tried again, pulling harder and more insistently.  Again, nothing happened for a frighteningly long moment—and then suddenly a short, balding man emerged from the fountain, stumbling as he came.

He stared at her with owl-like eyes, and Emma stared back, until the newcomer started laughing.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma demanded.  The voice was familiar, but so many times all of the Dark Ones had whispered together, their individual voices half lost in the darkness itself.

“Zoso.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was cold.

“Ah, the spinner.”  Zoso favored his predecessor with a nasty grin, but Emma was too busy swallowing what had happened to intervene.  She had expected the imp!  Where had what was left of Rumplestiltskin gone—or was that the small _something_ which had flickered in and vanished earlier?  There hadn’t been much of him left tied to the curse, not the way that the others were.  After all, like Emma, Rumplestiltskin had had the darkness drawn free of him. 

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin said no more as Zoso frowned, until he nodded to Emma.  “You had best listen to what the Savior has to say.  Left to my own devices, I’d doom you all for eternity.”

“Of course you would.”  Zoso sneered, and then turned his glare on Emma.  “As will _you_.”

Emma snorted.  “For someone who lived with me for three and a half months, you don’t know me very well, do you?”

“I know _power._   People with it will always control those without.”  Zoso’s eyes flicked back to Rumplestiltskin, and Emma opened her mouth to retort, until the realization hit her.

“You’re afraid.  You’re afraid we’ll just destroy you, anyway, or make you the Dark One again,” she breathed.  Emma hadn’t expected that.  She hadn’t expected to look at one of her predecessors’ original selves and see fear.

What kind of terrible life had driven Zoso to become the Dark One in the first place, only to find himself a slave to a the Duke of the Frontlands.  Whatever he had experienced, Zoso _was_ afraid now, terribly so.  Emma could tell by the look on his face that she’d hit his fears dead on, particularly from how he was flinching away from her, now.  If he had a truly corporeal body to run away with, Zoso probably would have tried already.

“I died to escape that curse,” Zoso snapped in response.  “I don’t want that misery back.”

“And you won’t have it,” Emma promised.  “You’re _dead_.”  She could see the magic swirling around him, giving Zoso what appeared to be human form when it was really just strings to hold his spirit together.  “Just let go.  That’s all it takes.”

“And then I vanish forever?  Just like that?  No more Zoso, goodbye to my soul?”

“No, of course not.”  She didn’t need to look at Rumplestiltskin for this one; they’d already discussed how it would work, and it was one of the things her predecessor had actually studied.  “You’re _dead_.  You’ll move on, like anyone else.”

Zoso grimaced.  “To the Underworld, where I get to face all my unfinished business.”

“You prefer nonexistence?” Rumplestiltskin cut in, sounding impatient.

Then again, when Emma glanced at the furious laps the darkness was swimming inside the fountain, she could understand his impatience.  They didn’t have much time before the wheels came right off this plan, and there were another seventeen Dark Ones to go before they were through.

“No.”  Zoso glared, but the uncertainty stole over his expression.  “Fine.  I just…let go?”

What if he couldn’t?  Emma could still see the fear in Zoso’s eyes, could see that he needed something more solid to hold on to.  _I can do that._   Stepping forward, Emma shifted the dagger to her left hand and then held her right hand out to the former Dark One.  “Take my hand, and I will show you the way.”

Zoso’s eyes went wide…yet after a moment’s hesitation, he took the hand she offered.  His touch was cold, almost ethereal, and Emma felt herself shiver.  But she wouldn’t let herself flinch.  _I am the Savior._ She knew she could do this, knew she could give Zoso the small sliver of hope he needed.  So, she channeled light magic into her palm, slowly and carefully, until she suddenly saw Zoso’s eyes soften.

Zoso smiled, and then he vanished in a flash of white light.

* * *

 

Killian was a split second too slow—either that, or Yara feinted entirely too well.  She’d seemed to be going after Doc, despite Nuckelavee orders to the contrary, but at the last moment, she skewered Dopey with a spell that cut him clean in half. 

“Dopey!” Doc’s scream rattled Killian’s bones, but the spell that hit _him_ almost threatened to do worse.

He was lucky that he’d already been in motion, or maybe Yara just didn’t have very good aim.  She might have been aiming for Doc in the first place, after all, and only the fringes of her next spell hit Killian.  That were still enough to send him toppling, though, with pain ripping through his side.  The sword he’d held somehow bounced out of his hand as he fell, and when Killian started to reach for it, he felt his vision go utterly white with agony.  Gasping, he rolled off of the side that had been cut, looking down and trying to tell himself that the wound wasn’t as bad as it felt.

It was worse.

His hands shook as Killian shoved his jacket aside, making him immediately wish that he hadn’t.  The gash in his side was more of a crevice than anything else; his guts were showing and his legs were already going numb.  It wasn’t instantly fatal, but his vision was already going sideways, and Killian felt like he was drowning above water.  Breathing was hard, and as much as he told himself that he should put pressure on the wound—as if any amount of pressure would be able to stop this bleeding!—his hands just stopped moving.  Or at least the right one did.  The left one sort of responded to his commands, inching towards his bloody side as if in slow motion, and—

“Stay still!” 

When had Mordred reached his side?  Killian blinked dizzily at his uncle as magic tore through him, harsh and fast enough to make him grunt in additional pain.  A vortex of color obscured his vision for a moment, and then Killian could finally see again.  Then, when he managed to turn his head, he realized that the colors weren’t just his overwrought imagination.  No, that was magic splashing against some sort of shield Mordred had put up.

“Wh…what?”  A cough almost made the word unintelligible, and Killian’s side _burned_.

“I’ve healed you.”  Mordred’s eyes snapped up, looking at whatever shield he’d made.  “It’s not perfect, and someone will have to do the finer work later, but it will hold.  Try not to get yourself killed in the meantime.”

“I never _tried_ to get myself killed.”  Killian tried to get up, only for his uncle to push him back down.

“It’s still setting.”

“Aye, but I’d rather do the not-dying part somewhere other than on my back.”  Killian managed to sit up, and at least Mordred let him do that much—and he _wasn’t_ going to admit how much it still hurt.  “Besides, that magical wall of yours looks to be on its last legs.” 

The light show playing over Mordred’s shield was growing stronger and stronger, and now Nuckelavee stepped right up to it, his hands burning with some sort of fire that started melting the temporary wall between the two of them.

“Stay back.”  Mordred spoke in an undertone as he rose from his crouch, and Killian scrambled to his feet, too.  “They want me dead, so—”

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself, bastard.”  Nuckelavee’s voice sang out as the fae smiled widely.  “Now that you’ve shown us that you _care_ , we’ll kill the pirate first.  Just for you.”

“Come and try it, then,” Killian replied before Mordred could speak, grinning back as he bent to pick up the sword he’d lost earlier.  “I’ve faced worse than you.”

_Though perhaps not by much._

“Killian—”

Whatever else Mordred planned to say was lost in the explosion of the shield.  Magic erupted outwards, burning and sparking.  Some of it hit Killian, making him duck and try desperately to shield his face.  More landed around Dopey’s bisected body, but the bulk of the sparks bounced back at the fae, although Killian was disappointed to see that Nuckelavee seemed to shield himself from the worst of it.  Unfortunately, that meant that the small fires around the cabin became large, and within seconds, the front porch was ablaze.  Some of the other sparks hit Doc, too, just as he picked up his discarded crossbow.  The three of them turned to face the fae together.

* * *

 

She had been wrong about why she needed the Dark One under her control, yet _not_ having Emma Swan at her beck and call was annoying.  The current Dark One still had far too many Savior-like tendencies; the darkness could obscure them, but left to her own devices, Emma would certainly try to be more Savior than Dark One.  _My plans do not have room for a Savior’s attempts to unravel them,_ she thought irritably, pacing across her living room yet another time.  Nuckelavee and Jhudora had taken the fae to destroy the weapons that the ‘heroes’ were creating—though the idea of Mordred falling in that category was laughable enough that she wished Arthur were there to see it—but that was only a side trip.

Danns’ knew what order she needed to act in.  She had enough fae to control Storybrooke, so conquer the town she would.  Once she had control, she would pull the realms together, harnessing either the Sorcerer’s or the Dark One’s power.  The latter would be easier, of course, but without the dagger…well, there was a way. 

It would infuriate Belle, but Danns’ could not afford to care about that in the short term.  Eventually, she would bring Belle around, but in the meantime, the Savior _did_ have a younger brother.  Danns’ would not hurt anyone related to Belle.  Regrettably, that included the Truest Believer, who was—ridiculously!—Belle’s step-grandson, but Emma’s brother had no such protection.  Danns’ would not even need the dagger.  All she needed was a simply placed curse or threat, and she would have what she wanted.

Still, she should not grow overconfident.  It was the _power_ she needed, or, more appropriately, a catalyst.  One would do as well as another.  The power of the Dark One was the best for her purposes, particularly since the Savior _was_ the Dark One, and that meant there were two sets of power within her.  Yet Danns’ could not afford to lose track of her true goals.  Yes, she would send her fae after the child.  That was the easiest route to having _enough_ power to drive the reaction she needed.  But it was not the only way.

In fact, the alternative method had presented itself rather neatly when Zelena had attacked Belle.  Danns’ had taken her time in killing her, but not only because she wanted Zelena to suffer.  No, she’d also wanted Zelena’s power, and after Zelena had finished melting into a puddle, Danns’ had collected what remained of her.  Unsurprisingly, Zelena’s power formed itself into a big green emerald.  And if her other plan failed, that emerald would serve Danns’ nicely.

* * *

 

One by one, Rumplestiltskin watched the Dark Ones emerge.  And one by one, he watched them take Emma Swan’s hand.

He had miscalculated in regard to how each Dark One could pass on.  Rumplestiltskin had realized that quickly, but by then there was no way to rectify his mistake.  A doorway to the Underworld could have fixed the problem, but with so much magic in the air, drawing one would be impossible.  Of course, it was possible to summon the ferry, but the Forbidden Fountain hardly contained enough water for that.  The fact that his predecessors might think they were _lying_ hadn’t occurred to him, even though it should have.  _I have been free of the darkness for too long to remember its full paranoia_ , he realized.  _Wanting_ to move on would be enough for the Dark Ones…but would any of them dare?

Of course they would not.  He should have known that, but it was Emma who had found a way.  Emma had figured out how to give the former Dark Ones enough hope that they could let go, with her light magic and her own determined nature.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t going to lie to himself; he knew that he would never be able to do what she was doing.  Yet he could watch, amazed, as one Dark One after another moved on.

* * *

 

Jhudora hammered Mordred to the ground just as Nuckelavee’s magic tore Killian into the air, ripping his recently-healed wound open and making Mordred’s nephew scream.  Head spinning, Mordred struggled to his feet, only to realize that Jhudora was playing with him when four other fae joined her to slam a fiery avalanche into him.  He managed to keep himself from being burned too badly—having been a dragon helped with that, although he would have given _anything_ for his old transformational skills to work now!  He fired off a few spells in return, but there was too much magic in the air, too much of it striking him, and Mordred had no idea if they hit or not.

He had to save Killian.  He was not going to let Gwaine’s son die like this, not when Mordred had already failed his brother.  He couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t—

Another spell slammed into him, but no matter how hard he hit the ground, Nuckelavee’s laughter still echoed in his ears.  “You do have a habit of failing family, don’t you, bastard?”

Struggling to his knees, Mordred had to spit out blood before his mouth was clear enough to speak.  “Leave him alone.”  His head was spinning, but Mordred had magic to draw on, and he could get through this.  Even if it killed him.  “It’s me you want dead.”

“But it’s _him_ you care about.  He even _looks_ like his father, doesn’t he, Jhudora?”

Jhudora’s eyes glinted hungrily.  “He’s dying rather like him as well.”

“A fitting family tradition to—”

Mordred’s attack caught Nuckelavee in the midsection, and savaged him badly enough that the fae almost dropped Killian.  Unfortunately, that made Killian cry out, and even as Mordred summoned fire and power to his own hands, the ground underneath Mordred gave way and a tornado of darkness surrounded him.  His own part-faery heritage kept the magic from chewing large chunks off of him, but the wind whipping at him still opened cuts and gouges in his skin.  It felt like every pain center he had was on fire, but Mordred struggled to focus past it, to find _something_ that would let him free Killian.  If he could just teleport Killian away, he could deal with whatever the fae threw at him.  Even if it killed him, well, he was living on borrowed time, wasn’t he?

“Now, do you want your nephew to live?” Nuckelavee pitched his voice high enough for Mordred to hear it over the wind, and then the whirlwind slowed enough to trap him but not block his vision.  _How inconsiderately considerate of them,_ he thought, struggling for magic that would not answer.  Every time Mordred tried to reach for Killian, his spells were blocked.  There were too many damned fae.  Every opening he found wasn’t enough.

“Of course I do.”  Mordred coughed blood on himself again, but it wasn’t that bad.  His injuries were survivable, anyway.  For a sorcerer.

Killian was not doing as well; he was clearly trying not to moan in pain as he dangled in the air, bleeding out slowly. 

“Then you die.  And he _might_ live.”

Mordred didn’t hesitate.  “Fine.”

He couldn’t get through their magic to save Killian, so what did it matter?  Mordred might escape, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave his nephew to die.  Not after he’d failed—

“No.”

Dark power raced outwards even as the new voice spoke, opening a giant gash across Jhudora’s back and ripping an identical one from Nuckelavee’s right shoulder to the left side of his face.  Both fae screeched in fury and pain, but the magic around Mordred didn’t weaken until another scythe of magic raced outwards from Morgan’s hands, slamming every fae into the ground.  Killian landed with rather more grace, though Morgan still had to catch him before he collapsed.

“Hello, Mother.”  Mordred shook off the tornado of dark faery magic and forced himself to his feet, refusing to show how relieved he was.  Or how much he hurt.

“Do you have a death wish, child?” His mother’s left hand flashed upwards, throwing a wall of fire at the fae as they tried to regroup.  Mordred joined it with one of his own, and watched Morgan’s spell transition into something darker and sharper.  _Her magic really was colored by that attack of Emma’s, wasn’t it?_

“Of course not.”

“Bullshit.”  Killian wheezed audibly, clutching his side but now standing under his own power. “I heard what you said.”

“I was—I wasn’t going to let him die.”  Glaring at his mother, Mordred dared her to argue.  Morgan seemed to know what he was thinking, and merely shrugged, but Killian looked offended.

“You weren’t supposed to die for me!” his nephew snarled. 

Magic roared towards them before Mordred could answer, a giant wall of darkness and pain.  He and Morgan barely managed to stop it together, and Morgan turned towards the two irritably.

“It is time we left.  You two can argue later.”

Mordred allowed his mother’s magic to teleport them away, leaving behind a burning cabin and eight angry fae. 

* * *

 

Emma hadn’t been expecting _Merlin_ to be the second-to-last Dark One who emerged from the fountain.  She’d known that he had killed Nimue, and that he’d gone into the Vault of the Dark One to allow Baelfire to return to the land of the living, but somehow, she still hadn’t expected to see him.  Yet there he was, stepping out of the fountain like he did such things every day with an easy smile on his face.

“I knew you two would find a way to end this forever.”

“I’m glad someone was certain.”  Rumplestiltskin’s dry response made Emma quirk a smile.  She was tired, and she could _still_ feel the pull of the darkness, but they were almost done.  So, she held her hand out to Merlin.

“Are you ready?”

He shook his head.  “I’ll wait for Nimue, actually.  I’ll be ready when she is.”

Emma blinked, but she could see the logic in that.  Her connection to the curse meant that she could still feel a bit from her predecessors, and the depth of Merlin’s love for Nimue—and his howling regret—was staggering.  She’d only ever encountered him at the Vault of the Dark One, but now that he’d stepped free of the darkness, she could read his face as well as she could his soul.  Merlin had unfinished business that had nothing to do with the Underworld, and he had loved Nimue more than his own life.  _He killed her out of love,_ Emma realized.  Merlin had hoped to free Nimue when he killed her, only to find that the darkness kept its former hosts close and trapped.  None of them could find peace so long as _anyone_ was the Dark One, no matter how they yearned to use death as an escape.

Squaring her shoulders, she raised the dagger one last time, pulling Nimue from the well.  But the sight of Nimue made Emma blink in confusion.  She had seen the first Dark One more than once, had seen Nimue in all her scaled and furious glory.  Emma had been kind of looking forward to seeing the _real_ Nimue—but now she wasn’t.

Nimue was still the Dark One.

“Expecting something else?”  Nimue’s smile was dark and mocking.

“You’re—what the hell?” Emma demanded before she could stop herself.

Nimue twitched a shrug.  “I am what I am.”

“No, you aren’t.  Or at least you don’t have to be.”  Nimue clearly  hadn’t noticed Merlin when she’d stepped out of the Fountain, and she whirled around to stare when he spoke, freezing just a foot away from the Fountain.

“…Merlin?”

His smile was crooked, but the force of the affection shining out of his eyes almost slammed Emma back a step.  “Hello, Nimue.”

“But you’re—you were—you were _gone_.  You weren’t with us!”  Nimue looked almost comically confused, broken and dangerous all at the same time.  “When you died, you just _vanished._ ”  She gestured angrily at Rumplestiltskin.  “And then your power found the _Spinner_.”

Emma glanced at her predecessor, but he only shrugged, speaking softly.  “I think we’d best leave them to settle things.”

“Yeah.  I think so.” 

Neither Merlin nor Nimue seemed to hear a word they said; those two had gravitated together as if drawn together by magnets.  Merlin’s expression was full of the regret Emma could feel from him, and his hands were tentative when he reached for Nimue.

“I sequestered my power so that it couldn’t feed the darkness.”  Merlin’s shrug was guilty.  “I hoped that I might linger between life and death, to return when needed.”

Her face clouded immediately.  “To destroy the darkness once and for all.”

“Yes.  But I lost the battle to control the host the Apprentice chose for me, and I’m glad for that.”  Merlin glanced at Emma and Rumplestiltskin.  “It turns out that was a battle neither you nor I was destined to end.”

Nimue snorted.  “I think that was obvious around eight hundred years ago.” 

“You’re right, although I couldn’t see it.”  He looked away briefly, grimacing.  “Can you forgive me for killing you?”

“Forgive you?” Her laugh was harsh.  “It’s the only thing I never blamed you for.  I wanted to die, Merlin.”

“I hoped you’d find peace, not centuries of servitude and darkness.”

“We all get what we deserve, in the end.”  Nimue shrugged.

“And now?” Merlin’s voice was tender enough to make Emma’s heart ache, but she knew what he was talking about.  Nimue was still all scales and sharp edges, still the Dark One even when none of the others were. 

“I can’t shake it,” Nimue whispered.  “I want to.  I want to move on, but…”

“Let me help.”  Merlin drew close, kissing her gently.  Emma didn’t want to hold her breath, but she did—until slowly, Nimue’s glittery scales melted away, revealing a beautiful woman.  And Nimue _smiled._

She turned to Emma, still holding Merlin’s hand.  “We’re ready.”

In the end, Emma didn’t even need to step forward.  Merlin and Nimue’s spirits faded away on their own, moving onwards to whatever fate awaited them.  Emma watched them go with a smile that felt surprisingly her own, feeling a weight lift from her soul that she had not realized she still carried.  They were _gone_.  No matter what happened from here on out, the former Dark Ones were all free.  They could be at peace.  Their centuries of enslavement were over, and Emma felt _light_.

* * *

 

Mordred teleported her eldest idiot of a son and Killian to her own home, where they could heal their wounds—or, more precisely, where she could heal Killian’s while Mordred dealt with his own.  Both looked a little mulish and annoyed with one another, but she was not about to tolerate another spat.  _All_ of her offspring seemed to carry the same ability to care too much while denying it, and she truly did hope that Belle’s daughter would break the ridiculous cycle.  _Hopefully a girl will at least be able to properly display her feelings, without using sarcasm, anger, or petulant pouting to disguise them._

Speaking of petulant pouting, Mordred was clearly warming up to one of his little bouts.  “Is something bothering you, Mordred?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, don’t you bloody start.”  Killian rolled his eyes.  “First you fight like you have a death wish, and now—”

“It’s _nothing_.”  Mordred cut him off with a glare.  “Nothing we can fix, anyway.”  His shoulders slumped.  “I just promised that we wouldn’t hurt the damned cabin, and it’s burned _down_.”

Killian blinked.  “Oh.  Well, Uncle Crocodile can cry if he wishes.  It’s only a bloody cabin.”

“It’s a cabin I wanted to _live_ in.”  Mordred had his petulant look on again.  “I liked the view.”

“And you don’t like living with your mother.”  Not laughing took all of Morgan’s self-control, particularly when Mordred shot her a long-suffering look.

“I did offer up my ship, but he wasn’t interested.”  Killian didn’t look particularly sorry for Mordred, either.

“I am not sleeping on the _Jewel of the Realm!”_

“She’s the _Jolly Roger,_ Your Majesty.  I don’t care if you paid for the damned ship back in the day.”  Killian glared, and Morgan had to cut in before they started fighting like children.

“Enough!  Must I send you both to your rooms without dinner?”

“If you’re cooking, Mother, I’ll choose isolation.”  Mordred snorted.  “I have tasted what you call _food_ , and if there’s one good thing about your relationship with Maleficent, it’s the leftovers she leaves behind.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to glare.  Why did her offspring—in all _three_ generation—have to be so damned cheeky?  Of course, thinking of her offspring left her remembering what her younger son was currently up to, and that reawakened her earlier worry.  Hopefully, Mordred and Killian’s little battle had been distraction enough.  If Danns’ realized that they were hiding something far more meaningful from them, she would attempt to disrupt the process.

Morgan had seen the darkness freed twice in her lifetime.  She did not think she would survive a third.

* * *

 

The Savior’s work was done.  Now it was the Sorcerer’s turn.

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin stepped up to the Forbidden Fountain after Merlin and  Nimue vanished.  He was happy for them—and he could tell True Love when he saw it—but freeing the Dark Ones had always been a secondary consideration for him.  Once, he’d promised Merlin that he would finish his work, that he would eliminate the threat of the darkness once and for all.  Today, Rumplestiltskin needed to keep that promise.  If he didn’t, no one else would.

The darkness was still swirling in the depths of the fountain, racing around the edges faster and faster.  He could almost feel the anger reverberating outwards, and the water was beginning to boil.  The bubbles themselves were starting to turn black, and Rumplestiltskin knew that the darkness was turning desperate.  He had trapped it there, trapped it in the water so that Emma could free the other Dark Ones, but even his spells could  not hold it in place for long.  Even now, he could see them fraying at the edges, could see the small ways in which the sheer power and force of the darkness was beginning to unravel his carefully constructed web.  The darkness would break free soon, and then it could do _anything_.  The thought of that power on the loose was enough to make Rumplestiltskin swallow, enough to make a cold shiver of fear race down his spine.

He wanted nothing to do with this, wanted to get away, wanted to—

_No.  Run now and_ deserve _to be labeled a coward,_ he told himself firmly.  Rumplestiltskin might never learn to banish his fears, but he could learn to fight through them.  Forcing his instinctive need to flee down, he glanced over his shoulder at Belle as the magic built around him.

She nodded, giving him an encouraging smile.  He could see her lips moving, even if he couldn’t hear her whisper over the rising winds.  _I believe in you._

Warmth rushed through Rumplestiltskin, and he returned her nod tightly before turning back to the fountain.  He had to be ready.  Any minute from now, the darkness would break loose, and he would have to be ready.  Magic filled his palms, light and dark magic joined together, purpose crystallizing into spells that he had crafted so carefully over the past few months.  Rumplestiltskin knew what had to be done, and he knew that he had to do it.

Then the darkness reared out of the water, splashing burning power towards him, and Rumplestiltskin’s hands snapped up.  Magic slammed into magic, sparks filling the courtyard with a rumble deeper than thunder, and for one cataclysmic moment, the darkness hung in the air, whipping back and forth as if torn between choosing a host and attacking Rumplestiltskin.  The spells he had hit it with didn’t seem dangerous to that now-solely elemental darkness.  Two of them were for show, anyway, chewing at the edges of the darkness without doing any real damage.  What remained of the darkness was not clever enough to see the threat of the others—or at least not until the four remaining spells joined together in the middle of the cloud.

Then they _exploded_.

Several people watching yelped in shock and fear, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t have time to duck.  He brought his hands up again, grabbing the darkness itself and tearing, untwisting, _un_ weaving.  His fingers flashed through the air, pale against the lightshow of black, gray, and furious red, throwing threads of white light between the larger pieces as he untangled the others.  Watching power shift, Rumplestiltskin tore off one piece and then another, casting each into the growing dark of the night.  The larger pieces he caught and dismantled again, once, twice, and finally five times.  Power roared through him as he worked, Merlin’s power that had become his, shielding him as the darkness reached out for Rumplestiltskin.  Some of it crept into him, but his previously-whitened heart weathered it well enough.  Most he shrugged aside, not noticing the slight burns on his arms as he worked.

With one final roar, what was left of the darkness—the dregs of the elemental demon that the sorcerers of Lyonesse had once captured—threw itself at him.  But Rumplestiltskin merely stepped aside, catching the darkness in the air where he had stood, and pulling it apart with one final heave.  Its magic fell to pieces, sinking into the ground, the air, and some back into the Forbidden Fountain.  But it was gone.

The darkness was _gone_.

Chest heaving, Rumplestiltskin looked down at the ground beneath his feet.  The grass around him was burned black and dead—but even as he watched, black became green, and the magic rolling off of him _healed_ the wounds that the darkness had caused.  A gentle, warm wind rolled around him, erasing the burns even as he noticed them, and finally reaching out to the Forbidden Fountain.  Its dark-stained marble was cleaned in a sweep of wind, and the black waters slowly cleared.

A hand landed on his arm, making Rumplestiltskin jump.  “Is it gone?”

_“Papa? What has happened to you?”  Brown eyes watched him, full of worry and fear, but Rumplestiltskin was too high on power to understand._

_“You’re safe, Bae. Do you feel safe, son?”_

_“No. I’m frightened.”_

“Yeah.”  Rumplestiltskin turned to face his son with a smile.  “It’s gone, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Nine—“The Flickering Fairy-Cycle Wheeled”, in which Emma and Rumplestiltskin have a heart-to-heart, Belle learns an uncomfortable truth about her grandmother’s goals, David and Emma bully Blue, Danns’ strikes at a horrible new target, and Emma makes a fateful decision.


	109. The Flickering Fairy-Cycle Wheeled

Even when the next day dawned bright and cheerfully, Regina still wasn’t sure she believed that the Dark One was truly gone from the world.  Two days later, she was _certain_ that she was dreaming, yet Emma seemed normal enough.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t become the Dark One again, either—though Regina was sure she could deal with _that_ better than she’d dealt with the damned ‘Dark Swan’—and no one else in town seemed to be infected.  They really seemed to be out of the woods on that front, which meant they only had a war to fight.

And she had a visitor, of course.

“Please don’t start singing.  Robin warned me about the things you get up to.”  Regina managed to smile in greeting as King (?) Richard walked in, but his thunderous expression didn’t help her feel very pleasant.

“My oldest and dearest friend is dead.” 

Regina blinked, staring at the woebegone look on Richard’s face.  “Come again?”

“Gareth.  Oh, Gareth…” Richard erupted into a funeral dirge before Regina could get a word in.  “When he was my buddy, everything was beautiful.

“Every hour we spent together, lives within my heart.

“And when I was sad, he was there to drink my beers.

“And when he was happy, so was I, when he loved—”

“Okay, _stop!_ ” Regina finally managed to cut him off, but not before a headache started blooming behind her eyes.  _Robin did warn me, but do they have to sing so_ loudly _?_  She wanted to shout at Richard, but stopped herself.  Regina knew that today wasn’t one of her pregnancy’s better days; she was cranky and felt like her feet were swollen twice their normal size.  Gritting her teeth, Regina fought to keep her tone level.  “Tell me what happened.”

“Tad asked his daughter to look at his body.  She said it looked like his heart had been _crushed_ , but I told her that was ridiculous.  How does someone do that?”  Richard looked pitifully confused, and Regina felt her breath catch.

“Yeah, that would sound weird to someone from another world.”  She sighed.  “Look, it’s done with magic.  I’d offer to demonstrate, but I don’t think you’re interested.”

“No!  Of course not!  Do I look insane?”

Regina shrugged.  “Well, now that you mention it—”

“Can you help him?”

“No.”  Regina had to stop herself before she called Richard an idiot.  _He doesn’t know.  He’s from a land where magic consists of songs and some ridiculous thing called D’DEW._ She sucked in a deep breath.  “Magic doesn’t work like that.  It can’t bring back the dead.”

“Oh.”  Richard deflated.  “But why would someone _do_ that?  And who would?”

“Assuming your friend didn’t have any magical enemies… People do it because they want to prove how powerful they are by hurting others.”  Regina remembered that feeling all too well.  “Given what’s going on in town right now, I’d bet on the fae being responsible.”

Richard scowled.  “I’m of half a mind to march up and tell that Black Fairy _exactly_ what I think of her little terror tactics.  Why, back in our world, we battled against the DEL to—”

“ _Now_ you’re sounding insane.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “And you’d look like it, too, if you arrived on Danns’ a’Bhàis’ doorstep like a lunatic crying for justice.  She doesn’t _care_ about justice.  The only way you’re going to get it is if we beat her.”

“I may look the fool, but I do know that.”  Now it was Richard’s turn to sigh, and to turn serious.  “It’s just that Gareth…well, he did a great many foolish and cruel things in his life, but he was my _friend._ ”

She swallowed, thinking of Snow, who might have once said much the same about her.  In some ways, Richard reminded Regina of her late stepdaughter, with his boundless optimism and good heart.  From what she’d heard, he had filled a role more like the one Regina had once embraced so wholeheartedly, but it was obvious that his heart had never been in being evil.  He was a good man, one who had just lost his friend, and she felt bad for him.

“I know.”  Regina managed to soften her voice, wishing someone like Charming was around to be kind and sympathetic.  _Neither of those traits is exactly my specialty._ “And I know you want revenge.  But we can’t afford to do anything stupid right now.”

“Just promise me that we’re going to do _something_ soon.”  Richard met her eyes squarely.  “My people are telling stories about how food is going bad, and how the prettiest young men and women are disappearing.  Everyone knows that something is coming, and I refuse to sit and wait while people are hurt.”

“We are,” Regina promised, and it wasn’t quite a lie.  She’d heard the same things; August had disappeared, and so had several others.  King Francis was hardly the only one who had been killed by Lamorak and his goons, either.  David and his helpers were giving as good as they got when they _caught_ the killers, but too many slipped through their hands.

They had to go on the offensive, but how?

* * *

 

Emma felt uncomfortable stopping by the pawn shop shortly after it opened, but she knew that she needed to.  She’d had her first good night of sleep in what felt like ages, and when she’d woken up, the previous day’s events hadn’t turned out to be a dream.  She’d been a little surprised by that, and more than a little unnerved by the silence in her mind.   The latter was probably going to take a lot of getting used to, and she ended up staring at the improbably blank dagger for way too long before setting out.

The sign said “open”, though, so she pushed the door open and walked in, kris dagger still in hand.

“Miss Swan.”  Rumplestiltskin looked up from whatever he’d been doing immediately, a slight smile crossing his face.  His eyes did flick to the dagger in her hand, but even though they both knew she could kill him with it, he didn’t look unduly worried.  “I trust you’re not here to stick that in me?”

“No.”  Emma put the dagger down on the counter as quickly as she could.  “I actually came to give it to you.  I don’t want it.”

That made an eyebrow go up.  “Why ever not?”

Emma swallowed.  “I know that being the Dark One will change me forever, but…I want to be myself again.  With this thing sitting around, I won’t.”  She shrugged.  “And it’s not like I can bury it in the woods somewhere to keep it out of the wrong hands, so I figured I should give it to you.”

“No, I wouldn’t recommend that.”  But his laugh was surprisingly amused. 

“What’s so funny?”  She couldn’t help giving him a strange look.

“You really have no idea that I buried this during the curse, do you?” Rumplestiltskin picked up the dagger.

“No…?”

“Ah.”  He studied it for a moment.  “The last thing I wanted was one of Regina’s goons finding it when there was no magic to protect the dagger’s location.  That would have been unfortunate.”

Emma could see where this was going.  “Because you always planned to bring magic here.”

“I did, yes.”  He didn’t look ashamed in the slightest, and while Emma had wished there was no magic in Storybrooke a time or two, she had kind of gotten used to having it. 

“Anyway, I don’t want the damned thing.  And you seem to be pretty good at keeping it away from people, so I figured that you’re the logical one to hang onto it.”  Emma glanced down at the counter, gathered her courage, and then made herself look up again.  “And I wanted to thank you.  For freeing me.”

“There’s no need for that.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was surprisingly gentle.  “I know…well, I know better than anyone what you were going through.  You handled it far better than I, even in your worst moments.  Freeing you was the least I could do.”

“You still didn’t have to.”  Emma snorted wryly.  “It’s not like we’ve always liked each other.”  She swallowed.  “And you didn’t have to give me the dagger back in the Fae lands, either.  I didn’t thank you for that, and I should have.”

“Weren’t you the one who once told me that you would save me because we were family?”  Dark eyes met hers, and then Rumplestiltskin merely shrugged, the gesture laden with meaning.

“Yeah.”  That made her swallow, though.  There had been a lot of times where that ‘family’ bond had been strained, but maybe they had a chance to put things right on that front, once and for all.  “But I still want to thank you.”

“Then you’re welcome.  But as I said, I know how it feels.  And I won’t lie and say it wasn’t terribly satisfying to see the darkness broken apart so that it can’t ever drive someone else to the depths it did us.”

“Tell me about it,” Emma breathed.  She’d never be the same, but Emma was all right with that.  She’d learned a lot of things while she was the Dark One, and while some of them had been really unpleasant lessons, she did think she would come out stronger.

Or at least she could be a little more understanding, anyway. 

* * *

 

Luck had brought David there as much as anything else.  Ella had continued her babysitting service after Francis’ death, and she looked after Neal most days.  David hated being away from  his son, but even if he was willing to be Sheriff—or co-Sheriff, now, he supposed—with a baby on his back, it was far too dangerous these days.  Fortunately, he was able to see Neal more now that Emma was back on the job, and having a magical sheriff really did put a cramp in some of Lamorak’s schemes.  Still, he’d taken a break during lunch to go play with his son, only to find Ella unconscious and a fae reaching into Neal’s crib.

David didn’t even think.  He just drew the silver-tipped sword he wore, and ran the fae through.  Somehow, Neal slept right through the _thump_ of a body hitting the floor and David calling Emma to help with this new problem.  In fact, Neal didn’t wake up until after the body was gone, which was probably the only good thing to happen that day.

* * *

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or do I have to guess?” Belle asked that same afternoon.  Rumplestiltskin had come to meet her in the library—they’d planned to go to Granny’s for lunch —but she stopped him before he could open the door for her.

The question made him stop cold.  “What?”

“You’ve been having nightmares again.”  His wife’s voice was soft, but the words immediately brought to mind the very thing Rumplestiltskin had been trying so hard _not_ to think of for nine days.

“I—I know.”  A denial had been on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to stop himself at the last moment.  _She deserves honesty, and I promised to try._   “I keep hoping they’ll go away.”

Belle stepped close, touching his face gently.  “Is it Zelena again?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head, melting into her touch.  “It’s…well, it’s actually nothing that happened.  Just something your grandmother said.”

“When?”

“During our fight.  She caught me with Gleipnir, and if Mordred hadn’t intervened…” Rumplestiltskin shuddered before he could stop himself. 

“What did she say, Rumple?”  Belle took one of his hands, but he could hear the protective steel beneath her worried words.  For a moment, all he could do was marvel that he’d earned the love of this brilliant and fierce woman—and for a moment, he almost felt sorry for Danns’ for having crossed her.

Once, Rumplestiltskin might have already told Belle what Danns’ had said, fearing that Belle would turn away from him and choose her grandmother.  In his more cold-blooded days, he would have been certain that he didn’t have enough to offer her, that nothing would _truly_ keep her by his side.  Now, however, he knew differently.  And as much as he wanted to avoid the topic, if only to keep from causing Belle pain, he knew that he couldn’t.  She deserved the truth.

“She…she said that she would break me to her will.”  Images swam through his mind, making Rumplestiltskin shudder, but he plugged onwards.  “That she would force me to her side, no matter how painful it would be.”

“Oh, Rumple.”  Immediately, Belle’s arms closed around him, and Rumplestiltskin let himself sink into her, closing his eyes and holding on tightly.  On one hand, he’d been riding an absolute high since facing down the Black Fairy and her fae, having helped free Emma and save his brother’s life.  On the other…he couldn’t get her words out of his mind. 

“She almost had me.  If Mordred hadn’t been there…”  He cut off in a shuddering breath, and felt Belle cupping his face in her hands, kissing his forehead.   Light magic flared inside him, just a little, and it helped push back the horrors.

“But he was, and we are _not_ going to let that happen to you.  None of us are.”  The determination in Belle’s voice made him open his eyes, and she kissed him again.  “And no one can control you, now, either.  You’re going to be all right.”

“I hope so.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “I hate feeling like this.  Being afraid makes me feel so _weak_ , so unworthy.”

“Fear is human, and I will _never_ think less of you for it.”  Suddenly, Belle grabbed one of his hands, bringing it down to rest on her stomach.  “Baelfire doesn’t, and neither will our daughter.”

“You give me courage, Belle,” he whispered.  “You always have.”

“I think you’ve found your own courage.”  She smiled.  “I know you don’t believe it, Rumple, but you’ve come so far.  And I will always believe in you.”

Rumplestiltskin just kissed her.  Being with Belle chased away the worst of his demons, and every moment with her reminded him of what he had to fight for.  Against all odds, he had a wife and a family who he loved—and who loved him in return!  Four months ago, he’d been lying in coma on the floor of his shop, just a husk that the darkness could assume control of.  He’d failed to write the darkness out of the world, had failed to save his son, and had destroyed his own marriage.  Such a short time later, everything was different.  _He_ was different, but Rumplestiltskin would never forget what it had cost to get here.

And if he had to fight to protect those he loved, he would.

* * *

 

Having his daughter back was exhilarating.  No, it was better than exhilarating—it was an almost heartbreaking level of relief.  Emma was no longer the Dark One; she was herself again, free to make her choices and be who David had always known she could be.  Sometimes, she reminded him painfully of Snow, with her stubbornness and her drive, but most of the time, he was just glad to see _Emma_ back.  Particularly now.

“Look, we don’t have time to negotiate.”  Emma glared at Blue, crossing her arms.  “Either you can help us or not.  If not, that’s fine.  We’ll go somewhere else.”

“I never said that I couldn’t help.”  Blue looked tired and annoyed, but David didn’t feel too bad for her.  She’d dug her heels in when he had asked if Ella could make her new daycare here in the convent, and Emma was having none of that.

_When Blue said that she wanted to help us from here on out, I was actually anticipating some_ help _.  Not just having her fairies enchant some of the ‘bomb shelters’ that the dwarves made._ David wanted to believe in Blue, but sometimes the senior fairy made that really hard.  Sighing, he echoed Emma’s sentiments.  “Then tell us what you can do, because if you don’t want the children here, we need to find another option.  And fast.”

“A fae tried to take Neal.”  Emma’s eyes flashed darkly for a moment, but then she was back to herself.  “Just an hour ago.”

“And you should know better than _we_ do about the stories of fae stealing children,” David added.

“Of course I do.”  Blue shifted uneasily.  “Though Danns’ is generally not interested in children unless she needs leverage.”

Emma shot him a quick glance, but David was too busy shivering.  He’d had to fight against the urge to bring Neal with him, in the end only leaving his son at the daycare because Regina had promised to stay with him until David could return.  Once, the idea of letting Snow’s stepmother watch over his son would have terrified him, but now it left David incredibly relieved.

“What kind of _leverage_?” Emma demanded after a moment of ominous silence.

“Against you, I would think.”  Blue shrugged unapologetically.  “If Danns’ has promised not to harm anyone related to Belle, she cannot exert leverage over you with Henry.  That leaves your brother.”  The senior fairy studied the pair for a moment.  “Although she may want David’s allegiance, as well.”

“That’s not happening.”  David felt cold.  _I have to protect_ both _my children,_ he thought desperately.  _Snow isn’t here to do it, so I’m all they have._

Emma shook her head, eyes narrowed and angry.  “Definitely not.”

“We cannot afford that, no.”  Blue took a deep breath.  “I will help you keep the children safe.  There are enough fairies here to help keep watch, and I believe that Nova has already been helping Princess Ella.  We will set up a nursery immediately.”

“Thank you.”  David gave Blue a respectful nod, and pretended not to notice when Emma refused to do the same.  Emma still wasn’t happy with Blue, and he suspected that Blue was no longer so fond of Emma as she once had been. 

Blue had called Emma _tainted_ when she’d been the Dark One.  Did she still feel that way?  A few months earlier, David would have argued that of course Blue didn’t, but now he wasn’t so sure.  The world seemed a lot grayer than it had when Emma became the Dark One, much more complicated.  Telling the difference between right and wrong was harder than ever before, and yet David felt like he was more honest, now.  Emma becoming the Dark One had forced him to confront a lot of ‘truths’ he’d once believed to be self-evident, and David knew that he’d grown.  They all had.

* * *

 

She had not expected this.

“She is no longer the Dark One.”  Nuckelavee’s voice was a hiss, and he looked put out; he’d been interested in Emma Swan, and desperately wanted to break her.  Danns’ had considered allowing him to do so once or twice, but now that option appeared to be off the table.

Or at least no longer so easy to accomplish.

“Are you certain?”  Danns’ had to fight to keep her voice level.  Things were not going well.  Oh, her people had begun to strike at the town, terrorizing people and bringing the dark legends back to life.  Everyone in Storybrooke and Musicbrooke was beginning to understand how dear it would cost them to cross the fae, and yet she was losing in crucial ways.  And now… _this._

“Yes, My Lady.”  Nuckelavee scowled.  “I saw her today—and I saw her use magic after the King slew Ankou.”

Another failure.  Ankou had been supposed to fetch the (now former) Dark One’s brother, and yet she’d managed to get herself killed.  Danns’ felt her fury building, demanding an outlet, but she throttled it back with an effort.  “And do you know _how_ this was accomplished?”

“I think we must assume it was the Sorcerer.”

_I should have taken him.  Now I have lost Gleipnir, and I must reinforce my other set of magic-blocking bands.  Even then, I will have to find a way to keep him from exploiting every thrice-bedamned loophole he can find; Rumplestiltskin is far too clever._   Danns’ had wanted to bring him to her willingly, since he was Belle’s True Love, but the new Sorcerer was proving to be a thorn in her side that she had not expected. And now, if he had freed the Dark One to become the Savior once more…oh, that burned.

“Of course it was,” she snapped before she could stop herself.  How had she underestimated Rumplestiltskin so thoroughly?  The fact that a human who was less than a fifth of her age could do this was humiliating.

Nuckelavee, however, knew how to bring her back into good humor.  “Where shall we strike, My Lady?”

“I know just the place.”

Her careful planning would not be upset by a true Dance of Death, after all.  In fact, doing so might distract the heroes long enough to let her get what she really wanted—or, better yet, she could set a trap inside the dance itself.  _That will work well indeed._

* * *

 

“Where the hell _are_ we?” They’d been in separate underground cells until some fae or another had felt the need to consolidate everyone, which meant that the young squire had been shoved in with August for some reason or another. 

He didn’t mind the company as much as he minded the questions.

“I’d guess we’re somewhere beneath the town, though not in the mines.”  He shrugged.  “I couldn’t say where.  I’ve never really been the mining sort.  I usually leave that to the dwarves.”

“Yeah, but why are we here?” The younger man suddenly blinked, and held out a hand.  “I’m Sid, by the way.”

“August.”  He refused to introduce himself as Pinocchio, even if August wasn’t sure if a guy from the Land of Music would understand the reference.  _I hope not, anyway._

“So…why are we here?  Any ideas?”

“No good ones.  I’m not so up on old world fae lore, but if the stuff written in the Land Without Magic is any indicator, we’re here because they like to collect good looking, um, pets.”

Sid arched an eyebrow, looking August up and down.  “Somehow, that doesn’t feel like a compliment.”

“Yeah.”  He snorted out a laugh.  “I could do with being ugly right now.”

“So, what do you do, anyway?  I’m a squire—or I was, anyway, until the fellow I was squiring for was killed.”

“I, um…I’m an author.  I write stories.”  August wasn’t sure if he had any skills that would have been relevant in the Enchanted Forest.  He’d done a little woodworking with his father since being aged up again, but truthfully, he much any good at it.  And it was boring.

“You’re a scribe?”

That made him scowl.  “Think bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Yeah.  Like novels and travel books, and going all over the world.  Kind of, um, like a bard in our old world.”  August was more than just a _scribe_ ; he wrote real books, and wasn’t at the beck and call of some noble.  He’d even started writing a set of stories based on what had happened in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest, because who in the ‘real’ world would ever believe these stories?

“You say so, man.”  Sid shrugged, and then wandered over to the stand near the bars.  “I’m more worried about how there isn’t even a _door_ on these cells.”

“That’s magic for you.”  August could lock pick with the best of them, but there wasn’t any lock to pick here, which was more than a little worrisome.

“Yeah, but how do we, I dunno, get _around_ it?”

That was a question that August didn’t have the answer to, but he’d read far more novels than he’d written, so he started looking around for something to dig with.  _There are worse heroes to emulate than the Count of Monte Cristo_ , he decided.  Digging their way out might take a lot of time, but it wasn’t like there were a lot of other ways to entertain themselves.

* * *

 

Victor hated working in a hospital, sometimes.  So many days were full of dull monotony, and the rest were full of idiot nurses who cut off halfway through calling him for some emergency and then didn’t pick the phone up when he called back.  So, he trudged out of the maternity ward, up the stairs, around three corners—and a janitor’s cart that was lying on its side like it had been run over by a drunk elephant.  Finally, he made it to the Oncology Department, shoving open the double doors with a scowl.  Nurse Wilson was really going to—

People were dancing.

No, scratch that, _everyone_ was dancing, and before Victor could even start thinking about calling someone, his feet carried him forward to join the others.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” The words snarled out of him as Victor found himself joining hands with a drunkenly smiling janitor—was it _this_ idiot who had upended his cart?  Victor wanted to say something about that, but he was starting to smile, too, and it hurt.  _Bastards._

Two patients whipped by as Victor struggled, one dancing on a broken leg and one that _should_ have been in a wheelchair after gastric bypass surgery.  Hell, Victor had performed that surgery himself that morning, and the woman wasn’t supposed to be out of bed!  Yet when he tried to find words to tell her that, he found himself laughing.  Reckless joy just built up within him, bubbling over wildly, and no matter how much his mind objected, his body seemed to think that this was fun.

Even if no doctor in the world could ignore the way patients were falling left and right.

* * *

 

Ruby had thought she’d learned a lot about running a diner from Granny, but she still found herself discovering new things all the time.  Her most recent discovery was the fact that the _best_ time to take a little break was in the dead period between lunch and dinner.  Ruby had had to give up her morning runs to make sure the breakfast rush got off to a good start, but she’d learned she could steal a little ‘me time’ between the two later meals of the day.  So, she and Mulan had taken to going for a run around two every afternoon.  It gave them some time together—not to mention away from the diner—and the endorphins really did make Ruby feel better.

At least until they heard a scream just as they were approaching the convent.  Glancing at one another, Ruby and Mulan both broke into a sprint.  Mulan outpaced her after a moment, leaving Ruby to wish that she could take wolf form—but she didn’t need her old form to smell what was ahead.  The scent was one she’d detected all too often lately, that of fresh trees and mushrooms, and Ruby knew without asking anyone that it was the fae.  _More than one, too_.

“Philip!”

Hearing her old friend’s name only made Mulan run faster, and Ruby strained to keep up.  But by the time she came around the last corner, legs pumping wildly, she already knew she was too late.  Mulan was closer, but they were still too far away—

“Cowards!  Come back and fight!” Mulan bellowed, but she was too late.  The two fae had already disappeared.

“Mulan!”  Aurora looked up at them in panic as Ruby slammed to a stop behind her friend.  “Please, you have to help us—Philip—he’s—”

Ruby could smell it already, even when Mulan rushed to Aurora’s side and tried to put pressure on the gaping wound in Philip’s chest.  There was too much blood, and death hung heavily in the air.

“He’s gone, Aurora.”  She had to swallow hard before the words would come out.  “I’m so sorry.”

“No.  No, no, no, no…”  Aurora started to sob, and Mulan just quietly gathered her into her arms.  There was nothing they could do to make this better, and they both knew it.  The only high point was that Aurora and Philip’s young son—Philip Junior—was safely inside the convent, and that the fae hadn’t been able to hurt him, too.

* * *

 

Morgan disliked cell phones on principle, but even she had to admit that they were useful.  Even when one rang when she was in the midst of a load of _very_ mundane laundry.  _Then again, perhaps a distraction is welcome right now._ If there was one thing Morgan missed about the old world, it was having servants to do household chores.  She’d grown up as a princess and later became a queen, and somehow it still felt demeaning to do her own laundry.  She was too proud to say so, of course, but Morgan truly hated it.  So, she was glad to pick up her phone when it rang, surprised to see Tinker Bell’s number on the other end.

“Yes?”

“I think we have a problem.”  The young fairy had become Morgan’s protégée, and although she never would have expected to take on a straight _fairy_ as a student, she certainly didn’t mind the irony of teaching the one who Blue had driven out.  Besides, Morgan liked Tink.

Morgan straightened immediately, laundry forgotten.  “What happened?”

“There’s something wrong at the hospital.  I was over at Jefferson’s, and he tried to call Whale…and all he got was hysterical laughter.”

“I take it that’s out of character?”  Morgan didn’t know Whale well; she’d been in Storybrooke long enough to distrust modern medicine.  Particularly that practiced by a mad scientist.  She had read _Frankenstein,_ thank you very much.  The library had several copies.

“Whale’s not exactly known for his sense of humor.”  Tink swallowed audibly.  “I wonder if it’s another one of those dances.”

_Damn._   Morgan should have caught that right away.  “Meet me there.”

“I’m already—”

Morgan kept the phone at her ear as she teleported to the hospital, landing outside it in a swirl of purple smoke.

“—there.”  Tink finished her sentence with a snort of amusement.  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“With these dances, we cannot afford to.  Come on.”

* * *

 

His brother really was a bit of a strange one, Mordred reflected.  He was a studier, that was for sure, and almost morally opposed to acting like he had courage.  People were starting to talk about Rumplestiltskin like he was some sort of hero, and what did the fool do?  He hid from their appreciative looks, avoiding praise like it was the plague.  Mordred would have soaked the attention up in his shoes, but his brother was hiding in his study.  Belle had tipped Mordred off, actually; apparently, a few people in the diner had expressed gratitude for the way Rumplestiltskin stopped the fae from escaping, and that had reduced the Sorcerer to a mumbling and embarrassed mess. 

Mordred didn’t think he could fix the idiot, of course.   If there was any fixing to be done, that would be Belle’s job.  But he could needle his brother for his ridiculous self-consciousness.

“You know, most people wouldn’t have run away to hide beneath a book of magic when the town suddenly decided to _like_ them.” He strolled through the door casually, smiling when Rumplestiltskin looked up from said book to glare at him.

“I’m hardly hiding.”

Mordred snorted.  “Oh?”

“And I’m not _under_ the book, in case your eyes are failing you.”  Rumplestiltskin’s glare only deepened with those words.

“Of course you aren’t.  That would be absolutely foolish, even for you.”  Dropping casually into a chair, Mordred crossed his legs and looked at his brother.

“Do you _want_ something, dearie?”

“Oh, now I’ve hit a nerve.  You only do that when you don’t like people, don’t you?”  Mordred thought he was slowly figuring his brother out, but the hardest part about doing so was getting underneath the many layers of defensive mechanisms Rumplestiltskin had.  Mordred didn’t mind them—he had more than few of his own, after all—but they were annoying.

Rumplestiltskin surprised him by rolling his eyes.  “Well, you’ve more than earned my ire.”

“How so?”  He tried to put an innocent hand on his heart, but the gesture seemed a bit overblown, even for him.

“You burned my cabin down, you great incompetent fool.”

“Oh.  That.”  Mordred shrugged.  “The blame is more accurately placed on Nuckelavee, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.  And I blame you, because you’re the one who had promised not to do damage to my property.”  Rumplestiltskin’s sneer was pretty impressive; Mordred imagined it had frightened quite a few people in its day.  “Do tell me, brother dear, why I should let you live on _any_ of my property after that little accident?”

“I’m hardly in a habit of burning things down.”  That was particularly true now that Mordred couldn’t turn into a dragon, which was a disability he still didn’t like thinking of.  _Hopefully, my ability will return in time.  If not…well, if that is the price of my life, I can live with it._

“You could have fooled me,” Rumplestiltskin drawled.  “Still, I’m rethinking Bae’s offer of that spare room, right about now.”

“No, you aren’t.”  He knew a bluff when he saw one.  “Belle would overrule you, and even _you_ won’t send me back to Mother.”  After all, Rumplestiltskin was as unnerved by Morgan’s burgeoning romance with Maleficent, too.  But he did look rather annoyed, and Mordred really didn’t want to move in with their mother. He felt his voice turn plaintive.  “Will you?”

“It would serve you right.”

“Hardly!  I couldn’t help what happened to your thrice-be-damned cabin, and you know it.”

Rumplestiltskin just rolled his eyes.

* * *

 

The park had always been their meeting place, ever since Bae had come back to life.  Emma wasn’t sure how that had happened, but she liked the symmetry.  After all, their first ‘date’ had been breaking into an amusement park and riding the swings, and a bit of that naughty thrill came back to her every time she and Bae met by Storybrooke’s swing set.  _I’m turning into a romantic,_ she thought with a roll of her eyes, and then paused.  _Or maybe back into one._

Now that she wasn’t the Dark One, Emma could remember being young and hopeful.  In later years, she’d call herself naive for those feelings, but now she looked back at them with a little nostalgia.  She had spent so long closed off from the world, certain that loving anyone aside from her family would end in disaster.  She had lost Graham, and then Baelfire, and everything she had with Walsh turned out to be a lie.  Emma had thought she wasn’t destined for some great romance, so she’d thrown herself into a relationship with a man who depended on her to make him better.  Part of her had figured that as long as she was saving Killian, he’d still be around; after all, she was the Savior, and that was what she was supposed to do.  But everything had fallen apart when she became the Dark One.  The cracks in their relationship that she’d tried to ignore had been thrown into focus, and Emma had known that she couldn’t pretend any more.

Then, somehow, Baelfire had crept back into her life.  At first, he’d been a friend when she’d needed one.  He’d been someone who understood what she was going through and didn’t judge her, even as he refused to accept any crap from her.  His willingness to be just her friend had made Emma realize that she wanted more, and they’d slowly been feeling their way back towards what they’d had so many years before.  But she’d still been the Dark One, and Emma hadn’t trusted herself—particularly when she’d been being controlled.  Now, with her mind clear, however, she knew what she wanted.

“How’s your second day un-Dark One’d?” Bae grinned as he asked the question, sitting on the swings and kicking back and forth idly.

“Good so far.”  Emma grimaced, sinking onto a swing next to him.  “Except for the part where a fae tried to steal my baby brother.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah.  The fairies agreed to set up the new daycare in the convent, so at least the kids will be safe.”  Emma didn’t trust the fairies as much these days—she’d learned too damned much when she was the Dark One—but she trusted Astrid and the others to watch over the young children.  Even Blue usually seemed to want to do right by kids, at least.

“Damn.  Henry said it was in the books he’s been reading, but I still didn’t see them going after toddlers.”  Bae sighed.  “What a screwed up world this is turning into.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How are _you_ feeling, though?  About everything, I mean.”

“Better.”  Emma found herself smiling.  She’d spent the day before with her dad and with Henry, feeling more alive than she had in months.  They’d had dinner as a family, Emma had played with Baby Neal and taught Henry to change diapers.  It had been utterly mundane…and Emma had loved every minute.

“Good.  It’s good to have you back, by the way.  All of you, I mean.”  Bae shrugged.  “And it’s nice to see you not miserable.”

“Was I really that bad?”

“Sometimes.  You fought it pretty well, but there’s no winning that battle.”  His smile turned crooked.  “Unless you find an escape route, that is.”

Emma had to laugh.  “Like a loophole.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Glancing over at Bae, Emma tried not to trace the lines of his smile with her eyes.  He had changed since they were both young kids, carefree and stupid, but so in love.  Bae wasn’t just older and wiser; he was also worn down by time and a lot more jaded.  But she was, too, wasn’t she?  They’d both grown a lot…but maybe that didn’t mean they’d grown apart.  They could still read each other, could still annoy one another to death, and they still _cared._   Emma could see the love Bae felt for her shining out of his eyes, and that realization made her heart skip a beat.  He’d wait forever for her if she asked him to—but Emma didn’t want to ask.

“I need to tell you something.”  The words blurted out before Emma could stop herself, but she couldn’t really regret them.

“Well, then, shoot.”

Her heart hammered against his chest, and Emma felt her breath grow short.  But she had waited long enough, had hesitated enough times, and she was not going to let love slip through her fingers again.  “I want this.  I want _us_.”

“You do?”  Bae blinked rapidly, as if trying to believe his ears.  “Us?  You mean as friends, or as—as something else? Something, um, ah, romantic?”

Her answer was to lean in and kiss him, to pull Bae close by the front of his shirt and snog the life out of him.  He didn’t hesitate, coming out of the swing and wrapping his arms around her, and for the first time in a long time, Emma felt like she’d come home.

They spent far too long kissing, but eventually, they had to come up for air.  When they did, Emma felt a smile splitting her face.  “I’m done hiding.  I know you said you were willing to wait until I’ve figured things out, but I have.  And I want us back.”

“Not that I’m objecting, but are you sure?  It’s all kind of fast, now that you’re free.”  His brown eyes searched her face, and Emma wanted to hug him.  Yet again, Bae was putting her and her happiness first.  _Now it’s my turn to do that._

“I’m sure.  I’ve known for a while.”  Emma grabbed his hands, squeezing them hard.  “I didn’t want to chain you to what I was, but—”

“Emma, I didn’t feel chained.  You might have been the Dark One, but you were still _you_.  And I love you no matter what.”

“I know.”  Not kissing him again was hard.  “And I love you.  I think I always have.  I know things didn’t go the way we expected when we planned to go to Tallahassee…but can we try again?”

“Hell, yeah, we can.”  He grinned.  “I might not have pushed you, but I’m not so selfless that I’m going to say no to something I want more than anything.”

“You do?”  Her heart hammered against her ribcage again, and Emma felt her breath catch.

“Emma, I loved you when we were two homeless kids on the run in a stolen car.  I loved you when I came back to this stupid town and found out you were some fated Savior who was supposed to bring back everyone’s happy endings.  And I love you now, Dark One or not.”  Grinning, he shrugged.  “So, yeah, I want to give this another go.  I always have.”

Now she could kiss him, and did.  They might still have a war left to fight, but Emma was okay with stealing a little bit of happiness along the way.  She’d waited long enough.  They’d _both_ waited long enough.

* * *

 

Morgan hadn’t called them right away, but the moment she had, Rumplestiltskin and Mordred both teleported to the hospital.  They arrived just in time to hear the tail end of Whale’s rant to Tinker Bell.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with that woman?  First she turns Jefferson into a sick sort of sex slave, and now she’s forcing patients to dance themselves to death?  Someone needs to stick a knife in her brain.”

“We’re working on it.”  Tink sent Morgan a half-panicked glance, and Rumplestiltskin watched his mother snort coldly.

“Well, it may not be a knife to the brain, but yes, we do plan to end her.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.”  Whale gestured at the mess of dead bodies left after the dance.  There were at least thirty of them, and the sight made even Rumplestiltskin stop cold.  “Don’t forget that it’s the ‘little people’ who suffer in this town while ‘heroes’ make the big plans.  Things might have gotten better in Storybrooke, but it’s still not _that_ good.”

“What happened?” Rumplestiltskin managed to find his voice—there were _thirty_ dead people—before Morgan could retort.  Whale wasn’t wrong, after all, and as someone who had grown up beneath the notice of every noble hero in the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin felt the sting of his criticism rather more deeply than he wanted to admit.

“Danns’.”  Morgan’s tone was flat as she turned towards them.  “She arrived hours ago, apparently, and you can see the results of her handiwork.”  A disgusted wave towards the bodies said more than a thousand words could.  “Tink and I stopped the dance, but we were too late.”

“How many survived?”  Rumplestiltskin could see that the bodies still here were beyond saving; dead was dead, after all.  But he had to hope that there were others.

“About fifteen patients.  Most of the staff is all right.”  Whale approached as he spoke, dark and exhausted circles under his eyes . “This has gone too far, man.  This isn’t a game, anymore.  These people were innocent.”

“And they’ll be avenged.”  Morgan didn’t so much as glance at Rumplestiltskin as she spoke.  Mordred nodded in immediate approval, but Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach twist apprehensively.  It wasn’t that he disliked the concept of revenge—he understood it far too well, and would probably never govern his own tendency in that direction—but he worried for Belle.  She was angry with her grandmother, yes, but how would she feel if she lost _both_ grandparents? 

“Well, you tell me if you need something nasty to put in her.  I’m happy to go all Mad Scientist to take that bitch down.” 

“We’ll let you know,” Rumplestiltskin said dryly, and then watched in silence as Whale and Tink moved over to talk to the remaining staff members about what to do with all the bodies.  Sighing, he gestured silently for his mother and brother to follow him into the hallway outside Oncology, and was glad when they complied.

“Why didn’t you call us earlier?” Mordred asked once they were away from the others.

“Because I don’t need my sons to hold my hands through complicated magic.”  Morgan looked annoyed.  “You forget yourself, Mordred.”

“It’s not that, Mother.  It’s just that your magic is—”

“Predominately _dark_ , not predominately weak or incompetent.  And it grows less so over time.”  Morgan skewered each with a glare in turn.  “I also had assistance from Tinker Bell, and plenty of people to call for if something did go wrong.  Unlike certain children who rush off without telling anyone.”

_Ah.  I was wondering when that would rear its head once more._   Morgan had taken their unannounced departure for the Fae Lands remarkably well, yet Rumplestiltskin had known that would not last.  Mordred probably felt that Morgan’s relationship with Maleficent was a small revenge for that, but Rumplestiltskin disagreed.  Still, he knew that their mother was not happy about that little incident, particularly given how wounded Mordred had been upon their return.  She had forgiven them, and even said that she was _proud_ of them, but he knew she was still angry.

Mordred flushed.  “We didn’t do anything that—”

“That we wouldn’t do again.”  Rumplestiltskin cut in before his brother could say something embarrassing; he knew that Mordred hated it when Morgan was mad at him, and was prone to saying foolish things.  Truth be told, he found earning his mother’s ire unexpectedly troubling, but he hadn’t grown up earning that disapproving glare.

Morgan sighed.  “Of course you didn’t.”  She shook her head, but Rumplestiltskin could see her softening.  “We are indeed a family of stubborn fools.”

“I hardly think stopping the fae from being freed was foolish, Mother.”  Mordred really could get pedantic, and Rumplestiltskin fought the urge to roll his eyes.  Their mother, however, did not.

“Do stop, Mordred.  You’re only underlining my previous comment.”  Unexpectedly, she turned to Rumplestiltskin.  “And _you_ , my son, need to be cautious.  There was a trap inside this dance.  One designed for you.”

“I had wondered if that would happen.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to hide the sudden spike of fear he felt under a blasé tone, but he had a feeling that his mother saw it.

Mordred scowled.  “She wants your power chained, as she did Merlin’s.” 

“Chained and at her service, yes.”  Morgan’s expression was thunderous, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart skip a beat.  Yes, he was terrified of what Danns’ had implied she would do—but had he ever expected to have so _much_ family in his corner?  Four months earlier, only Belle had been willing to fight for him, and she had only done so because her heart was just that good.  He’d all but driven her away back then, yet now he had a wife, a mother, a brother, and a son who would all stand beside him.  _And I think even the Charming clan might back me_.  That thought was rather disturbing, yet things really had changed.

“Well, I have no intention of giving her that.”  Keeping his voice calm was still a struggle.  “I have been enslaved before, and I have no desire to repeat the experience.”

“At least she no longer has Gleipnir,” Mordred added.  “I’m assuming the Dark One gave it to you?”

“She’s no longer the Dark One, but yes.”  Yet Emma still had been the Dark One when she’d delivered the impossible chain to Rumplestiltskin, much to his surprise.  She’d sent it via Bae, which was less surprising, but it was the thought that counted.

“Right.”  Mordred shook his head.  “I’m still becoming accustomed to the idea of a world without the darkness.  I always thought…well, it does not matter.”

“We all thought many things would come to pass that did not.”  Morgan’s voice was soft as she reached out to touch both of their arms.  “I, for one, am satisfied with the fact that we _have_ a future.  So, let us fight for that.”

That was not something either brother could argue with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Ten—“As in the Golden Days”, in which Morgan and Belle talk about choices, Regina tries to reassure Storybrooke’s citizens, Bae talks to his father about Emma, Danns’ plots and plans, Emma learns a valuable lesson from Nuckelavee, and Mulan and Ruby try to right some wrongs.


	110. As in the Golden Days

The insidious little trap Danns’ had incorporated into the dance at the hospital still weighed heavily on Morgan’s mind the next day.  She loved both of her sons, and respected their strengths, but she was far from blind to the damage that Zelena had done to Rumplestiltskin.  _I should have acted,_ Morgan told herself for the thousandth time.  Of course, she’d had no idea that the then-Dark One was her son, but even then, she had known that Rumplestiltskin was not like his predecessors.  He was less a creature of the darkness and much more human, which meant that Zelena’s abuses had left deep scars that even the witch’s death could not erase.

And now Danns’ wanted to do the same, or worse.  Morgan knew her enemy’s proclivities.  She had lost track of how many men and women had suffered the same fate, or a worse one, as Jefferson.  In truth, Jefferson’s experiences had not been up to Danns’ usually horrifying standard, which Morgan could only chalk up to Belle’s presence.  Yet Danns’ wanting to trap Rumplestiltskin did not bode well on that front.  Morgan’s youngest son was the _one_ person who could go toe-to-toe with Danns’ and survive, and Morgan knew that Danns’ would want him out of the way…one way or another.  Rumplestiltskin seemed grimly aware of the risks, and more than a little frightened of what might happen, but it wasn’t Rumplestiltskin whom Morgan needed to speak to.  Not today.

No, Morgan was a cold blooded bitch, and she knew it.  She needed to use this information to drive one final wedge between Belle and her grandmother, so that was what she would do.

“You wanted to talk?” Belle had come over when asked; Morgan thought this better to do away from both of her sons, who were currently both in the Sorcerer’s House. 

“I think we need to.”  Morgan gestured her daughter-in-law into a seat onto a seat on the couch, noticing how Belle seemed to constantly glow these days as she sat down next to her.  Belle was in the best part of her pregnancy, and she was clearly happy.  _At least with her future child.  None of us are happy with the current state of this growing war._

The fae had been in town for ten days, and their presence was felt more by the moment.

“It’s about Rumple, isn’t it?”  Belle’s smile was crooked.  “You wouldn’t ask me to come here if it were anything else.”

“It is.”  Morgan saw no reason to lie.  “Did he tell you about the trap Danns’ set for him yesterday?”

Much to her surprise, Belle nodded.  “He doesn’t like admitting that unnerved him, but it did.  It’s not quite as bad as what she said to him, but…”

“What she said to him?” Morgan sat bolt upright, her heart hammering.  What had happened?

“It was when she caught him with Gleipnir.”  Belle’s pretty face twisted up into a grimace.  “Grandmother said that she’d break him to her will.  Rumple knows what that means.”

“As do I.”  She felt cold.

Belle shifted nervously, looking away for a moment.  “You…you know what happened with Zelena, don’t you?”

“I do.” 

“Then you understand why Rumple’s nervous.  Not being helpless helps him a great deal, but—but I worry for him.  And while I don’t want to believe that my grandmother would do that, I didn’t want to believe she’d kill Grandfather, either.”  Blue eyes found Morgan, wide and worried, and she found herself reaching out for her daughter-in-law’s hand.

“We will _not_ let that happen to him,” she promised.  Morgan wasn’t a believer in making difficult-to-keep promises, but she’d die to keep this one if she had to.  No son of hers was going to become a broken pet of the Black Fairy’s.  Not while Morgan breathed.

“No, we won’t.”  There was steel in Belle’s eyes, and not for the first time, Morgan had to remind herself that Belle was _strong_.  Oh, she was a gentle and good person most of the time, but if you pushed her, Belle could be very dangerous.  And very protective.

Morgan squeezed her hand.  “Good.  Then you’ll have no qualms about where this war will lead?”

“I…I want to talk to her again.”  Belle grimaced, and Morgan fought the urge to shake her.  _Damn her goodness._  “I _need_ to ask her to stop, to give her one last chance to end this.  She’s my grandmother.”

“Do what you must.”  Morgan tried not to scowl, but it was hard.  “But be quick about it.  We have not much time.”

Belle nodded, and Morgan shoved her colder thoughts aside.  Belle loved Rumplestiltskin; the True Love the pair shared was something that had weathered time, betrayal, and more darkness than any other.  There was no doubt in Morgan’s mind that Belle would choose Rumplestiltskin over her grandmother; Morgan just had to push her to make that choice soon.  Otherwise, this war was going to be even messier than it already was.

* * *

 

Regina worked her way through the crowd at city hall, answering some questions and reassuring others.  People were growing worried, so she’d called today’s town meeting to distribute the list of bomb shelters and other safe areas.  Astrid had come along to tell people about the new daycare at the convent, which helped soothe concerns for the safety of young children in town.  Under other circumstances, Regina wouldn’t have enjoyed spending time with the clumsy almost-fairy, but Astrid’s endearing idiocy seemed to have a charm of its own. 

“Is Emma Swan going to be the sheriff again?” a voice from Regina’s right asked, and she turned to face Miss Muffet without sighing in frustration.

_Do I need to take out an ad in the Daily Mirror with answers to all these questions?_ She wanted to shout, but managed not to.  People were afraid, and a leader’s job was to reassure them.  Even when she’d already answered the same damned question four times.

“Yes.  Emma is no longer the Dark One, and she was really only ever on a, let’s say…leave of absence.  _You_ people elected her, after all.”  It went without saying that Regina hadn’t been happy with that at the time, but a lot had changed since the first curse.

“But she’s…isn’t she different now?”

“Of course she is,” Regina half-snapped, and then realized how many people were listening in.  She had to give something better than that.  “Look, Emma took on that darkness to save everyone, and she paid a steep price for it.  But she did her best, and there will _never_ be another Dark One.  I think she deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“What about the Black Fairy?  Is Emma going to defeat _her_?” someone else asked.

“We’re all working on that.”  Privately, Regina was pretty sure that Emma never wanted to see Danns’ a’Bhàis again, but she wasn’t going to say that.  “Our first priority is keeping the people of Storybrooke—along with Musicbrooke, and whatever the people from Camelot want to call their place—safe.”

“Don’t you mean your first priority is keeping _your_ friends and family safe?” Roussette Bitter spoke up from the far side of the crowd, and Regina had to stop herself from cursing the spoiled brat of a noblewoman.  Roussette’s mother had been friendly with Cora, but Roussette herself was as self-entitled as anyone Regina had ever met.  _She makes me at my worst look like a kind and giving person, and that’s saying something._

“No, I’m not.”  Biting back her temper was hard, but Regina managed.  “We’ve had too much of that in this town.  I’m not saying that our priorities weren’t…misaligned in the past, but that time is over.  We are committed to keeping _everyone_ safe, and that’s what we’re working to do.”

Roussette sneered.  “Yeah, that explains the way a fae dance killed thirty people at the hospital yesterday.”

“Did I say things weren’t dangerous?” Regina rolled her eyes.  “No, I didn’t.  What I said is that our first priority is to keep people safe, but we’re not perfect, and there are almost twenty fae wandering around this town.  No one can be everywhere, and if we don’t know people need help, we can’t work miracles.”  Turning to look at the rest of the crowd, she raised her voice.  “So, I’ll back to my original points.  _We_ _need your help._ If you see something, say something.  The fae are a nasty bunch who like to hurt people, but what they like more than that is fear.  So, if you see them, call for help.  Don’t try to be a hero.”

At least nods greeted that statement.  That had to count for something, and although Regina spent the next hour answering inane questions and quashing the urge to curse Roussette, she felt like she’d actually gotten somewhere.  Her next field trip—this one to the grocery store to try to enchant the food and milk _against_ spoiling—left her cranky and with a headache, but that at least Regina felt like they were trying to get ahead of the problem. 

Of course, the fact that random roads started freezing over that afternoon really didn’t help matters, but you couldn’t have everything.

* * *

 

Bae didn’t usually come visit Rumplestiltskin in the shop, particularly not right after Geppetto had come by to ask for a tracking spell to find his son.  August was apparently missing, a fact which left Rumplestiltskin with a strange feeling of foreboding.  Breaking his own habits, he provided said potion without asking for anything in return, and Geppetto had left moments before Baelfire arrived. 

“You, uh, got a few minutes to talk, Pop?” Bae looked around as if he was waiting for someone else to appear, and Rumplestiltskin suppressed a smile. 

“I do.  And Belle isn’t here, so you don’t need to keep looking for her.” 

Horror crossed Bae’s face.  “I—I didn’t mean it like that, Papa.  I _like_ Belle.  I just kinda wanted to talk to only you.”

“Well, then you have your wish.”  Rumplestiltskin had a guess why his son was so fidgety, but he was going to let Bae get to the topic in his own time.  Still, holding back his smile was hard, and he cocked his head to hide it.  “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“I should think that was fairly obvious, yes.”  His tone was mild, but his son still glared at him.

“Quit with the clever, will you? This is serious.”  Bae fidgeted again.  “Or at least I think things are.  I _hope_ they are.  I mean—ah, damn, I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?”

“You’re allowed to be nervous, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin came around from behind the counter to give his son a reassuring smile.  “But if it’s on account of your growing relationship with Miss Swan—or should I say _re-_ growing relationship?—there’s no reason to be.”

That jerked Bae up short.  “There isn’t?”

“Emma and I have come to a bit of an understanding these last few months, I think,” he replied, choosing to use Emma’s first name on purpose.  “Hopefully it holds now that we are simply Sorcerer and Savior, but even if it does not, that doesn’t matter.  She makes you happy, and you love her.  That’s all that I care about.”

What Rumplestiltskin _wanted_ to say was that he’d make Emma Swan’s life miserable if she broke Bae’s heart, but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to take that road.  Bae had never stopped loving Emma, and he probably never would.  While Rumplestiltskin didn’t bear the ill will towards Killian the way he once had, he had still been happy to see Emma ditch the pirate who had turned out to be his nephew.  Emma wasn’t the woman he would have chosen for his son—not in a million years!—but she was _Bae’s_ choice, which meant Rumplestiltskin was firmly in their corner.

“She wants to get back together.”  Bae was having a hard time containing his grin.  “I was willing to wait—hell, forever, if that was what it took.  But she wants to give this a real go.  Me and her.  Again.”

“I’m happy for you, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin reached out to hug his son, and was glad when Bae returned the embrace wholeheartedly.  “For both of you.”

“Thanks, Pop.”  Bae pulled back, still fidgeting, albeit in excitement.  “I’m ready to go shout it from the rooftops, but I don’t think Emma would approve.”

“Probably not, no.  I daresay that she’d be mortified, and then yell at you.”

“It’d be worth it.”

Rumplestiltskin groaned.  “No, it wouldn’t, so please do not.  I am not healing you if you fall down.”

“Uncle Mordred would help.”

That made him snort.  “Ask your cousin how well your uncle heals _anyone,_ and then come back to me with your decision.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, let’s just say that it wasn’t pretty.  My mother had to clean up the worst of it, and I believe Killian is still sore.”

Bae gave him a hard look.  “You could help with that, you know.”

He shrugged.  “He hasn’t asked.  And I doubt he will.”

“Pop.”

“What?  We’re not hostile to one another now, Bae, and that’s probably the best we’ll ever be.  Too much has happened for Killian and I to ever be friends.”  Calling the pirate by his first name still felt strange, even, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure he’d ever get over that.

“Speaking of which, you _do_ know about him and Lily, right?”  Suddenly, Bae got a very strange look on his face, made even more twisted by Rumplestiltskin’s nod.  “That gets _really_ awkward when you think about Grandma and Maleficent.”

“I try not to, thank you.”  He hoped that his mother was happy, of course, but the idea of her in any relationship was still a strange one. Mordred complained about it left and right, and Rumplestiltskin’s resolution _not_ to join in was not getting any easier to keep as time passed.  It was just…strange.

“Yeah, try having your _cousin_ sort of kind of dating the daughter of the woman who is sleeping with your grandmother.”  Bae shuddered theatrically.  “Ick.”

“Indeed.”  Rumplestiltskin managed not to grimace.  He imagined things would only get worse when Henry started dating; the lad was related to too much of the town for things to go smoothly.

_Is it too much to hope that he falls for Jefferson’s daughter?  Even if Whale is making a fair bid to be Grace’s stepfather, at least I know Jefferson is not related to us._    _Or the Charmings._   Rumplestiltskin managed not to say that aloud, though.  Bae was not likely to enjoy speculation concerning his own son’s romantic future, particularly since Bae was busy romancing said son’s mother.

* * *

 

She had re-enchanted the last set of her magic-blocking bands, but now Danns’ needed a bit of insurance.  Of course, there was only one way to get that, and although it grated on her to have to bend so far, Danns’ swallowed her pride and went to visit her sister.  Fortunately, Reul was not quite petty enough to keep her waiting.

“Danns’.  I did not expect to see you here.”  Reul’s voice was damnably sweet and kind, of course.  She always was, and it made Danns’ want to hurt someone.

“And _I_ did not expect to hear of you working with the humans.” 

“We all do what we must.”  Reul shrugged eloquently, giving Danns’ that infuriatingly superior look of hers.  “You have gone too far, and if I must ally with them to stop you, I will.”

Danns’ scoffed.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”  The very idea was unthinkable.  Reul Ghorm might _use_ humans, but she never joined with them.

“I am not.  You have gone too far, Danns’.  It was one thing when you were simply playing with humans for entertainment, but this idea of remaking all the realms into one is too much.”

“To bring the worlds back to the way they were in the beginning? I think not.”   Was her sister growing soft, or was something else going on here?  Danns’ could not tell.

“Things change for a reason, sister.” 

“And what will that _change_ drive you to do, _sister_?  Will you exile me again?”  Biter bile rose in her throat.  “You will not find that so easy, I assure you.”

Reul might think she could manage the same trick again, but Danns’ would not allow it.  Even if the fact that Reul had again allied with Danns’ old enemy, Morgan le Fae, was worrisome, Danns’ would fight to the death before she submitted to exile a third time.  _And Reul will not manage it alone, no matter how much she thinks she can_ , Danns’ thought darkly.  Morgan had done the deed both times, even if she had allied to Reul those three hundred years past.

“No.”  Reul drew herself up proudly.  “I will keep my promise not to touch the Heart.”

Danns’ snorted.  “Which is to say that your new allies will turn on your if you don’t.”

For a moment, she contemplated breaking her own promise to leave Henry Mills alone, but Danns’ rejected the idea out of hand.  She did not break her word, no matter how dire the situation might be.  Besides, Reul was not the most pressing threat.  Even Morgan was not.  No, the threat was humanity, and the _human_ original power who had entered the game.  And of course the man was married to her granddaughter.

“What do you want, Danns’?” Reul sighed tiredly, but Danns’ noticed that she did not try to deny the allegations Danns’ had flung her way.  _Neither did she tell me what their plans for me are.  Is she being cagey, or have the humans not trusted my dear sister enough to tell her?_

“I am here to remind you who you are,” she replied, betting on the latter option.  “You know as well as I do that those humans will turn on you.  You can put your fairies at their service—as you clearly have—but you will never be like them, and they will _never_ forget it.”

“Nor would I ever want to.”  Her sister’s face twisted up in disgust.  “I know what I and my people are.  Your clumsy attempts to undermine our efforts is beneath you.”

“And _your_ catering to humans is an insult to our kind.”

Reul shrugged.  “I will do what I must to stop you.”

“No. You won’t.”  Danns’ shook her head.  “When this is over, sister, you will come to me.  You will _need_ me.  And I will protect you from them, as you never protected our sister.”

“Fionna did not ask—”

“She should not have had to!”  Danns’ would never forgive humanity for their sister’s death, and she would never forget that it was Reul who should have saved her.  “And you are a fool for trusting them.”

She teleported away without waiting for a response; Reul had always been short-sighted, for all she claimed to work for the ‘greater good’.  In the end, her stubborn sister would come to her.  Or she wouldn’t.  It hardly mattered.  Reul Ghorm was not the greatest threat to her, and Danns’ would simply have to prioritize. 

* * *

 

“There’s a bar over in Musicbrooke called the Enchanted Forest, you know.”

Mulan’s words made Ruby look up from the half clean dishes that the newly broken dishwasher had left for her to do.  She hadn’t yet wandered into the seedier section of the new town, but she knew that Mulan had already struck up a friendship with Princess Isabella, so it stood to figure that Mulan would know.  _She always finds the princesses who look soft on the outside but are steel inside,_ Ruby thought with amusement.  Mulan’s tendency to protect people was one of the things she liked most about her.  She was fierce and bold, and wore her heart on her sleeve…rather like Ruby.

“Yeah?  You want to go over there tonight?”  The place was worth a look just based on its ironic name, and Ruby knew she’d like the bar if Mulan did.

“Maybe some time.”  Mulan shrugged.  “It’s, um, an interesting place.”  She blushed a little, which made Ruby terribly curious, but Mulan went on before she could ask.  “The bartender said that Lamorak and his band of bullies are extorting protection money from them.”

Ruby set the dish she’d been washing down with a clunk _._   “ _What_?  Are you serious?”

“Completely.”  Mulan’s eyes flashed.  “I almost hope they come here.”

“I’m game.”  Ruby bared her teeth with a grin, feeling a little thrill of danger run up her spine.  Lamorak wouldn’t be the first idiot from Camelot who had tried to tell her how to run her diner, and she would be more than happy to set him straight.  Or to throw a pot of hot coffee on him.

“They might, you know.”  Mulan bit her lip thoughtfully.

“Or we could go find where they’re going next.”  Ruby knew every business owner in Storybrooke, and most of the new ones in Musicbrooke, too.  She knew which ones were likely to cave—or in this case, the one who already had.  Which was a thought.  “Or we can just be at the Enchanted Forest the next time those bully boys come by.”

“I _knew_ I loved you.”  Lunging over the counter, Mulan kissed her soundly, and Ruby felt the blood rushing to her ears for a moment.  She grinned back, and they started to plan.

Technically, they should let David or Emma know about this, but Ruby wanted to see what happened, first.  There were a thousand and one fires that Storybrooke’s leadership were trying to put out, and Ruby was pretty sure that she and Mulan could handle this one on their own.  If things went _too_ badly, she knew they could fight their way out, so what did they have to lose?

* * *

 

“I think we’re set.”  David looked down at the two lists they’d compiled and nodded.  “This is as good as it’s going to get.”

“Are you sure that the fairies will help so much?” Killian asked.  “They seem to be a bit mired in inaction, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we can trust most of them to actually fight, no matter what Blue says.”  Bae shrugged.  “Tink and Astrid will definitely help—though we probably want to keep Astrid clear any opportunities to cause a disaster—but I doubt the others will.”

“Well, that’s why we’re keeping them back to heal people and protect the children, if worst comes to worst.”  David hated thinking that some of his allies were less likely to help than others, but the other two had a good point.  Blue had promised assistance, but after her previous hesitations, they’d be wise not to trust that too far.

“Aye.  Now that we have two combat teams, what will we do with them?  It’s fine and dandy to assign everyone a position, but that’s not going to get us out of the harbor.”

“True enough.”  David sighed.  “The real question is if we try to take the fight to the fae, or if we concentrate on Lamorak’s knights.”

“You and I have both killed fae with the silver-tipped weapons, mate, but I’m still not sure I’d recommend it.”  Killian shrugged when David looked at him in surprise.  “I hate to be the voice of reason and sanity—”

“Because it really doesn’t suit your nature at all,” Bae cut in with a grin.

“ _But_ if they outnumber us, no amount of enchanted weapons will save us,” Killian finished after pausing to glare at his cousin.

“That’s true enough.”

“We should probably coordinate our attacks with whatever Pop is planning.”  Bae looked thoughtful as he made the suggestion.  “It won’t do us any good to go after Lamorak and his goons if the fae can back them up.”

“True.”  David took a breath, ideas whirling through his mind.  This wasn’t the first war he’d ever planned, but it certainly was the first one with such a _huge_ magical aspect to it.  Truth be told, he hated having so many enemies who could take him out of the fight with a wave of their hand.  And there was another problem.  “Though Rumplestiltskin has never really been the take the battle to the enemy type, so are you sure he wants to?”

“I think our grandmother will push him to it, if nothing else.”  Bae and Killian exchanged a knowing glance before Bae shrugged a little hesitantly.  “And…well, Papa will pretend he’s a cold blooded manipulator all day long, but he’s started to care about this town.  He has to live here, too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”  And David knew that he needed to sit down with the Sorcerer and talk details, particularly now that their ‘ground’ forces were ready to go.  The fae were doing too much damage, and they couldn’t let things stand the way they were.  People were being hurt, and even though no one in his immediate family had been harmed—at least not lately—David had a duty to protect Storybrooke.

* * *

 

Her dad was off planning the war and Robin was picking Roland up from school, so Emma found herself manning the Sheriff’s Station alone.  It was kind of a nice feeling, which made her feel like she was _herself_ again.  How long had it been since she felt like just plain Emma Swan?  She’d been off-kilter since before she became the Dark One, and ever since then,  she’d been kind of screwed up.  The last few days had made Emma feel more normal than she had since she’d come back from New York City, and she liked it.

What she didn’t like was the sight of the nastiest of all the fae wandering into her station.  Emma was on her feet in an instant, glaring and summoning up magic.  “What the hell do you want?”

“You.” 

He didn’t beat around the bush. Emma had to give him that.  But the way Nuckelavee was staring at her was still creepy as hell.  “I hate to disappoint you, buddy, but I’m not to be had for the wanting.”

“Of course you are.”  His laugh was eerily self-possessed, but it was the hunger in his eyes that made Emma shiver.  “You’re only human.”

“Only?” Emma snorted.  “I think your time in the Hat made you stupider than you already were.  Our last encounter didn’t go so well for you, remember?”

“Oh, but you’re no longer the Dark One, are you?  Now you’re merely the ‘Savior’.”  Nuckelavee chuckled softly, drifting closer to Emma.  She held her ground, refusing to back away from this monster any more than she ever had for Storybrooke’s previous villains.

_He’s just a tool,_ Emma told herself.  Nuckelavee was dangerous, sure, but he wasn’t on Danns’ level.  He was creepy, but she had dealt with creepy before.

“I don’t need to be the Dark One to deal with the likes of you.”  She met his eyes brazenly.  “So, I’ll warn you once.  Get the hell out of my station.”

“No.”

“Fine, if you want to be that way, I’m happy to make you.”  Emma didn’t want to pick a fight—even if part of her _really_ did want to—but Nuckelavee was dangerous.  And maybe a little insane.  She knew what he’d done to Tink, after all, and Emma was happy to go to the mat with him for that alone.

“I do like your spirit.”  He finally stopped drifting forward, halting about three feet away from Emma.  “You’ll make an excellent pet.”

Those words struck a little too close to home, a little too close to what she had been for Danns’.  “I am _no one’s_ pet!”

Magic hammered out of Emma’s hands, smashing into Nuckelavee like the ton of proverbial bricks.  It should have taken him off of his feet and maybe thrown him right through the station’s glass doors, but instead, all it did was make him stagger slightly.  And the bastard _laughed_.  He shrugged off the spell like it was nothing, even though Emma knew it must have hurt him, and then he stepped forward.

Summoning magic to her right palm, Emma launched a ball of white and blue light at Nuckelavee, intending to shock the ever living crap out of him.  But he just caught the ball, unraveling it with a twist of his fingers and casting it aside.  So, Emma dug deeper, snapping both hands up and trying to blast him back once more, but Nuckelavee twitched his fingers towards her, sending black and gray threads of _something_ towards Emma.  She tried to dodge, but his second attack hit her, and Emma found herself slamming back against the wall.  She hit hard enough to knock the wind straight out of her chest, and when her vision cleared, Nuckelavee was right in front of her.

His fingers snaked out, wrapping around her neck and holding her still as another spell sank in.  Emma’s vision went white for a moment, and breathing was so hard.

“You’re all brute strength, aren’t you?” Nuckelavee purred in her ear as Emma struggled to get away.  But his spell made her movements sluggish and her limbs heavy, and she just couldn’t get away.  “Not a bit of finesse.  It seems like the Dark Ones in your mind did all of the heavy lifting on _that_ front.  Have you ever even studied magic at all?”

“Of course I have!” But her words were a squeak, made sharp and weak by the hand around her throat.  Her lessons had been short lived, of course, just a few sessions with Regina where Emma learned to rely on her instincts and her willpower more than any book.

_“Every time you've exhibited your power, it's been spurred by your instincts. So today, we're going to push those instincts until you master them,”_ Regina had said.  That had been after Emma had scoffed at her attempts to teach Emma the basics, though, and Emma had never thought about how she might actually _need_ those basics.  Magic had always been a matter of instinct for her—at least until she became the Dark One and had Nimue and company to help with the complicated stuff.  But those voices were silent, now, and she was on her own.

Nuckelavee snorted.  “Not enough.”  His smile grew again.  “Of course, I should not argue.  I would love to see what happens when you peel back the layers of a Savior and break one.”  His free hand stroked her face, and it took Emma a moment to force her arm up to push it away.  “Soon, I’ll make you forget everyone you’ve ever loved, and you’ll simply be mine.”

“No.”  Emma croaked out the word, but her mind was whirling.

  _Love._ The first time she’d ever done magic, it had been because of _love_.  And that was what Emma needed now.  She wasn’t someone with a lot of finesse or even a lot of training, but she knew how to love.  So, Emma focused on her love for Henry, for her father, for her brother and for Baelfire—and even for her mother, as much as that _burned_.  But love lost was powerful, too, so Emma dug into her heart and _pushed_.  White light erupted from her, slamming into Nuckelavee and sending him sailing clean across the station and out through the glass doors.

Emma shook off the magic he’d held her with, and stalked forward, standing admits broken glass and what was left of the double doors.  Her voice came out in a growl:  “I am not yours, and I _never_ will be.”

“Never say never, Savior.  Your time will come.”  Grinning, Nuckelavee was on his feet in a flash, and he offered her a flourish-y bow before he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

But the remnants of his magic still swirled around her, and Emma felt very cold.

* * *

 

Lily had been flying when she spotted the dance.  This one was small, and probably was intended to go unnoticed, so she landed a ways away and then walked towards it.  Much to her surprise, by the time she got there, the Blue Fairy was already unravelling the fae magic that made the group in the park dance like mad, so Lily just stopped and watched.  She told herself that she was curious, that learning to do that kind of magic would be interesting, but the truth was that she found it disgusting.

She wasn’t sure when her opinion had changed, or when she’d stopped seeing evil things like this as ‘cool’.  Maybe it had been when the extra dose of darkness had been taken from her, or maybe she’d finally started listening to Killian.  Either way, Lily could no longer watch people be abused with a smile, and she was starting to have some serious misgivings about pretty much everything.  At first, being on Danns’ side had seemed like such a great idea.  The Black Fairy was _the_ most terrifying legend from the Enchanted Forest, and being one of her chosen few was exhilarating.  But now…now that things were real and actually happening, the big dark adventure she had anticipated was suddenly terrifying and horrible. 

Worse yet, the fae were in Storybrooke, and Lily had noticed how she and her mother had fallen in Danns’ favor.  Falling in favor tended to lead to death with the Black Fairy, too.  Oh, she wouldn’t outright kill her own allies—not without a ‘good’ reason to make it necessary, anyway—but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t get sent on some job or another that would make you dead in a hurry.

And now August was missing.

That decided things more than anything else.  Killian had wormed his way into her heart, but August had been there, first.  She didn’t feel a bit of attraction towards him, but August had become the big brother that Lily had always wanted.  And she was pretty damned sure the fae had taken him.

It was time to talk to her mother about swapping sides once and for all.

* * *

 

Leroy got there just too late to stop it.  One moment, the dwarves had been getting together to head out and mine some fairy dust—and the next, a fae was there, grabbing Happy as he walked up to join them.  Leroy lunged forward, pickaxe in hand, but he was too late.

“Damn it!”  He wanted to break something or hurt someone, but that wouldn’t help Happy.

“I guess the rumors are right.”  Doc pushed his glasses up nervously.  “People have been disappearing, and it’s all the fae’s fault.”

“We can’t stand for this, boys.”  Leroy turned towards his brothers, feeling more angry than he could _ever_ remember being.  “Dopey’s death was an honorable one.  He died fighting for what he believed in.  But those _bastards_ probably thought he was nothing, and now they’ve taken Happy.  Are we going to let them?”

Heads shook in response to his question, but Leroy could still see doubt on several faces.  Finally, Sleepy yawned.  “We can’t really stop them, though, can we?”

“Don’t be so lazy, Walter,” Leroy snapped.  “Of course we can. We just need some help.  Powerful help.”

“The fairies aren’t going to help us.”  Typically, Sneezy sneezed.  “Our best bet is still David.  And Emma.”

“And everyone else.”  Doc shifted uneasily.  “We can’t do anything on our own, but we can help fight the fae when the battle comes.”

Leroy groaned out loud, but he didn’t argue.  He hated waiting, hated being unable to _do_ something now, but the others were right.  And Astrid had been pretty uncomplimentary towards Blue lately, which said a lot about how far the fairies would go—even for their loyal friends.  “Fine.  For now, no one goes anywhere by themselves.  Stay together, and always keep your axes on you.”

Doc had made sure their axes got a bit of silver coating after the battle where Dopey had died, after all, and Leroy sure was ready to use that on the next fae who came around.

* * *

 

Her conversation with Reul might not have gone as planned, but the rest of her activities were already beginning to bear fruit. 

“There are offerings being left already, My Lady.”  Jhudora’s dark grin was back, and Danns’ allowed herself a smile.

“Excellent.  Where are most coming from?”

“The small musical town.”  This was Nuckelavee, who she knew to be smarting by the Savior’s rejection.  He would try again, of course; Danns’ had turned Nuckelavee loose on Emma Swan and would watch what happened with interest.  If she was right, Emma did not have the patience to learn to properly fight off the strongest of the fae, which meant the Savior would soon be incapacitated.  Or worse.

“Fascinating.”  Danns’ knew that there were fewer legends about her in that world.  Their version of magic was very strange, after all, and they barely knew of fairies or fae.  Yet the people of ‘Musicbrooke’ were properly terrified after the early morning dance she had ignited there, and Danns’ found that very gratifying.

The dance in the hospital had been a lovely success as well, and by far the most fatal.  The small one in the park had been stopped by Reul, unfortunately, but even that one would serve to frighten people.  Fear was her most useful tool, at least in this stage of the game.  More people who were too frightened of her to fight back meant fewer to defeat in the battle to come.  And the battle _would_ come soon, Danns’ knew.  If nothing else, Morgan would drive her allies to act decisively—even impatiently.  And when they attacked, Danns’ would be ready.

Until then, she would continue her reign of terror, reveling in the return of the darkest days of the fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Eleven—“I Think There was a Hope”, in which Regina figures out a way to sway the people of Camelot to their side, Henry corners Emma with questions, Morgan forces Rumplestiltskin to face what he must do, Ruby and Mulan go looking for trouble, Nuckelavee goes after Tinker Bell again, and Emma makes an important choice.


	111. I Think There was a Hope

Her mother would have hated what she’d grown into, but every day that passed with Regina actually _leading_ Storybrooke made her feel more at home in the job.  Once, being mayor had simply been about power.  Then it had been about ownership; Storybrooke had been her town and she was damned well going to keep it.  Eventually, after the second curse, she’d found being mayor was a source of pride for her, since she’d actually been asked to take the job instead of being given it by the curse.  But now she actually felt like she was _earning_ her position, and that was something different.

Cora would have told her not to cater to her ‘subjects’, that a strong ruler had to be feared.  She would have said that solving problems was a job for underlings, and that Regina certainly should not have to put herself out to help others.  But Cora would have been wrong.

Regina found herself absurdly happy with that thought as she walked into the library.  Even having to wait for three schoolchildren to check books out didn’t dull her good mood, nor did the fact that her daughter—coined ‘Baby Hood’ by Dr. Whale in a moment of inane so-called humor—was trying to do laps in her stomach.  At least she was coming to talk to a woman who could understand the latter.

“Regina.  What are you doing here?”  Belle’s smile was genuine, and no longer seemed as guarded as it once would have.  Was that because Belle now had magic to defend herself, or had Regina’s second apology and subsequent actions actually helped her redeem herself in the bookworm’s eyes?  Regina found herself hoping that she had, even if the thought of _not_ doing so was a little uncomfortable.

“I need your help.”  She saw no reason to be subtle.  Not with this.

“With research?  We might have to go to the house for something magical.”

Regina shook her head.  “No, with Camelot.” 

“Camelot?”  Belle looked wary now, but at least she could be sure that was because of the topic.

“Well, it’s people, anyway.  Lamorak seems to be your grandfather’s successor, and he’s creating quite the ruckus.  I was wondering if you could do something to counter him.”

“Me?”

“Well, aren’t you Arthur’s heir?  Unless Camelot had very strange inheritance laws, your mother would have come before Mordred since he’s illegitimate.”  Regina knew the inheritance laws of _every_ kingdom in the Enchanted Forest thanks to her mother, and bastards never inherited over trueborn heirs.  _Even women_.  “Her claim would fall to you, and the people of Camelot _should_ realize that.”

Belle grimaced.  “I think Lamorak is some sort of cousin or another.”

“Really?  Is that empty-headed bully related to the rest of us now?”  Regina bit back a groan; she hadn’t wanted to hear that.  “Not that it matters.  Unless Camelot practiced Salic Law, you’re still the heir.  Even over some idiot cousin.”

“I don’t think Camelot barred women from inheriting.  Morgan was Queen of Cornwall in her own right, after all.”  Belle bit her lip thoughtfully.  “I could do some research and find out.”

Research.  Was that _all_ the bookworm wanted to do?  Regina managed not to say those words, however, because she knew they’d be unfair.  Belle did a lot more than research, even if they often forgot about it.  Still, not snapping something impatiently was hard.  Regina wanted to shake the other woman and remind her that there was so much at stake—but Belle knew that.  _Sometimes, a little kindness goes a long way_ , David had told her not long ago.  And maybe he was right. 

“If you find what I think you will, will you help me?  We have to do _something_ to stop the rank and file in Camelot-town—or whatever they want to call the place—from following Lamorak into war.   Because if they do, this is going to get really ugly really fast.”

To her credit, Belle nodded immediately.  “I’ll do whatever I can to help.  And I can talk to Mordred.  He probably still has some allies who will listen to him.”

“Good.”  Regina hadn’t really wanted to spar with Rumplestiltskin’s brother.  She’d avoided him since it became obvious that he had a hugely awkward crush on her, and Regina was even happier to do that now that he was nominally on their side.  She wasn’t sure if he still liked her after having slept with her late sister— _Gross!_ —but Regina didn’t want to find out.

“I’ll let you know once I have something.”

Regina nodded, and started to turn away, thinking of the thousand and one other things she needed to do.  But at the last moment she stopped and turned back.  “Thank you, Belle.  I have a feeling we don’t say that enough.”

The surprised look on Belle’s face told Regina how true that last part was, but the younger woman only nodded graciously.  “You’re welcome.”

Then Regina did leave, heading back out into town to try to put out whatever other fire came up next.

* * *

 

Henry spent a lot of his days doing research with Belle, trying to predict what the fae would do and figure out their weaknesses, but sometimes it was nice just to be a kid again.  Part of being a kid was sneaking up on his parents, which he’d tried to do—only to find Bae and Emma kissing in Emma’s kitchen.  Not being an idiot, he crept right back out and decided to get lunch a little later, waiting until after he heard Bae leave to go and get lunch out of the fridge.  Emma was still in there, poking at a sandwich with a little smile on her face, and she didn’t even notice him come in until Henry started talking.

“So, is this when you tell me that you’re dating Dad, or is something else going on?”

“Henry!”  Emma looked like she was ready to jump out of her skin, but he only grinned at her.  It wasn’t his fault if she’d forgotten that he was spending the weekend at her house.  He didn’t really live here, or at least he hadn’t since Emma had appropriated the house as the Dark One, but now that she was back to normal, he liked spending time here.  _Just like my dad, apparently._

“Hi.”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and didn’t even try to look innocent.  It didn’t work so well when this wasn’t the first time he’d seen his parents kissing.  Henry had tried to be good and not mention it before, but they were making it _awfully_ hard. “So…you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Emma actually _blushed_.  When was the last time he’d seen her do that?  Henry was old enough to get why she would be, but it was still kind of cool to see his birth mom in love again.  She hadn’t been herself with Hook, and although he’d tried to get along with the pirate for her sake, it hadn’t been the same as having his dad around.  Besides, Henry liked Killian a lot better when he was his second cousin (or was it first cousin once removed?  His family tree was too messed up for him to remember).

“You saw us, didn’t you, kid?” His mom came back on balance pretty quickly, though.

“Yep.”

“I was going to talk to you about it today, so we might as well do that now.”  Emma stood up, looking  Henry square in the eye.  “Are you all right with this?  Your dad and I aren’t making promises about the future or anything, but we wanted to try being together again.  If it’s all right with you.”

“If it’s okay with me?” Henry echoed incredulously.  “Mom, it’s _great_ with me.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to hook you two up for ages! It’s only one of the best storytelling tropes there is: separated parents getting back together because their kid sets them up.”

Emma looked a little offended at that.  “We are _not_ characters in some book you’re writing.”

“No, of course not.”  Maybe he’d gone a little far on that front.  “But it’s still really cool.  And I’m happy for you.  For both of you.”

That made her smile.  “Thanks, kiddo.  I know you didn’t like me dating Killian that much.”

“Was I that obvious?”  He’d tried to hide it, but Henry knew his mother wasn’t dumb.  Neither of them were, and sometimes that was a real pity.  At least from a troublemaking perspective.

“To me?  Yeah.” She snorted.  “You liked Walsh more than you liked him, and that’s saying something.”

“In my defense, I _did_ have my memories wiped for that.” 

“Yeah, you did.”  Chuckling, Emma wrapped an arm around him, and Henry hugged her back.  He _was_ happy with this.  He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that he’d tried to figure out a way to get his parents back together, even when his dad kept telling him to be patient.  But it was so frustrating to know that they loved each other and were staying apart, and he was really glad to know that was over.

Maybe once they won the war—which Henry was beginning to realize was _the_ Final Battle that Rumplestiltskin talked about in his original Book—things would settle down enough for Bae and Emma to move in together.  It would be really cool to only have _two_ houses to swap between, instead of the three he rotated through these days.  Not that Henry really minded.  His family was unconventional and complicated, but it was _his_ , and he loved things the way they were.

* * *

 

Doing the research she had promised Regina she would do was easy; all Belle had to do was ask Mordred.  Much to her surprise, her uncle had proven surprisingly helpful on that front, confirming that Camelot did _not_ practice male-only inheritance, and that her mother had always been confirmed as Arthur’s heir.  That left Belle feeling strange and a little queasy; she had never really felt like royalty before, and the sudden sense of responsibility was crushing.  She had been born the daughter of a landed knight, and since she was Maurice’s only child, she’d always known that she—or technically, her husband—would inherit his lands.  But leading a kingdom was a different matter.

“Papa, can I talk to you?” She’d pushed the door to the flower shop open with a little trepidation.  Belle and her father were on better terms these days, but she knew that her grandparents had tried to manipulate him more than once.

And even if he wasn’t actively against Rumplestiltskin, now, she knew her father didn’t much like her husband.

“Sweeting!  Of course you can.”  Maurice came around from behind a display of roses, smeared with dirt and what smelled like flower food, but smiling hugely.  “What brings you here today?”

“I need some advice about what Mother would have wanted to do.”  Belle hugged him, dirt, flower food, and all.  He smelled like earth and happiness, which made Belle smile a little.

That made him swallow a little nervously, as talking about her mother _always_ had, ever since Colette’s death.  “About what?”

“I’m sure you heard that my grandfather is dead.”  Belle managed not to grimace.  She mourned Arthur more than she’d expected to, probably because he’d been taken away so unfairly.  _I can’t imagine a worse fate than being killed by someone you love_.

“I did.”  Maurice did cringe.  “I’m sorry, Belle.  I would have come by, but I didn’t think you were on…well, I didn’t think you were very happy with him.”

“I wasn’t.”  Wrapping her arms around herself, Belle tried to fight back the sudden child.  “But it’s the situation his death caused that I need to talk about, not him.”

“Oh?”

“Mother was Arthur’s only legitimate heir.”  Belle glanced down at her feet, trying to get her thoughts into order.  She didn’t need to tell her father that Regina had asked her to intervene with the people of Camelot; Maurice was likely to tell her that was a man’s job, and that it was dangerous besides.  He’d tell her to stay out of it and stay safe, neither of which was part of Belle’s plan.  Finally, she took a deep breath and asked: “Did she ever talk about Camelot?  About being a princess?”

“Not at all.”  Maurice sighed sadly.  “I knew she was Sir Lancelot’s ward, but I always took that to mean she was just the daughter of some out of favor noble, maybe one born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

Belle blinked in surprise.  Her father had always been so socially conscious, mindful of his rank and that of his family.  “You didn’t mind that?”

“No, I loved her.”  The wistful tone of his voice brought her back to when she’d been a child, to when her parents had been so in love.  They’d driven one another crazy sometimes, but there had always been a deep love beneath that.  Colette had called Maurice her ‘dear oaf’ from time to time, and she’d heard her father call her mother a stubborn wench, but no none could miss the affection they shared.  “I didn’t care who she was or where she came from.”  He shrugged, looking a little lost.  “I suppose I should have asked, but it never seemed to matter.”

“Oh.” 

That sounded beautiful, but it didn’t help much.  Maybe Belle should have gone to Mordred for help, but she had wanted to know what her mother would have wanted for her.  _I wish I could ask her,_ she thought sadly.

Then again, Belle knew herself, didn’t she?  In truth, she wasn’t really sure if she wanted to be a ruler at all.  _Would I even make a good queen?_ The idea of being a princess, of being able to use her power and influence to help people, didn’t really bother her, but she was no Regina.  Belle didn’t mind leading people when necessarily, but the role felt so _narrow._ She didn’t want to spend all of her time settling one dispute after another, playing politics and being put on a pedestal.  She wanted to help people.  Whether that was through research, through magic, or through just offering a hand to someone who needed one, Belle wanted to do the little things.  She wasn’t someone who would ever be comfortable with serving the ‘big picture’ if it meant hurting people with the smaller issues, and Belle really wasn’t cold-blooded enough to make those choices.

She would always love her mother, but the only decision Belle could make was the one that fit _her_.

* * *

 

“We need to talk, Rumple.” 

Rumplestiltskin turned to watch his mother walk into the shop’s back room, trying not to feel like a small child when she used that serious tone on him.  He was fairly sure that he hadn’t done anything to annoy her lately, and she _hadn’t_ been there to lecture him when he was young, so why did he suddenly feel the need to swallow nervously?  The entire idea was ludicrous, so he pushed it aside with an effort and looked up from the book he had been reading idly.  Belle was due to stop by again that afternoon for another magical lesson, and there were a few advanced things that he wanted to teach her.  Being Belle, she’d want to read about the principles of the magic afterwards, so he had been trying to find the right sections to point her to.  But that could wait.

“About what?”  Somehow, Rumplestiltskin doubted this was about Morgan’s continued relationship with Danns’ newest spy (who was hopefully _their_ plant, and not the other way around) or about Mordred’s latest antics.

“Stopping Danns’ a’Bhàis.  For good.”

The grimace rose before he could stop it.  “There are several problems with that, you realize.  Particularly since there is no reliable way to exile her again, not without using Henry’s heart.”

It went without saying that none of them would allow that to happen, which meant the old option of making Danns’ powerless enough to banish her to a harmless realm was off the table.

“No.  We have to kill her.”  Morgan sat down on the stool to his right with a heavy sigh.  “I know you’re hesitant for Belle’s sake, but you can’t be.  She has to be stopped before more people are hurt.  We have waited long enough.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a breath.  The delay had served them well, of course; they had the forces in place to counter Lamorak’s so-called army, and they had enough weapons to give those without magic—and even those with it—a chance against the fae.  Maleficent had been relatively helpful in providing information, too, which had allowed them to stop two dances before they even started, but the losses were still piling up.

Morgan studied him closely.  “Yet you still look like you want to hesitate.”

“It’s not for sentimental reasons, I assure you.” Thinking about Danns’ threat was enough to put Rumplestiltskin’s teeth on edge, and part of him _burned_ to take her out of play before she could act against him.  “But I’ve been studying what happens when an original power is killed.”

“You fear what will happen when her power breaks loose.”

“With the dark magic she has embraced, it could be every bit as dangerous as setting the Dark One loose without a host.”  Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “Possibly worse, if her soul ties itself to it.”

“I would agree, except for the fact that you’re forgetting something.”  His mother shrugged minutely, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time in Rumplestiltskin’s memory.  “Danns’ has an _heir_ , Rumple.”

Blinking hard, Rumplestiltskin tried to swallow that information without allowing his sudden spike of fear to get the better of him.  “You think her power will transition to Belle.”

“As Fionna’s did to Danns’, yes,” Morgan replied.  “And like Danns’, she will have a choice: light or dark, white or black.  Some of Fionna’s power passed to Belle from her mother, and I believe that it will be enough to give her a choice.”

“You _think_.”  The words snapped out of him with enough force that Rumplestiltskin came out of his chair.  “There’s no guarantee.  That much darkness _stains_ even an original power.  Danns’ has made centuries of choices, and I _will not_ risk those destroying everything Belle is!”

 “You think very little of your wife if you assume that will happen.”

“You think— _what_?” Part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to strangle his mother for that remark.  Did she know him so little?  “I know Belle far better than you ever will, and I will not ask her to become like that!  It would break her heart to be so steeped in darkness.”

“Not if she chose light.”  Morgan rose, meeting his eyes squarely.  “Do you really think she wouldn’t?

“Of course not.”  The words came automatically, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed back the next thing he’d meant to say, his mind racing ahead of his mouth.  As much as he _hated_ the idea, his mother was right.  His magic was light and dark both, capable of great evil or great good.  Logic said that Danns’ was the same; she had merely chosen a darker path than the one he now walked.  He had felt the Black Fairy’s magic, had felt what it was and what that meant.  Yes, Belle would have to battle back the darkness, but if what was left of the White Faery was already in her…

It could work.

He _hated_ it, but it could work.

“I won’t ask that of her,” he said softly, calmer now that he’d worked through the possibilities.  “Belle doesn’t deserve to carry that burden.”

She didn’t love power the way he did, after all.  Belle had never felt that she _needed_ it, and her interest in magic was mainly academic.  She enjoyed learning more than anything else, except for perhaps helping people.  Belle loved helping those who needed it, and magic enabled her to do that more than ever before.  Yet Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone that having such magic _was_ a burden.  Being the Sorcerer had forced Rumplestiltskin to become something he had never been, something he’d only dreamt of when he’d been young and optimistic, certain that he could help others and magic would have no cost.  Now he knew better, though, and he knew how heavy the burden of being an original power was.

_Belle would handle it better than I, but she’s never wanted to be defined by magic,_ he thought.  _Not like me._   After all, Belle knew who she was.  She always had, unlike Rumplestiltskin, who still had no idea who he was if he didn’t have magic.  Oh, he’d learned a little courage and learned how to love and be loved, but beyond that…he knew that he wasn’t worth too much.  Not without power.  He _had_ come to understand that power was only as good as the one who wielded it, but he knew that, for better or worse, magic had become a part of his self-image.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Morgan’s voice was gentler, now.  “I think I know Belle well enough to know that she would prefer to make this decision for herself.”

“Of course she would.”  Pulling away from his mother, Rumplestiltskin paced across the back room, his mind working furiously.  There was _always_ a loophole, and even if Danns’ power would pass down her family line—as what happened after Fionna’s death did seem to indicate—there had to be a way to split it out.  “But there always has to be a balance.”

Morgan cocked her head.  “What are you thinking?”

“There is no Dark One left in the world, yet there must _always_ be light and dark.  Where magic is concerned, they’re two sides of the same coin.  For now, Danns’ fills that void.  Yet if we kill her…”

“We _must_.  Exile is not an option.”  Morgan crossed her arms.  “You know that.”

Rumplestiltskin waved a hand dismissively.  “I do.  I’m not arguing against her death.  Only what happens next.”

“Go on.”

“I think that the White Faery’s power skipped a generation for a reason.”  Not for the first time, Rumplestiltskin missed having Merlin’s memories—or even those of the Dark One—to call upon, but he had enough knowledge to give his guesses a good foundation.  “Logically, it would have found a new host in Colette, but that didn’t work out.  So it passed onto Belle, but she can’t _completely_ be the White Faery.  Yet it’s still separate.”

“You think that if she turns Danns’ power to the light, some of it will want to find a darker host.”

“A host that _will not_ be my unborn daughter.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t think he needed to tell Morgan that in any more explicit terms.  After all, his child would be her granddaughter.

His mother nodded right away.  “Agreed.”

“That leaves the question of who it must go to.”  Smiling wryly, he gestured at himself.  “Obviously, blood relation is not a requirement, although I suspect a certain compatibility is required.  Still, since there were originally two separate faeries, I think the power cannot be held as one.”

“You are probably right.”  Morgan looked thoughtful.  “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Do you?”

A beat of silence passed.  Although he’d turned the question back on his mother, he truly hoped she would not volunteer.  Morgan’s magic had already been involuntarily darkened by the attack of _Emma’s_ darkness—something he should probably put back in the Savior once he got the damned Sorcerer’s Hat back—and he hoped she would not seek to darken it further.  Mordred was definitely out; somehow, Rumplestiltskin doubted the power of an original faery would be compatible with any man, anyway.

“Perhaps.”  She hesitated.  “What do you think of Maleficent?”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help snorting.  “Most people would not suggest their lover for such a role.”

“Do try not to be childish about this.”

“That was hardly my intention.”  A soft laugh escaped before he pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “It might work.  She loves the title of ‘Mistress of All Evil’, but she _does_ know when to stop herself.”  Rumplestiltskin’s mind twisted around the idea, measuring magic against magic, and estimating how much power the transfer would contain.  “Based upon Belle’s current level of power, and adding Maleficent’s own strength to it, that would put her on the level of a half power.  Give or take a little.”

“Exactly.”  His mother’s smile was cool.  “Even if the worst happens, she could not make herself into what Danns’ has.”

“You trust her so much already, do you?” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his tone, but Rumplestiltskin was curious why his mother would sign Mal up for this… _interesting_ fate.

“I reserve my trust for my family.  I am fond of her, yes, but we are most certainly using one another.”

“Fair enough.”  After a moment’s further thought, he shrugged.   “I do think she’d handle it well.  Even at her most powerful, Maleficent was not someone to endanger the very fabric of existence.”

_And isn’t that a terribly low bar to set?_   He didn’t say the question aloud, but a part of Rumplestiltskin—the humble spinner who had wanted to make the world _better_ —shuddered at the idea of putting power into the hands of someone who could abuse it.  But he would not curse his daughter with such a dark fate, not when she wasn’t yet born and was unable to choose her own path.  It went without saying that Maleficent would have to take the power willingly.  He didn’t think she’d mind, but if she objected, they would have to find another path.

“If she doesn’t take it, it will have to be me,” Morgan said quietly, echoing his thoughts.

“Mother…”

“I do believe I know myself well enough to guarantee I would not destroy all the realms, although adding that darkness to my new bent would be dangerous.  Particularly since I am already a half power.”

 “There is also that, yes.”  He didn’t want to say that he didn’t trust his own mother…but Rumplestiltskin didn’t want her to become his enemy, either.  Being the Sorcerer was frightening enough with his family behind him.

“There is also the fact that you must stop avoiding the next step in this war.”

The sudden change of subject made Rumplestiltskin shift uncomfortably.  He knew where his mother was going with this, and yet—of all the things he had had to do since becoming the Sorcerer!—this one was the hardest for him.   Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin had hoped that someone else would step forward and spare him from having to lead this fight.  He was happy to plot and plan, and he _knew_ that he had to face Danns’…but acting as some sort of leader was just not his style.  So, he said nothing because he did not know what to say.  Rumplestiltskin knew himself, and he knew that no one in their right mind would follow a coward turned Dark One turned Sorcerer, anyway.

Studying his ring was much more interesting than this conversation, too.

“Do not ignore me, young man.”  Morgan’s voice turned stern.  “You know I am right.”

“And _I_ know how unsuited for this I am.”  His mother hadn’t known him for long, so perhaps she truly didn’t understand.  Rumplestiltskin had learned courage, but he was no leader.

“You are the Sorcerer, my son.”  A hand landed on his arm, making Rumplestiltskin’s head jerk up. “As you were once so fond of saying, all magic comes at a price.  You know this is yours.”

Rumplestiltskin could only swallow.

* * *

 

The proprietor of the Enchanted Forest—nicknamed “The Queen”, Ruby learned—was surprisingly helpful when it came to ways to screw Lamorak over.  She was happy to tell them when Lamorak’s goons were due to show up next, which turned out to be the day after Ruby and Mulan had decided to do something.  So, they arrived about an hour before the Camelot bullies were scheduled to arrive, had a drink, and waited.

When six knights walked in, however, Ruby started to wonder if they should have brought a few more friends.  “How many idiots does it take to extort some protection money?” she hissed to Mulan in an undertone.  “We shouldn’t have come alone.”

“I’ve got this.”  Mulan flashed her a cocky smile that made Ruby roll her eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.  First of all, there are only six of them.  I could deal with this by myself, but since I’ve got you on my side, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”  Mulan shrugged.  “But secondly, this ‘honorable’ type of jerk can’t refuse a duel.”

Ruby felt her eyes go wide.  “Mulan!”

But her girlfriend was already pushing away from the bar, one hand on her sword hilt and walking straight for the leader of the knights.  “Which one of you is in charge here?”

“I am.”  A burly knight sneered at her.  “Who the hell is asking?  You’re hardly the type that belongs in _this_ place.  Their so-called ‘Queen’ wouldn’t be very interested in you.”

Mulan snorted. “You have no idea.”  Then she looked him up and down like he was a particularly incompetent piece of meat.  “I’m Mulan.  And you are?”

“Sir Yvain.”  He scoffed at her sword.  “Not that I’m here to see _you._ ”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I’m here for you.”  Mulan drew herself up as Ruby leaned back against the bar to watch.  She knew where this was going, and Yvain was screwed.  “I challenge you to a duel.  If I win, you leave the Enchanted Forest alone.  If you win, you can have your money.”

“And why would I want to fight some little girl?”

“Because I’m not a little girl.”  Mulan’s smile was sharp.  “And because if you don’t, you’re a coward as well as a bully.”

That did it, of course.  Yvain was too prickly about his so-called honor to let anyone call him a coward, particularly a ‘little girl’.  His men seemed to think it was funny, too—or at least they did right up until Mulan kicked the crap out of him.  Ruby watched with an amused smile, sipping the drink that ‘The Queen’ had thoughtfully refilled, right up until Yvain’s fellows seemed ready to get involved.  Then, she slammed her drink down on the bar and lifted Granny’s crossbow, aiming right for the first of the idiots to step forward.

“Bad idea, Jerkwad.”  Ruby gave him a winning smile.  “Your idiot leader made a deal with my friend.  You might want to keep it.”

The second knight grinned.  “That would be the case if you could shoot us all before we got to you.  But you can’t reload that fast.”

“And I can kill you before you try to get to her, so let’s see you try.”  Mulan shifted her stance, bringing a second hand onto the hilt of her sword, and Ruby knew that she was spoiling for another fight.  Yvain hadn’t been much of a challenge, after all.  Not for Mulan.

“Not to mention the fact that you’re in a bar _full_ of people who don’t like you.”  A new voice spoke up, and when the crowd parted, Ruby was rather pleased to see Galavant and Isabella emerging.  “And while we’re hardly regulars in this fine establishment, we’ve made an exception just so we can help chase you out.”

None of the regulars looked particularly fond of Yvain and his companions, either, now that Ruby noticed how many people had come in to watch Mulan kick the crap out of Lamorak’s right hand knight.  It would have been a lot better if Lamorak himself had come, of course, but they’d still drawn quite a crowd.  And none of them liked the bully boys, either.

Ruby just gestured kindly with her crossbow.  “I suggest you boys leave.  Unless you really want to start a fight you can’t win.”

Grumbling, the knights filed out, although not without promises of how this wasn’t over and how they’d be back.  Ruby figured that they would, but with enough warning, any business owner in Storybrooke would be able to find friends to fight them off.  All the idiots carried were swords, which meant that a few guns would solve the problem, or even a few more crossbows. _Then again, knowing Mulan, she’s going to make it her mission to stop them wherever they go,_ Ruby thought with a smile.  She’d help, of course.  Ruby would always have Mulan’s back.

Unfortunately, when Isabella started talking to Mulan about finding a young squire named Sid, Ruby started realizing that their problems were way bigger than she thought.

* * *

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite pet.”

The voice coming from behind her was straight out of Tink’s nightmares, and she spun to face Nuckelavee as quickly as she could, her heart racing wildly.  She’d already learned the hard way that she couldn’t match the sadistic fae in battle.  He was too powerful, and too knowledgeable.  She’d managed to sneak out of captivity, but Tink wasn’t a fool.  She wouldn’t have been able to stay away from him for long if Nuckelavee hadn’t wound up in the Sorcerer’s Hat, and even _with_ the tutoring she’d gotten from Morgan, she still wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him.

That didn’t mean she was going to give in, though.

“I’m not your pet,” she spat, glaring at the too pretty fae.  “And I won’t be, no matter what you do to me.”

“Oooh, I’ve always loved that spirit of yours.”  Nuckelavee was all but prancing as he approached her, and looking at him made her want to be sick. 

_I guess those sessions with Archie aren’t really helping as fast as I wanted,_ she thought angrily.  “Yeah, well, there’s nothing I like about you, so why don’t you just get lost?”

He laughed, but Tink was already judging distances.  She still hadn’t mastered teleporting—which was apparently hard to do with fairy magic—but she was pretty close to the _Jolly Roger_.  In fact, she was just down the pier, less than fifty yards away.  Killian was probably on board, and Mordred had been there when she left.  Might he still be there?  Mordred was probably powerful enough to chase Nuckelavee off, particularly if Tink herself was still in fighting condition.  But the real question was if she could make it there before Nuckelavee could catch her.  Tink knew she could run pretty fast, since that was a skill she’d used with depressing regularity in Neverland, but what would he do?

There was no time like the present to find out, so Tink bolted for the ship.

* * *

 

Maleficent had guessed what her daughter wanted to talk about, so they’d gone for a long flight.  Under other circumstances, she would have crossed realms to have _this_ conversation, but she knew that Danns’ had put a tracker on her, so Maleficent didn’t dare.  The fact that she was leaving said tracker in place on purpose didn’t matter; if Danns’ wanted to keep tabs on her movements, Mal would let her.  For now.  _So long as she thinks me useful_ and _that she has a hold on me, we should be safe,_ she thought coolly.  Unless her daughter’s passion and impatience interfered, of course.

“I can’t do this anymore.”  Lily barely waited until they’d transformed to start speaking.  Mal had landed on top of a little peninsula that was up the coast from the main town; it was barely inside Storybrooke’s boundaries, and it was as far away as they could get without actually leaving. 

Mal took a deep breath.  “Lilith—”

“No.  Mom, I can’t.  August is missing, and I _know_ it’s got to be the fault of one of those smug and slimy sadists.   And…and this is _wrong_.  I didn’t really see it before, or maybe I didn’t care, but I’m not ready to just stand around while a couple thousand people die.”

“I know.  Neither am I.”  She was proud of Lily for drawing the line, though.  So proud.  “Why do you _think_ I’ve been sleeping with Morgan of Cornwall?”

Lily grimaced.  “Because it’s every mother’s duty to gross their daughter out with that stuff?  Seriously.  I try not to think of it.”

Maleficent laughed.  “No, although that is a worthy goal of its own.  I am ‘spying’ for Danns’…but Morgan knows it.  She and I have an agreement.”

“Oh.  I’m not sure that makes me feel any better about the fact that you’re with Killian’s _grandmother_.”

“Are you sleeping with your pirate, then?”

“He’s not ‘mine’!”  Lily blushed bright red, though.

“Oh, forgive me.”  She gave her daughter a naughty smile.  “I’m hardly one to stop you if you want to, dear. Just do try not to give me grandchildren unless you want them.”

“ _Mom!_ ”

Perhaps it was time to stop mortifying her daughter and bring this conversation back in hand.  So, Maleficent reached out and took both of Lily’s hands.  “I know it’s hard right now, pretending that you don’t see what the fae are doing.  But we _cannot_ simply walk away.  Danns’ will kill us if we do.  So, we must choose our moment carefully.  Until then, we will appear loyal and well cowed.”

Lily’s glare turned mulish.  “I don’t like being either.”

“Nor do I, which is why we are _not_.  Appearances can be misleading, and we will mislead them all until we are ready to make our move.”

A moment passed, and then Lily nodded. “All right.  Is it too much to hope that I might be able to stab Nuckelavee in the back when we do?  He’s a creepy bastard.”

“I’ll see what we can arrange.”

* * *

 

“Help!”

Killian’s head snapped around the moment he heard the shout.  “That was Tink!”

Mordred didn’t even answer.  There was a sudden _tug_ , and while one moment, they’d been sitting in the captain’s cabin of the _Jolly Roger_ , the next he and his uncle were on the dock, inches away from Tinker Bell and facing down Nuckelavee.  The fae seemed rather put out that he’d had to run after a fleeing fairy, but Killian really didn’t care if the silver-haired bastard was unhappy. In fact, that thought rather warmed him inside.  Stroking Nuckelavee’s ego really wasn’t on Killian’s to-do list today.  _Or ever, really._

Nuckelavee stopped, scowling.  “Oh, look.  It’s the bastard again.”

“And you’re without your usual posse.”  Killian’s uncle smiled nastily, magic already sparking in his hands.  “Do you really dare retry our last encounter under such circumstances?”

“My Lady wants you dead.”  Nuckelavee’s eyes were narrow and Killian could practically feel the heat of his anger.  Tink clearly could, too, because she threw a glance at Killian as she turned to stand between him and Mordred. 

“Let me guess: she wants her granddaughter to be the only breathing Pendragon.” Mordred snorted. 

Nuckelavee’s shrug was eloquent.  “Hand over the fairy and you need not meet your fate today.”

“That’s not happening, mate.”  Killian spoke up, drawing the sword he wore.  It was a silver-tipped cutlass that he’d helped make, and Killian had become rather fond of it.  Making your own weapons was oddly rewarding, and he thought it might become an interesting hobby.  After they dealt with this sadistic shit of a fae, of course.

“How is it that a grandson of Morgan has no magic?” Nuckelavee sneered.  “Go somewhere where you are not useless, pirate.  Or I might enjoy killing you today.”

“Try and you _will_ die.”  Mordred no longer sounded amused.

Tink didn’t sound any less fiery.  “If you ask me, that’s the best way this day ends.”

“If you think I fear a fairy and a bastard, you are _very_ wrong.”

“If you weren’t hesitant, you would have already attacked.”  Mordred shrugged casually, holding up his cell phone.  “But by all means, carry on.  My mother will be here soon, thanks to the miracles of modern technology.  So yes, please.  Let’s ‘dance’.”

Killian felt his own eyes go wide, but he tried not to let his surprise show.  There was _no_ way Mordred had managed to contact Morgan since they’d come outside.  Mordred was even worse with phones than Killian was, and he was certain that his uncle didn’t know how to text.  Killian had stumbled through explaining the concept to him just a few days earlier, but Mordred was still struggling with how to make phone calls.  _He’s bluffing, counting on Nuckelavee to know even less about technology than he does._   But would it work?

Finally, Nuckelavee twitched, all too obviously _not_ looking around in worry.  Seeing his confidence falter was nice; Killian burned to watch the arrogant fae taken down a notch.  But a moment later, Nuckelavee’s superior expression was back.

“This is far from over.”  With one final sneer, Nuckelavee disappeared, leaving Killian, Mordred, and Tink standing on an empty pier.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.”  Killian had rather been hoping for a chance to shove his new sword through Nuckelavee’s back.  Surely the fae would have been distracted enough by having two magical opponents that _one_ of them could have gotten through.  Ridding the world of Nuckelavee would have been a public service, and it would undoubtedly have helped their cause in the war.

Unfortunately, the fae had decided to play it smart.  They’d have to try again another day.

* * *

 

Her encounter with Nuckelavee made Emma do a lot of thinking.  She’d beaten him off, but it had been _hard_ , far harder than it should have been.  She was the Savior, and she’d been the Dark One.  Emma was supposed to be a powerful magic user, and she _was_ …except she really didn’t have much knowledge.  Nuckelavee had been right about that.  She didn’t like admitting it, but that was the truth.  The question of what she was going to do about it was harder to answer, but Emma had never really been fond of hiding from the truth.  So, she had to face it—and that meant fixing her problem.

She found Regina in the mayor’s office that afternoon, and walked in without knocking.  “I need your help.”

“Well, that’s not something I hear from you very often.”  Regina’s eyebrows shot up.  “What happened?”

“Nuckelavee came after me.”  Emma shoved her hands in her pockets uneasily.  “I chased him off, but he said something about me being ‘no finesse’.”

Regina snorted.  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but that’s hardly news.”  

“I know that!”  Emma throttled her temper back with an effort.  “But he was right about the fact that I don’t have a lot of knowledge, either.  And I need to fix that.”

“Are you asking me to teach you again?  And will you _listen_ this time?”

“Yeah.”  Emma swallowed.  She couldn’t deny that she hadn’t been the best student last time around; Regina had tried to teach her the finer points of magic, and Emma had ended up just going back to her instincts.  But her instincts weren’t going to be enough, were they?  She had to learn _smart_ magic now, not just strong magic. 

“All right then.”  Regina stood, straightening her pants suit and nodding.  “Let’s start.”

Emma blinked.  “Now?”

“Yeah, now.  You prefer to wait until next week, or maybe after this epic storm of a battle that’s coming?” 

“Of course not!”

“Well, then let’s go to my vault and get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Twelve—“Where Must I Strike”, in which Rumplestiltskin recruits Killian to figure out why people are going missing, Belle tries one last time to reason with her grandmother, Morgan talks to Maleficent about the future, Baelfire runs into Jhudora, Ruby and Mulan face the consequences of their vigilantism, and Danns’ sends Nuckelavee after something she needs.


	112. Where Must I Strike

Storybrooke was in a state of flux, but Rumplestiltskin had always been able to master the whirlwind of change.  He knew he wasn’t a leader, though, despite what his mother had said.  But he didn’t _need_ to be, did he?  He had always been a manipulator, the master of events at the center of the storm.  So, he’d spent the day since speaking to Morgan gathering information, learning what others were doing and _listening_.  Belle told him about Regina’s quest to pull some of the Camelot support away from Lamorak, and a stop by Granny’s led to him learning about Ruby and Mulan’s quest to knock Lamorak’s pay-for-protection scheme down.  Bae shared Emma’s new desire to learn magic, and that Regina was teaching her.  Mordred told him about how Nuckelavee and the other fae were going after their former victims, seeking to bring back their ‘golden days’ of power and abuse.  Henry, however, mentioned that a few people seemed to have gone missing, and Morgan confirmed that after Maleficent relayed that Lily’s best friend was among them.

That last point was actually the most worrisome.  It was expected, of course—the fae were utterly predictable in some ways—but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t of a mind to give Danns’ hostages once the battle started.  Some of his allies were tender-hearted enough that that would cause problems, and he needed to know where those who had disappeared had gone.  Hence his calling upon someone whom he would usually rather not have a private conversation with.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you have some reason for inviting me here that _doesn’t_ include Crocodile-Pirate bonding time.”  Killian walked in with a swagger, but his expression was more than a little confused.

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t resist a slight smile.  “Are you asking me to call you my pirate nephew?” 

“Don’t you already?”

“Fair enough.”  He let out a breath.  Usually, Rumplestiltskin would have Bae there to soften this conversation and keep them from coming to blows, but he Bae had snuck off to have breakfast with Emma before he could snag his son.  Fortunately, another family member had been available, although this one wasn’t _quite_ the same moderating influence Baelfire was.  “Although I admit it is not as catchy as ‘Uncle Crocodile.”

“I’d offer to change if you’re offended, but I probably wouldn’t actually do it.”  Killian’s grin was sharp, and Rumplestiltskin had to snort.

“No need,” he said dryly.  “I asked you here for another reason.”

As if on cue, Henry popped his head out of the back room.   “Hi, Killian.” 

“Henry?  What are you doing here, lad?” Killian’s eyebrows had risen in surprise, and Rumplestiltskin suppressed the urge to laugh.  He had to try doubly hard once Henry replied:

“Hanging out with my Grandpa, plotting and planning.  You know.  What he does best.”

“If you’ve dragged the lad into some nefarious plot—”

“Nothing so nefarious I don’t intend to drag you into it as well,” Rumplestiltskin cut his nephew off cheerfully.  

Killian swallowed.  “I’m not certain that’s an improvement.”

“Oh, it isn’t.”  He allowed himself a cold smile.  “Alas, necessity breeds odd fellows, and here we are.  People are going missing, and the fae are undoubtedly at fault.  Someone needs to find them.”

“I trust you’re not volunteering _me_ for that.”

“Why not?” Henry piped up before Rumplestiltskin could answer.  “I can’t do it by myself—or I could, but no one will let me—and the fae probably aren’t watching you.  They’re watching everyone with magic, and Gramps because he’s the Heartless King.  They’re watching Belle because _her_ grandmother is a psycho, and they’re probably watching my dad because he’s Grandpa’s son.  I’m just a kid, so I fall under the radar.  And so do you.”

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been able to argue with that logic when Henry had presented it to him, and now it stymied the pirate, too.  _At least I have a clever grandson,_ he consoled himself.  And, well, if he felt like being honest, perhaps it was time to admit that his nephew wasn’t an idiot, either.  Even if Henry could run rings around the pirate.

“Lily mentioned that the wooden man child—err, her friend, August—was missing.”

“Fascinating.”  The word escaped as Rumplestiltskin rolled the idea over in his mind, but he didn’t expect Henry to glare at him.

“ _Grandpa_.”

“What?” He had no idea why his grandson was suddenly giving him a disapproving look as if _Henry_ were the elder here.

“That’s not what you say when someone goes missing.  You’re supposed to pretend you care.”

“Is that what polite society does these days?” Rumplestiltskin managed not to say that he wanted no part of polite society.  He didn’t need to, not with Killian thinking it so loudly that he might has well have been shouting.

Henry just rolled his eyes and looked back at the pirate.  “Look, we’ve got to figure out where they are before those people can be used against us.”

Killian’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Rumplestiltskin.  “What do you mean ‘used against us’?”

“Do you fancy fighting a grand battle against the fae when they have hostages aplenty that they can threaten to kill?”  Rumplestiltskin waited for Killian to shake his head, and then continued: “I thought not.  So, we need to find where these people are, and quickly.”

“I never thought I’d hear the Crocodile care so much.”  The slight embarrassment in Killian’s voice softened his words more than expected, though.

“You _do_ know that he’s not really the Crocodile anymore now that he isn’t the Dark One, right?” Henry glared.

“Yes, I’m aware, thank you.”  Killian looked annoyed.  “It’s just that…”

Rumplestiltskin just shrugged.  He was used to the reminder of the evil he’d done, and he couldn’t really blame anyone who still mistrusted him.  “I will never shake what I was, but we can all try to be better.”  Coming to understand that had taken him a long time.

“Aye.”  Killian nodded.  “Aye, we can.”

* * *

 

Part of Belle didn’t want to ever come to her grandparents’ house again.  The absence of her grandfather was particularly obvious there, and Belle wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive her grandmother for killing him.  But more importantly, she would _never_ forget what Danns’ had threatened to do to Rumplestiltskin.

“Belle.”  Her grandmother smiled widely when she opened the door, genuine pleasure showing in her eyes.  Belle did not return her smile.

“Grandmother.”

“Come in, please.”  Danns’ stepped aside, suddenly graciousness and love, and Belle followed her woodenly. 

Trailing her grandmother through the front hall and into the living room gave Belle a chance to look around the house once more, noticing magical objects tucked away in glass cabinets.  They were all carefully warded, of course; now that she knew enough about magic, Belle could see the spells guarding them.  She had no interest in stealing anything, however; Belle was simply curious.  _And if I can see anything that hints at what her next step will be…that will be useful._   Part of Belle was sickened at the idea of spying on her own grandmother, but that part had become a very small thing.

The Peace Amulet, which Rumplestiltskin had made so long ago—and Danns’ had stolen to prevent Emma from being able to separate her own magic from that of the Dark One—was still on a shelf.  So were several other items that Belle recognized from books, and a few that she didn’t.  She tried to commit those to memory, knowing she could look them up later.  Aside from those few brutal dances, the fae had been rather quiet, and Belle worried that her grandmother was only trying to keep them distracted while she planned for something bigger.

“Do be seated.”  Danns’ gestured Belle towards the comfortable couch, but Belle shook her head and remained standing.   That earned her a narrow-eyed look from her grandmother. 

She shifted uncomfortably.  “I’m not planning on staying long.”

“Then do tell me why you are here.  I had hoped you might have come to understand my position, but I begin to believe otherwise.”  Danns’ eyes were suddenly dark.  “You may be my granddaughter, Belle, but I will not tolerate another lecture.   My love for you does not extend to sufferance of such indignities.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” Belle snapped before she could stop herself.  “Although I’m not sure how expressing _disbelief_ at the fact that my grandmother killed my grandfather can be counted as a lecture.”

“Say your piece.”  She was fairly sure that her grandmother was trying not to roll her eyes, and hot anger surged through Belle at the sight.

“You threatened my husband.”

“We were fighting on another, nearly to the death.”  Danns’ laughed lightly.  “There are many threats inherent in such encounters.”

“I don’t mean _that_.  I mean the way you said you would break him to your will and referenced his past experiences.”  Not shouting was hard, so hard.  “How could you say that?”

Now Danns’ did roll her eyes, ever so slightly.  “He told you, then.”

“Only after I asked him!  Rumple didn’t want to worry me, but I _love_ him, so I worry!”

“You would not have known of it.  I would have returned him to you once he capitulated.  I am not a monster, Belle.  I know how you love him, and I would not take him from you.”

“You are not a monster—?” She cut off incredulously, staring at her grandmother with wide eyes.  “How can you say that in the same breath that you talk about torturing him?  And _worse_?”

“I will do what must be done.  I will not apologize for that.”  Danns’ almost looked bored.

For a long moment, Belle just stared, pain welling up and making her throat threaten to close off.  “I can’t believe you,” she finally whispered.  “You know, for a while there, I thought you wanted family, that you actually might value my opinions.  But you don’t, do you?”

“Of course I do.  I simply know how young you are, and—”

“No.”  Belle’s voice was rock hard as she cut her grandmother off.  “This has nothing to do with age.  It only has to do with how you value power and dominion over _everyone_ and _everything_.  You might care about me, but you only care on your terms.  You don’t care what I think.”

“I care very much about you, Belle.”  The emotion in Danns’ voice surprised her, but Belle refused to step forward when her grandmother did, her green eyes suddenly earnest.  “You are my daughter’s child, and I loved her as I have loved no one else, even my sisters.”

“You might love me, but you don’t respect me.  And you don’t care what I want, not if you were willing to hurt the man I love.  My _True Love._ ”  Belle found her hands landing on her stomach, thinking of the child she carried and of how her own daughter would feel growing up with a broken father.   _I would have returned him to you once he capitulated._   Those words would not stop echoing through her mind.

“If he was anyone else, I would simply kill him.  But I  know what he means to you, and I cannot do that to you.”

Belle felt like vomiting.  “So you expect me to be pleased by the fact that he would be alive but broken?  Don’t you know how _wrong_ that is?”

Danns’ merely shrugged.

“Promise me that you won’t do that.  Promise me that you’ll never so much as consider it again, and I will not walk out right now.”  Belle desperately wanted to believe that she could _somehow_ get through to her grandmother.  She knew that the final battle was coming, knew that if Danns’ did not bend somehow, this war would end in blood. 

“I cannot make such a promise.  Not with what is at stake.”

“Grandmother, _please_.”

“I am sorry, Belle.  I will not kill those you love, but I will not allow them to oppose me, either.”  Danns’ reached for her, but Belle jerked away, only then noticing the hot tears streaming down her face.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.  “No, I’m finished with you.  Goodbye.”

Belle turned on her heel and fled, and did not look back.  Not once.

* * *

 

“The idea is…interesting.”  Maleficent sat back on the couch, idly twirling a glass of wine in her hand.  “I can see why you would choose me, of course.”  She studied Morgan for a moment. “Although I am not sure why you wouldn’t want the power yourself.”

“The unique way in which my magic was reawakened gives me enough extraneous darkness, and what I’ve done in the past has darkened my heart quite enough, thank you.”

“So you want me to darken my soul for you instead?” Mal drawled.  “How noble.”

“I never used the word _noble_ to describe myself, not even my birth.”  Morgan snorted.  “I know myself.  I have never shied away from using the darkness as a tool, but it is not something I wish to embrace.  I did so once, and I almost destroyed the world in doing so.  It is probably safest for all of us if I do not do so again.”

“Hence you reference my past.”

“You enjoy the darkness, but you’re not someone who confuses that with embracing it.” She saw no reason to be subtle; Maleficent was smart and quick, and would understand the many issues involved in passing on Danns’ powers.

“I am no fairy.  Or even a faery.”

“Neither is Belle.”  Morgan shrugged.  “We are exiting the age of the Faeries.  I should think that’s quite obvious.”

“And so we enter the age of human original powers.” Mal sipped her wine thoughtfully.  “In which I would become the Darker Power, to oppose Belle as the Light.”

“With Rumplestiltskin in the middle, yes.”

Mal chuckled.  “With the guarantee of those two in perpetual alliance keeping me in line, I imagine.”  She rolled her eyes.  “Why not simply accept the consequences, take the power yourself, and keep this a family affair?  Or why not insist Mordred take it?”

“That power would destroy Mordred.”  Morgan did not plan on suggesting this anywhere near her elder son.  He’d always leaned towards darkness, no matter how he claimed otherwise, and inheriting Danns’ powers would only make him hate himself more.  _If the worst comes, Rumplestiltskin could manage both…but I think there’s something else at play._  

“And you are a protective mother.”  Mal saluted her with her glass.

“As are you.  You’ll note that I am not suggesting Lily for this role.”

“You had better not.”  That made Maleficent’s eyes flash, and Morgan held her hands up in surrender.

“I am not.”  She took a breath.  “But…as narrow as it sounds, I do not think Danns’ power will take resident in any _man_.  I fear it will probably turn you part-faery, at least.”

“Part-faery, part-dragon,” Mal mused.  “That could be an interesting combination.  Particularly for anyone who tried to oppose me.”

Morgan kept her mouth shut for a moment, watching Maleficent think.  She had to give the other woman time to decide, and as fond of Mal as she had become, Morgan had no idea which direction she would choose.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had been right; _someone_ had to take on Danns’ role and what remained of her power after this was over.  If no one did so willingly, they might well find it possessing someone they _did_ not choose…which could be disastrous.  And she did not dare take the power on herself.  The last thing Morgan wanted was to create another original power; between Rumplestiltskin and Blue, she felt they already had enough.  Belle would hopefully inherit Danns’ power with _Fionna’s_ strength, but the remainder of that power would not be enough to create a fourth without joining to someone who was already a half power.

_Like me._   Morgan would do it if she had to, but things were already complicated enough.  And committing herself to that road meant she would not be able to do what she feared she would have to, in the end.

“Will you do it?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

“I don’t know yet.”  Maleficent was quiet for another moment, and finally put her wine glass down.  “Let me speak to my daughter.”

* * *

 

It figured that the same fae would show up just when Bae was walking out of Storybrooke Hardware.  She didn’t quite appear right in front of him, but she was only three feet away, which didn’t leave a lot of room for personal space.  Bae backed up immediately, only to find that the door had shut behind him, trapping him on the sidewalk with nowhere to go.  Not that he would have wanted to bring Jhudora inside the hardware store.  There was no need to endanger everyone else just because this psychotic chick came to pay him a visit.

“Hello, pretty boy.”  She smiled, closing the distance between them by half, which really didn’t help hide the sadistic glint in her eyes.  Yet there was something in the air, something he could almost taste.  It was tart and dangerous all at once, sweet and disgusting.  _Magic_ , Bae’s brain reported.  He might never use the stuff himself, but his years in Neverland had made him all too familiar with it.  He had no idea what this spell was supposed to do, but it really didn’t feel good.

“You know, I’m not really a boy.  Even though I kind of look like I’m in my thirties and all, I’m actually—”

Jhudora lunged in to kiss him, and Bae cut off, doing the only thing he could do and shoving her back with both hands.  She stumbled, desire turning to fury as her eyes flashed.

“You’ll regret that,” Jhudora hissed.

“Uh, probably not.”  Bae tried to inch left, only to find her stepping forward again.  “You know, this isn’t really the best way to get a guy.  Not that I’m sure why you want me and all, but most of us like a little bit of romance.  I mean, simple is better sometimes, but sexual assault really isn’t—”

“You are the son of the Sorcerer.”  Jhudora cut him off like he was an idiot for not knowing what she wanted.  “I will possess you.”

“Whoa there.  I’m not something you can just stick in your pocket and carry around.”  Though he probably shouldn’t give her ideas.  “And in case you haven’t noticed, my dad’s not Merlin.  He’s got a bit of a temper.  He’ll rip you into little tiny pieces and then dance on your grave.”

Jhudora grinned, looking like she relished the challenge.  “I’ll take my chances.”

“Not if I get to you first,” another voice said, and Bae felt the tension in his body flow out like water.  Emma stood behind Jhudora, her hazel eyes afire and burning for a fight.

That might have been worrisome, but this wasn’t Emma as the Dark One.  This was plain Emma Swan, who fought for what she believed in and refused to give way.  This was the woman he’d fallen in love with so long ago, and for whom he’d give anything.  Now, Bae watched with his own grin as Emma grabbed Jhudora by the shoulder and spun the fae around, punching her right in the face before Jhudora could say a word.

“What—how _dare_ you?” Jhudora staggered sideways, clutching at her cheek.

“I get that a lot.  I’m not sorry.”  Emma shrugged.

“You’re the Savior.”  Jhudora spat the word like it was a curse.

“Yeah, I am.  And he’s also my boyfriend, so hands off.”

Normally, Bae wasn’t big on possessive women, but he figured he could give Emma a pass. Particularly if it make this crazy lady go away.

“This is where I should mention that I’m quite happy in the relationship, so you can get whatever sticky crap magic you have on me off and go about your business,” he added.

Jhudora turned to him with a sneer.  “Deal with it yourself.”  Then she vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, leaving Bae and Emma standing outside the hardware store together.

It _was_ a sticky mess, too.  Bae could feel a little of it, the tug of hot desire and a need to have it fulfilled.  Fortunately, it didn’t make him want _Jhudora_ —which he was damned grateful for—but it did make him want to do something stupid like shove Emma against the wall and screw her daylights out.  Fortunately, he was smart enough not to go that road; even if it hadn’t gotten him punched in the face, he figured that Storybrooke’s Sheriff didn’t need someone coming after her for public indecency.  So, Bae stepped on his libido and swallowed back the desire to at least kiss Emma repeatedly.

“You wanna give me a hand with this before it makes me do something stupid?” he asked plaintively.

Emma cocked her head.  “Define stupid.”

“Stuff that would give our kid nightmares, particularly if we did it in public.”

“Oh.  Good idea, then.”

Emma was able to pull the magic off, at least, although it did take her longer than it probably would have taken his dad.  Still, Bae didn’t mind having to spend time sitting in the Sheriff’s Station with Emma, because it was turning out to be a good day.

She’d called him her _boyfriend_ , and if the price of that was having had a crazy fae dump magic on him, Bae was happy that he’d already paid up.

* * *

 

“Henry said that you talked Killian into helping him find those missing people,” David said a few moments after he’d arrived in the shop.  They’d adjourned to the back room, with Rumplestiltskin throwing up a few privacy spells so they could talk about things neither could afford to have overheard.

“I did.  It wasn’t as difficult as I expected,” he admitted.

“Killian isn’t a bad sort, once he puts his anger down.”  David shrugged. “I thought I’d come to terms with him and Emma together, though I have to admit that I’m glad she’s not romancing a pirate any longer.”

Rumplestiltskin barely managed not to grimace.  If David didn’t like a well-born—technically royal, even—pirate, what would he feel about a spinner’s son?  Granted, his own bloodline was no longer quite as low as he’d once thought, but Rumplestiltskin was still a bastard who had been raised as a peasant.  Baelfire was legitimate, but that wasn’t necessarily much of an improvement when one was discussing royalty.  _Even if David was born and raised as a shepherd, every man wants better for his daughter._ He should know, after all.  He was already worrying about what would happen in a decade and a half or so when his future daughter started dating.

“Hopefully, they’ll find something,” he replied, sidestepping the topic of Emma’s taste in men.  What David didn’t already know, Rumplestiltskin had no desire to tell him.  “But I doubt you came here to discuss that little side quest.”

“No.”  David shook his head with a sigh.  “I know we need to find the location of the hostages before we can even think about planning an attack, but I think we need to do _something_ soon.  People are getting really frightened.  This isn’t like other villains we’ve had in town; there are a lot of fae, and there’s been too many deaths already.”

“There have, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t keeping track—quite on purpose, as he’d discovered that having an actual conscience made things more difficult when you counted the casualties.  Still, he knew that at last forty people had died since the fae had returned, and the only thing that kept him from feeling too guilty on that front was the knowledge that it would have been _much_ worse if all the fae had been released.

Yet not feeling _too_ guilty was not the same as feeling no guilt at all.

“What can we do?”  David looked him right in the eye.  “I’ve assembled teams and armed them with the silver-tipped weapons, but you and I both know that won’t be enough.  We have to take Danns’ down, and for that we need you.”

Rumplestiltskin’s breath caught in his throat.  Having the leader of the heroes say that they _needed_ him was still so very new, and more than a little unsettling.  He wasn’t a hero and never would be, and although he was growing more comfortable with rejecting the labels of hero and villain, that didn’t mean he was used to the idea of playing on the good side.  A little over four months ago, he had enlisted Isaac to write a world where he could escape the darkness taking him over.  Now…now he was the Sorcerer, and he was the only one who could face off with Danns’.  _Or, I’m the only one since we_ all _know that Reul Ghorm won’t do it.  She might be willing to dirty her hands enough to save lives, but she’ll never take one._ That thought left a bitter taste in Rumplestiltskin’s mouth.  Reul Ghorm was happy to destroy a human’s future in order to lock her sister away, but she wasn’t willing to harm her sister to save humans. 

After a moment, Rumplestiltskin realized he’d been silent for too long.  “The trick is figuring out what they want to do next, and to deny them the ability to do so.”

“You have any ideas on that front?”

“A few.”  He smiled thinly.  “Danns’ ultimate goal remains the same: she wishes to turn all the realms into one.  She can no longer use a rogue portal to do so, which means she must find an object that will do the same.”

David frowned.  “Can’t she create portals with her wand?” 

“Only to the last place she was.  Her wand is tied to her magic, which is tied to her soul—as all magic is.  She cannot reach out to any realm.  That power is unique to the Sorcerer.”

“You think she’s going to go after you?” Bless his heart, David looked worried.  But Rumplestiltskin laughed.

“Not for those reasons, no.”  He did hope that Belle was having a little success with her grandmother; he knew that she had gone to talk to Danns’, and for Belle’s sake, Rumplestiltskin hoped that her grandmother would relent.  _Or lie_.  In reality, he didn’t think he’d ever be safe from Danns’ until she was dead.  Rumplestiltskin knew the way she’d looked at him far too well.

“Then what?”

“I’m still working on that one.”  Rumplestiltskin had several ideas, and had put several plans in place already.  “There’s no way to know for sure until she acts, though.”

“All right, so if we can beat her at her next game, she’ll be forced on the defensive.”  David nodded crisply.  “That’s got to be when we strike.  We can’t wait for her every time—sooner or later, we have to take the fight to the enemy.”

“Yes, we do.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath to steady himself, to quiet the old coward whispering inside.  “I will do my best to remove her ability to pull the realms together.  But whether or not I manage, we should attack when she tries to do so.  It will be the only sure way to stop her, and much of her power will be tied up in her spells.”

“Do we need that?  I mean, you’re the Sorcerer.  You stood up to her before, and you can again, right?” 

“Your confidence warms my heart, but you’re dismissing the fifteen or so fae she still has on her side.”  Rumplestiltskin started ticking names off on her fingers.  “Even counting Emma, Regina, Belle, Mordred, and my mother, we only have six magic users against their fifteen.”

“Eight if Maleficent and Lily come around.”

“Those are still bad odds.  You’re going to have to take on Lamorak’s ‘army’—because even if Belle and Regina manage to reduce the number of people who will fight for him, there are definitely some that will.”

“The fairies might help.”  But David didn’t look convinced, and Rumplestiltskin just snorted.

“I’m certain that we can count on Tink and Astrid to help, but even then, the odds are still long enough to make a straightforward battle foolish.”  He shook his head, his mind racing a thousand miles ahead of his mouth.  “We have to play this _right_ , and divide our opponents—and their power—as best we can.”

David nodded thoughtfully.  “What are you thinking?”

Rumplestiltskin felt a smile spread across his face.  “Let’s talk about alternate angles of attack.”

He would never be a general, Rumplestiltskin knew.  He wasn’t the type who could lead soldiers into battle, but he _was_ someone who could plot and plan.  Rumplestiltskin knew that his magical power and his knowledge were needed in this fight, and he knew that he needed to fight it.  But if he could combine his skills with David’s leadership ability…well, then they might just get somewhere.

* * *

 

Grinning, Ruby leaned against the counter.  The dinner rush was over, they’d had a really good few days, and the last customer had finally walked out for the night.  “Well, that’s three duels you’ve fought, now.”

“And won.”  Mulan corrected her with a straight face.  “But the fights weren’t what I’d call fair.  Those knights really aren’t very good.”

“I think we should take victories where we can get them.”  Ruby shrugged.  “Besides, that’s three businesses that won’t be paying protection money, and that’s got to count for something.”

“It’s a start, at least.”  Mulan shrugged, but Ruby could see her eyes sparkling.  “We should find a few more, though.  There’s no way Lamorak and his thugs stopped at three places.”

“Yeah.”  Ruby grimaced.  “It would probably be nice if we could actually catch _Lamorak_ in the act, too.  Do you think we have enough evidence to get anyone arrested?”

Mulan shook her head.  “You’re assuming they’d go quietly.  I don’t think any of them will.”

Ruby wanted to disagree, she did.  She’d lived in the modern world enough to almost expect that people would respect the law, that they’d listen when someone tried to arrest them instead of resisting.  But she remembered life in the Enchanted Forest, too, where might had always made right.  _I remember a lynch mob coming after me, too_ , she thought darkly.  Mulan had had to kill the last knight she’d fought, and Ruby didn’t doubt that others were going to die before this mess was over.  In fact—

“You’re the pair that keeps interfering with Yvain.”  Whirling around, Ruby found herself face to face with with Sir Lamorak.  He smiled.  “I believe you were just talking about me.”

“Bet your ass we were.”  She growled the words before she realized that she hadn’t heard Camelot’s new dictator come into the diner, and then Ruby suddenly noticed that there was a fae next to him when Lamorak turned to his companion.

“What do you think, Odelia?” he asked casually.  “They’re both pretty enough.”

“And fighters.”  Odelia—who smelled of trees and sharp dark magic—smiled nastily.  “I like them as a pair.”

Lamorak rolled his eyes.  “That’s hardly fair to everyone else.”

“Too bad.  They’re mine, now.” 

Mulan opened her mouth to object, but Odelia waved a hand, and everything went black.

* * *

 

“You wished to see me, My Lady?” Nuckelavee entered the room quietly, but Danns’ waved him forward.

“Yes.”  She was still smarting from Belle’s earlier rejection, but Danns’ was resolved to continue onwards with her plans.  Belle _would_ come around in the long run; she would have no choice.  Worst case, once she had won, Danns’ could use Rumplestiltskin to control her.

She already knew that she had to take him before the Sorcerer could make his next move, anyway.  The only question was how and when.  She had perfected the magic on her new set of bronze bands, but she had to be sure to catch Rumplestiltskin away from Belle—and preferably away from Morgan or any of his other allies.  He was far cleverer than Danns’ had expected, far more gifted with magic and able to use Merlin’s power.  Danns’ had spent quite some time evaluating their last battle, and she knew that she had underestimated him.  _When we take him, we must also take Gleipnir,_ she decided.  The bands might not be enough; although they had worked on her sister, it would be very like Rumplestiltskin to find a loophole.  She would need Gleipnir to hold him.

“How may I serve?” Nuckelavee spoke up when she said nothing, not even sounding impatient.  He was the only one of her people who would dare press her so, but he had earned that ability.

“My old pet has something I need.”  Danns’ had not yet decided if she would bring the realms together _before_ capturing Rumplestiltskin, but she still needed to prepare.  The idea of having her fae’s full strength at her back when she moved against humanity’s only original power was certainly appealing.  “I would like you to fetch it for me.”

“I would be glad to.”  A sadistic light entered his eyes, and Danns’ smiled.  She did so love that about him.

Still, she turned to him with a knowing look.  “Do not damage him too badly.  I did promise to leave poor Jefferson be when I released him.” 

“That was in exchange for Arthur’s life, and Arthur is now dead.”  Nuckelavee wasn’t quite pouting, but he was close.

“And yet I do not break my promises.”  Danns’ narrowed her eyes until Nuckelavee nodded submissively. 

Jefferson was safe from her, even if he had something she needed.  She would _always_ keep her promises, after all.  Specifically to the letter with which they were spoken.  Danns’ understood the nature of magic, and she was not going to leave herself open to damage by failing to keep a deal she had made, even if her husband was now dead.

But she did need that hat.

* * *

 

“How did your visit go?” Rumplestiltskin asked after they got home that evening. 

By mutual agreement, they hadn’t spoken of Belle’s conversation with her grandmother until they were in the privacy of their own home—and it was surprisingly quiet.  Mordred was out to dinner with Killian and Tink, and Bae had gone over to Emma’s for the evening, ostensibly to keep an eye on Henry.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had been able to tell that whatever had happened had left Belle very unhappy.

“Bad.”  She grimaced, and he opened his arms to her.  The speed at which Belle walked in told Rumplestiltskin just how unhappy she was.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”  Rumplestiltskin kissed her hair, and felt Belle sink into his shoulder.  “What happened?”

“She wouldn’t promise not to go after you.  She wouldn’t even _apologize_ for what she said she’d do.”  Belle jerked back, her eyes burning furiously.  “She told me that she wasn’t a monster because she would _give you back_ after she was done breaking you.”

Despite his resolve to remain detached, Rumplestiltskin shivered.  He could imagine exactly what ‘breaking’ him meant.  He knew himself, too.  He might have learned how to have some courage, even without power, but he would never be someone who could stand up to pain and not break.  That just wasn’t a kind of strength he had, and the very thought of having to face torture like that left him wanting to turn into a shaking, sobbing mess.  However, Belle must have seen his expression, because she reached up to cup his face in her hands.

“I am _not_ letting that happen.  I don’t care if that means I’m going against my grandmother.”  She kissed him, hard and deeply, and Rumplestiltskin pulled her close in exchange.  “Family doesn’t make family _choose._ I will fight to protect _our_ family.  No matter what it takes.”

“As will I.”  Rumplestiltskin could promise that, at least.  He couldn’t promise to face torture without breaking, but he could and would fight for Belle, for his children, and for his family.  He had learned that from her.

“I love you, Rumple.”  She kissed him again.  “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t.  Never again.”  They had had bad moments, yes, but Rumplestiltskin could feel Belle’s love every time she touched him, and her kiss burned light magic into his very soul. 

He had meant to talk to her about becoming the White Faery—or at least a hybrid of a human/faery original power—but Belle’s third kiss sidetracked Rumplestiltskin straight away from that subject.  They wound up forgoing dinner to bury themselves in one another, desperate to hold each other just in case the worst came. 

* * *

 

Sleepovers were pretty cool, particularly when your best friend was _finally_ allowed to come over to your birth mom’s house.  Jefferson had been more than a bit twitchy about the idea of Grace coming over while Emma was the Dark One, but now that Emma was free, Grace had actually been encouraged to spend the night.  Henry knew why, of course, but he wasn’t above taking advantage of time to have fun with a friend, no matter how it arrived.

“Do you want to play Mario Kart Eight, or Final Fantasy?” he asked.  Darker Emma had let him have a Wii in addition to his older Playstation, and Henry wasn’t about to argue with that.

Grace grimaced.  “Can we play something that _isn’t_ on the TV?  I kind of like the old fashioned games better.  You know.  The ones with boards.”

“Okay.”  Henry shrugged.  “It doesn’t matter to me.  We could even play cards if you want.”

“As long as we don’t have to have a tea party, I’m good.”  She laughed, and Henry did, too.  He liked working with his family and making a difference, but sometimes it was nice just to be a kid, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has continued to read this story. It really means the world to me!
> 
> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen—“Strength in Weakness”, in which a fae invades Jefferson’s home, Emma investigates Ruby and Mulan’s disappearance, Belle brings someone unexpected along to talk to the people of Camelot, David corners Baelfire about a certain relationship, Lily and Killian go looking for trouble, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin face a choice.


	113. Strength in Weakness

The diner was awfully quiet when Leroy walked in that morning.  Granted, it was early, but Ruby _always_ had the place open early, and odds were usually good that Mulan would be there with her.  Those two had grown pretty damned inseparable, and although they didn’t exactly advertise, Leroy knew they were an item.  It was kind of cute, really, and he was glad that Ruby had found some happiness, particularly after Granny’s death.

Being glad for her didn’t mean he was ready to run the diner for her, though, so Leroy trudged up the stairs and banged on Ruby’s door.  “Ruby!  Quit getting it on with Mulan and come do your job!”

There was no answer, which made Leroy cock his head and listen more closely.  In fact, there seemed to be no sound at all on the other side of the door.  Maybe they were just sleeping?  He tried pounding louder, but that hurt his hand, so he quit and went for the shouting option.

“Some of us want to eat breakfast already, and your cook has the day off!”  Ruby had told him about that herself yesterday, about how she was going to get up early to cover.  Yet she was nowhere to be found.

And there was still no answer.

Grumbling, Leroy headed back towards the dining room.  Maybe Ruby had ducked out back.  The door hadn’t been locked, which indicated that she was around _somewhere_.  Yet when he looked around, Ruby was still nowhere to be found.  Mulan, too.  And calling Ruby’s cell didn’t get him anywhere, except back up to standing outside Ruby’s bedroom door listening to the phone ring until it went to voicemail.

Something was really wrong.

* * *

 

They had been up most of the night waiting for shit to go down, and all that did was leave Victor in a really crappy mood.  He had a surgery scheduled for mid-afternoon, but that was obviously not going to happen.  Maybe he’d just take the day off.  It would serve Ms. Copperpot right for waiting so long to get her knee fixed, anyway.  He’d tried to get her to have this surgery before the _last_ curse, and she was finally just now getting around to it.  _She probably won’t show up, anyway, just like last time._

“This is pointless,” he grumbled, glaring at his companion.  Who looked _just_ like Jefferson, but had absolutely none of Jefferson’s charm or easy smile.  In fact, his body language was completely off, and Victor couldn’t imagine how this idiot thought he was going to fool anyone.  “Obviously, your assessment of the Black Fairy’s plans was wrong.”

“It’s not _my_ assessment,” the other said with Jefferson’s voice but none of his inflection.  He sounded pompous and offended, not droll and joking like Jefferson would have been.  “But I still think it’s right.”

“Which is why I’m sitting here eating pop tarts when I could be eating real food, yeah.”  Victor rolled his eyes, wishing he could cook.  _I can cut people up and sew them together better than they started, but I can’t manage eggs without lighting the stove on fire.  There is no justice in this world_.  He should have stopped at the store for cereal.  “Do you have _any_ idea how bad these things are for you?”

“They taste marvelous, though.”

“You’re an idiot.”  Standing up, Victor paced away from the kitchen table, leaving his pop tart half-eaten.  He really couldn’t handle this any longer.  They’d sent Grace away to keep her safe, and Jefferson was off disguised as someone else, staying with _Morgan le Fae_ , of all people.  Victor was the only one in the house who actually lived there, and he hadn’t realized how used to his _family_ being around he’d gotten.  Not having them there made him cranky.

“Keep saying things like that, and I may turn you into a house pet.”

Victor snorted.  “That wouldn’t keep your cover up very well, now, would it?  I thought you were supposed to come from a _smart_ family.”

“You really don’t want to—”

_Crash._

Jefferson’s doppelganger was on his feet in an instant, but Victor knew where the sound had come from.  “Upstairs!”

Jefferson still had his ridiculous room full of hats, after all.  Victor had tried to get him to fill it with something—anything!—else, but Jefferson really could be stubborn sometimes.  So, they’d kept the Hat Room, and Jefferson had continued making hats.  Not that he’d advertised it.  Jefferson really was sick of playing ferryman, but creating the hats was cathartic for him.  Particularly after what that bitch of a fairy had done to him.  Now, of course, that room was undoubtedly the center of what the fae wanted.  _Assuming Rumplestiltskin is right, of course._   Needing the Sorcerer’s help was annoying, but even Victor had to admit that he’d predicted what the fae would be after.

They burst through the door together, with Victor slightly in the lead.  Not!Jefferson was a step slower, probably because those egotistical magical types didn’t like to dirty themselves by running anywhere.  But they slammed to a stop together when they saw Nuckelavee surveying the three long shelves full of hats, clearly trying to pick the right one.

The damned things were identical to look at.  Victor knew that better than anyone.

“You know, there’s a really nice hat store down on Castor Lane,” he quipped.  “Most people go there instead of breaking and entering.”

Nuckelavee turned lazily, cocking his head as he eyed both of them.  “Tell me which hat is real and I will not deliver you back to My Lady, _Hatter._ ”

“None of them.”  Victor spoke up before his companion could get in.  How well did Nuckelavee know Jefferson?  Jefferson didn’t like to talk about his time in Danns’ hands, so only Archie would have known the answer.  And Archie definitely wasn’t there.

“Now we all know that’s a lie.”  Nuckelavee laughed darkly, and then suddenly he was right in front of them, leering at ‘Jefferson’.  “And you know the price of _lies_ , don’t you?”

That tone would have set the real Jefferson off, and even Victor found himself flinching.  The darkness and the hunger in Nuckelavee was palatable; up close, the fae was toxic.  Terrifying.  _God, what did this bastard do to Jeff?_ Shivering, Victor tried not to be too obvious in how he wanted to lean away from Nuckelavee, but it was hard.  For the first time, he was damned grateful that his lover wasn’t there.  Jefferson would have been in pieces by now.

“The one on the left.”  The slight quiver in the imposter’s voice was the first bit of decent acting he’d mustered.  The next words sounded almost angry enough to be Jefferson, though: “Middle shelf.”

“It’s almost a pity that you can be taught.”  Nuckelavee sauntered over to the indicated shelf, pulling the hat off with a flourish.  “Still, My Lady keeps her promises, so you’re safe enough.”

“Then leave, why don’t you?”

Damn.  That _didn’t_ sound like Jefferson, so Victor spoke up quickly to cover: “Why do you want a stupid hat, anyway?  Can’t ‘your lady’ manage to make a portal by herself?”

 “Do _not_ insult her, fool.  Or I’ll claim _you_ next.”

Well, that was a stupid hornet’s nest to poke, wasn’t it?  Victor backpedaled as quickly as he could, wondering if he could get a gun and shoot the fae.  Supposedly, that wouldn’t work, but why had the idiots not made silver-tipped bullets?  “Just asking, man.  You don’t take questions well, do you?”

Magic slammed into him, knocking him back into the imposter.  His chest felt like it was on fire, and Victor cried out sharply as they both hit the ground.  By the time they managed to stagger to their feet, however, Nuckelavee was gone.  Rubbing his aching sternum, Victor turned on his companion with a scowl.

“You _really_ weren’t much help there, you know.  A lobotomized corpse could have played the part you just did.”

“Your opinion is noted.”  His companion rolled his eyes, and then transformed into Mordred, cracking his neck as he shrank in height by several inches.  He shuddered, apparently in relief.  “But not required.”

Victor scowled.  “You’re in _my_ house.”

Technically, it was Jefferson’s house, but Victor had been living here for a while, and he thought of it as home.  He didn’t really care what this prick of a sorcerer from Camelot thought, anyway.  Even if he was really glad that Jefferson hadn’t had to be here to deal with Nuckelavee. 

“And my role here is complete.  You best have directed him at the right hat.”

“Do I look stupid?”

One eyebrow rose.  “Do _not_ ask me questions to which you will not like the answers.”

That just made Victor snort.  “Oh, get out.  And send Jefferson back.  He’s better company than you.”

“Gladly.”

* * *

 

Emma was alone in the Sheriff’s Station when Leroy walked in.  Seeing her seemed to make him hesitate, but she did her best to swallow back the instinctive desire to demand why.  _I was the Dark One not too long ago, and I killed people._ Emma tried not to grimace.  _And that’s not all I did._

“What’s up?” she asked when he didn’t volunteer anything.

“I think Ruby’s missing.”  Leroy looked around for a moment, and then met her eyes boldly . “That’s not _your_ doing, is it?  You didn’t decide to off Granny’s only heir, did you?”

“Of course not!”  The memory of killing Granny—of watching herself lose control, of feeling all that anger and darkness, of how _good_ the power had felt—made bile rise in Emma’s throat.  But she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.  She couldn’t blame Leroy.  Not after everything.

His nasty smile didn’t make her feel any better, though.  “Just checking.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Emma rose from behind the desk, pushing her own misgivings aside.  “Ruby’s gone.  Did anyone see anything?  Do you know when she was seen last?”

“She’s not in her room.  I had Doc find the keys and get in.”  Leroy scowled.  “Her phone’s there, and Mulan is missing, too.  Couple of the waitresses saw them last night, but no one since.”

“Okay, then.  Let’s get something of hers that I can do a locator spell with.”  Emma gestured Leroy towards the door, but the dwarf hesitated, giving her a funny look.

“You sure you can do that stuff?”

Not rolling her eyes was hard.  “Yes, I’m sure.”

Emma had to borrow the ingredients from Regina, of course, but it wasn’t like Regina had a problem with that.  Yet it turned out that using even Ruby’s favorite hoodie didn’t work.  The hoodie just flew in circles, leaving Emma, Regina, and Leroy to stare at it murderously.

“That happened when the Black Fairy had Jefferson,” Regina said quietly.  “No locator spells worked.”

“Great.” 

Emma didn’t have to ask what that meant.  Clearly, Ruby—and Mulan—had joined the ranks of the recently disappeared.  They all assumed that Danns’ and the fae were collecting people, though no one was quite sure what they wanted them for.  _Everyone they’ve taken is young and attractive,_  Emma realized.  _And I know better than most what kind of…proclivities the fae have._

That thought just made her shiver.

* * *

 

“I was wondering if you might be of a mind to find some trouble.”  Killian gave her a dazzling smile, but Lily was not about to let a pretty face sway her into doing something stupid.

She’d played that game a dozen times in her life already, and it had gotten old.  So, she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.  “What _kind_ of trouble?”

“The type that will not endear you to a certain Queen of the Fae.”  He shrugged.  “But it might find your friend.”

“August?”  Lily felt her chest grow tight; she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that someone had taken him because of _her_.  Even if the fae hadn’t said so much as a word about it, she knew that they could make her stay in line if they threatened her best friend.

“Aye.  The wooden manchild whom I resolutely _do not_ view as competition.”

“He’s not.”  Moving in close, Lily kissed Killian on the cheek.  “He’s like a brother to me.  And that would be gross.”

“That it would.”  His smile grew, turning a little bashful, and Lily thought he really was much more handsome when he _wasn’t_ trying to look dazzling.  “The fae seem to have others as well, and if we don’t find the unlucky bastards before the battle begins…well, you can imagine.”

“Yeah.”  The thought made her grimace.  She wasn’t the only one who could be manipulated through someone she cared about, after all.

“So, are you with me?  Will you brave the terrors of finding out where these people are?”

“Of course I will.”  She grinned.  “I’m always in for a bit of trouble.”

* * *

 

“Well, that was close.”  Jefferson looked almost as disturbed as Whale did when he told the story, although Rumplestiltskin was far more focused on which hat Nuckelavee had taken.  They were lucky; he’d had Jefferson imbue a little extra magic in that one hat, enough to make it look like it would do the job.  Technically, that hat _would_ open a portal…but only one.

“I don’t like these games.”  Whale turned his glare on Rumplestiltskin.  “And I _don’t_ like your brother.”

“He’s not terribly good at winning friends.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “But quite frankly, dear, I don’t care what you like or don’t like.  The real hat is safe, and Jefferson is as well.  Count your blessings while you can.”

“This is—”

“Dangerous,” Jefferson cut him off with a shake of his head.  “I know you didn’t ask for any part in this, Victor, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh, stuff your apologies.  I’m more worried about you than this mess.  What happens when they realize they have a fake?”  Whale wheeled on Rumplestiltskin.  “Are you going to have that jackass impersonate him full time?  Because if so, I’m staging a breakup.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, and Rumplestiltskin was tempted to join him.  But now wasn’t the time, not really.  So, he just shook his head.

“That’s the beauty of this little trick.  Danns’ doesn’t want to use the hat as a portal jumper; that would be pointless for her cause.  She needs it as a _catalyst_ , as a doorway to all the realms at once.  So, she isn’t going to test it.  She can’t, not without a portal jumper.”

“You mean without _Jefferson_.  Is this where she kidnaps him again?  Because if so, I’m not liking your plan very much.”  Whale looked ready to hit him, and might have if Jefferson hadn’t put a hand on his arm.

“No, I’m saying that she doesn’t need to.  Or want to.  She wants to pull all the realms together, not go on a day trip.”  Rumplestiltskin throttled back the urge to say something else sarcastic.  “She’s going to keep the hat until she’s ready.  Even if she looks at what kind of magic is on it, she’ll see that the hat _can_ create a portal, and that’s all she’s looking for.  For now.”  He smiled slightly.  “And by the time she tries to use it, she’ll have her hands full with other problems.”

“I hope you’re right, man.  This is risky enough to make me doubt your supposedly smart reputation.”

“Well, I’m the one who will be there for this mess, so either way, I’ll pay the price.”  Rumplestiltskin nodded at the pair.  “I’ll do my best to make sure the two of you are kept out of it.”

“Thanks.”  Jefferson gave him a half smile, and all Rumplestiltskin could do was shrug in embarrassment.

He wasn’t used to hearing that word, but damn, it felt good.

* * *

 

Belle didn’t think she’d ever been so nervous in her life.  At first, she hadn’t wanted Regina to come with her to visit the people from Camelot, and then she’d waffled on inviting Mordred along.  In the end, Belle had ended up asking Rumplestiltskin to join her, but he’d been busy with Jefferson.  Mordred had been available, though, so Belle tentatively asked her brother-in-law to join her.  After all, he was the ambitious one…and Belle really didn’t want to _rule_ anyone.

So, she spent the morning talking to the people of Camelot.  Belle didn’t try to tell them to _do_ anything; she just talked.  She smiled, and she laughed, and she reached a hand out to remind them that they were not alone.  When Regina had suggested she might use her status as Arthur’s heir apparent to influence things, Belle hadn’t been sure that it would actually do any good.  But soon after she sought out Elaine, Belle found herself surrounded by an ever-growing crowd of people.  Most simply looked curious, but some were hanging onto her every word with a terrifying level of interest.  Part of Belle found that incredibly exciting, even gratifying, but the rest of her was absolutely scared out of her mind.

“There are a lot of fae here,” one young woman said.  “They haven’t taken anyone yet, but I’ve seen them looking at my brother, and…”  She trailed off, grimacing, and Belle reached out to squeeze her hand.

“We’re working to stop them.  I know that doesn’t solve things now, but we _will_ win this battle in the long run.  Our goal is to protect everyone, not just those who believe as we do.”  Belle gave her best smile.  “We believe in fighting for what we believe in, and what we believe in is having freedom from those who would hurt people.”

“Camelot used to be like that,” Elaine spoke up for the first time in over an hour.  “Before the Queen.”

“And now she’s elevated _Lamorak_.”  This young man spoke with a scowl.  “He’s obviously her puppet.  At least Arthur wasn’t entirely brainless.  Lamorak is as sharp as a box of marbles.”

Belle barely managed to bite back her snort of amusement; Mordred didn’t even bother to.  He snickered openly, earning a glare from old Elaine.

“Don’t laugh so hard, boy.  If you hadn’t done your little failed trick with time, we might not be in this mess.”

Mordred flinched, and for a moment, Belle worried that he might lash out.  Yet he surprised her by taking a deep breath.  “You’re right.  I did everything I could to stop Danns’ a’Bhàis, but in the end, my plans only brought about more destruction.  And I hurt the very people I was trying to save.”

“So, we should trust you now because you’re sorry?” the same young man taunted him.

“No, Andred, you should not.”  Mordred was surprisingly serious—not to mention surprisingly tolerant, for a man who had once been likely to burn his political enemies.  “Which is why I’m not asking you to.  But I’m not fighting this battle alone, and it’s my allies you should trust.”

Belle took that as her cue: “Storybrooke is not Camelot.  Your neighbors—and also the people of Musicbrooke—don’t want to conquer you.  We want to _help_ you.  And the best way we can do that is by dethroning my grandmother.”

The young woman standing next to Andred spoke up: “Will you take her place, Princess?”

“I think that’s for you to decide.”  Belle had been dreading that question, but she did her best to smile.  “In this world, we don’t focus solely on lineage to decide who leads; our leaders are chosen by the people.  I will help you because it is my responsibility to do so, but as for who leads you—well, that’s your choice.”

A few people nodded, but most of them looked uneasy.  Belle did understand that; she had been extremely well-educated upon waking up in Storybrooke, yet she’d still found the concept of representative government alien and strange.  To people who had lived under one tyrannical monarch or another for their entire lives, the idea of suddenly _voting_ for a leader was downright frightening.  The bulk of the crowd was looking at Belle and Mordred like they just wanted the pair to do what royals had always done: make the decisions and leave the peasantry to suffer the consequences.  But as safe as it would make the Camelotonians feel, Belle just couldn’t bring herself to do that.

“Look, no one is asking you to make decisions today.  All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”  She met every gaze she could, projecting as much confidence and friendliness as she could muster.  “And while you do, start thinking about what kind of people you want to be.  You’re from a legendary land, but the good days of Camelot were only a brief and shining moment.  You can be better again.  And you can do that here.”

“In Storybrooke?” Andred sneered.

“In a town of your own, if that’s what you want.”  Belle glanced around at the camp, which still mostly consisted of lean-tos and tents.  Every available house and apartment in Storybrooke proper had been offered to the Camelotonians, but most had ended up moving back here after a few weeks.   “If you want, Regina will build you a town like she did for Musicbrooke, and you can choose your own destiny.”

“And maybe while you’re at it, you’ll rename the place.”  Mordred shrugged as people turned to stare at him.  “The ‘Camelot Camp’ doesn’t sound very poetic, and it’s not as if being in Camelot did any of us a lot of favors.”

“A new name for a new beginning.”  Belle smiled brightly.  “I think that would be wonderful.  Maybe you can discuss—”

“There’s no need to discuss it, Princess.”  Elaine cut her off easily as the crowd nodded.  “We’ve always known what we are.  Our town is Camulodunum, as it was before we fell for a pack of lies and deceit.”

Something stirred in Belle, a feeling both sad and beautiful.  “It fits,” she said quietly.

To her right, Mordred only nodded.

* * *

 

Bae had finally gotten around to installing all of the new security equipment in the Sheriff’s Station.  Things had been a bit busy since their return from Boston three weeks earlier, and David had decided that upgrading the security system in the asylum-turned-prison was a higher priority.  But Bae had finished that last week, so now he’d moved onto upgrading absolutely every piece of electronics in the station.  The first day he’d done it, Emma had been around for most of the day, but now he was stuck hanging out with David, instead.  Emma was out with a few of the dwarves, looking for Ruby and Mulan, both of whom had gone missing.  Robin was doing the same with Thomas and a few _other_ dwarves, which had left David minding the shop.

Not that Bae disliked David.  It was just that the conversation had suddenly taken an awkward turn.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and my daughter?” David asked just as Bae started testing the new cameras.

“What?” He was glad he was sitting behind the desk, otherwise he might have jumped sky high.  As it was, he was pretty sure that the look he’d given David was more than a little panicked.  “I mean, uh, what are you asking about?”

“Come on. You’re not that stupid.”  David was leaning casually against the wall, but Bae knew a protective parent when he saw one.

_I always thought I’d gotten off easily for not being beat up over Henry’s birth, but I think it’s time to pay the piper!_ Making his own expression casual was impossible, and Bae knew that when he swallowed, it was noisy.  He hadn’t been this nervous about talking to _Emma_ about their relationship.  Why was it that her dad could make him want to freak out?  _Probably because he’s Prince Freaking Charming._ Technically, David was actually a king, which put him—and Emma!—so far out of Bae’s league that it wasn’t funny.  He was just a poor spinner’s kid who had learned to make his way in a few really crappy worlds.  But he remembered enough of the old world to know that he wasn’t anything near what someone would consider worthy for a princess.

“Yeah, I know.”  Bae tried to force a smile, but it flopped.  “Um.  We’re kind of getting back together.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, not kind of.”  He took a deep breath, and just dove in.  “We’re dating, and we’re going to see what happens.  Maybe we’ll work, and maybe we won’t, but I love her.”

David cocked his head, his expression still unreadable and unnerving as hell.  “Is this where you ask my permission to court my daughter?”

Bae couldn’t help snorting.  “With all due respect, I think that Henry’s existence proves we’re about fourteen years too late for that one.”  He smiled crookedly.  “And besides, there’s _no_ way you’d try saying that in Emma’s hearing.”

“You’re right about that.”  David finally cracked a smile, and with it, a warm chuckle.  “I suppose I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

_Wow.  That’s nice of you._   But Bae didn’t say it.  He liked David a lot, and he’d enjoyed their trip to Boston, too—even when it had gotten _really_ awkward.  More importantly, he respected Emma’s dad, and knew that he was the kind of man that Bae would have hero-worshiped as a child.  _Before I got all bitter and cocky, anyway_ , he thought wryly.  But none of that changed the kind of situation they were in, did it?  Bae took a deep breath.

“Look, I know I’m not the kind of man you want for Emma.  Even in this world, I was a thief, and back home, I was nothing.  I was just a spinner’s kid with more guts than brains.”  He shrugged, trying to swallow the feeling of inadequacy.  “Hell, I know you’d probably prefer a even a pirate to a peasant, but I love her.”

David blinked, seemingly taken aback by his monologue.  “I never doubted that, to be honest,” he replied, making Bae’s heart beat a little more slowly.  “And I _really_ don’t care about your birth.  You know I was a shepherd, right?  It would be more than a little unfair of me to look down on you for your birth when mine was just as low.”

“The world’s not fair.”  He tried to make it sound like a quip, but Bae had learned that lesson one too many times in his life to be flippant about that.  “But, yeah, I knew.  It’s in Henry’s book.”

“Everything is, these days.”  David chuckled again.  “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot with that.   If you’re Emma’s choice, I’m happy for her.  And for you.  I was rooting for you back before the first curse was reversed, you know.”

“You were?”  That made him stare.  “I thought you would have preferred Killian.”

David snorted.  “If you ever have a daughter, you’ll understand _exactly_ why no father would want a pirate to win their little girl’s heart.”

“Actually, I think I see your point.” Bae gulped.  “I’m going to have a little sister, after all, and I plan to be protective as hell over her.”

“So long as she and your namesake don’t get together and make our family tree even _more_ tangled, I think we’ll all be all right.”  David grinned, though, and Bae ended up laughing with him.

Years later, however, they would look back on those words and realize that their family tree could actually grow even more complicated.  They just hadn’t known how at the time.

* * *

 

Worst case, Killian supposed that they could always find something that had belonged to August and get one of his uncles to enchant it, but a pirate _should_ be good at finding things that others wanted to remain unfound.  Missing people hardly equated to buried treasure, but the parallel was close enough for him.  Or at least it had been, before two hours of searching led them to absolutely nothing.

“You think she’d put them somewhere near the Camelot camp?” Lily asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Where?” Killian knew that Belle and Mordred had headed out there earlier, and they would have seen anything obvious.

“There was this underground tunnel.”  Lily’s expression suddenly went blank, and she stared off into the distance for several moments.  But Killian had never handled silence well.

“And?” he prompted her.  “Do you happen to have a location of said tunnel, or is it just a  useless rumor?”

Twisting to face him, Lily smacked him in the right bicep.  Hard.  “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I—”  Killian bit his tongue with an effort.  That hadn’t been terribly kind, had it?  “I apologize.”

“And you’re forgiven.”  She gave him a smile, and then let out a long sigh.  “I think I might know where it was.  The portal Danns’ opened to bring us back from the Fae Lands brought us out there.  Mom seemed to know quite a bit about the area, said she’d been there before.”

“A tunnel.  You said a tunnel?”  Realization hit Killian like a ton of bricks.  “There are loads of old tunnels leading from the mines.  Some go under the library, and Emma once told me that there’s an entire network under the city.”

That made Lily blink.  “There is?” 

“Aye.  I even believe your mother was locked up under the library under the curse—as it would have been hard to explain a fire-breathing dragon to the residents of Storybrooke.”  Killian barked out a laugh.  “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t have understood that.”

“Yeah, that could have been ugly.”  Lily’s eyes glittered for a moment, and Killian knew she was imagining burning up a bunch of idiots.  Not that she’d do it, but it was sometimes nice to consider.  “So, how do we get into those tunnels?”

“The best way is through the library.  There’s an elevator there.  Come on.”

Killian led Lily into the library, and together, they headed down the elevator.  Fortunately, Belle was back and was willing to work the controls for them; otherwise, Killian wasn’t sure how they would have managed to get down together.  Once they did, however, they found themselves walking what Killian was certain had to be miles, stumbling about in the semi-darkness with only Lily’s cell phone for light.  The fact that there was a ‘flashlight’ function on the phone surprised Killian, and they did waste a few minutes as he learned a little bit about what Lily called a smartphone.  He hadn’t realize that he’d been carrying around an older version of the bloody thing, which made Killian feel a little bit put out.  Granted, he had already broken his own phone four or five times (it wasn’t waterproof, it didn’t like being stepped on, and dropping one on a wooden deck made the damned screen break), but perhaps next time he replaced it, he’d find a newer one.  It seemed to have some interesting abilities, anyway.

Lily was judicious using the flashlight after the first few minutes, though, particularly once they realized that they wouldn’t be leaving those tunnels any time soon.  Killian had a fairly good sense of direction when he could see the sky and feel the wind on his face, but underground, even he had to admit that he was completely lost.  As was, apparently, Lily’s GPS signal on her phone.  Lily eventually managed to enchant a sort of a compass out of Killian’s pocket watch, but all that told them was the direction that they were headed in.  Eventually, Lily put her phone away and figured out how to enchant a light that would bounce along beside them, which at least helped with the darkness, even if it didn’t really reveal much other than things to trip over.

Two hours later, though, Lily felt _magic_.

“This way.”  She grabbed him by the arm.  “I can feel something, and it’s dark.”

“Like, your mother and Regina kind of dark, or beasties that eat you in the night kind of dark?”

“The later.  Assuming you meant the fae, of course.”  Her smile flashed white in the darkness.  “Though I’m not sure they’re interested in cannibalism.”

Killian hadn’t thought of that when he made the joke.  “Let’s hope they aren’t, at least for the sake of the unlucky bastards down here.”

“Or for us unlucky allies, yeah.”  Her expression darkened. 

“Is your mother still, uh, committed?”  He needed to know; Killian realized that Lily would never turn against her mother, and he couldn’t blame her for that.  After all, he’d had his own foolish moments trusting Mordred, back when his uncle had been less than forthcoming about how he wanted to ‘help’ Emma.  Family was important, and now that Killian had it again, he couldn’t imagine turning his back on them.  _Even my Uncle Crocodile gets a bit of a pass.  But only a small one, mind._

“It’s complicated.”  Lily twisted to look at him over her shoulder, and Killian could see the warning in her eyes.  Whatever was up with Maleficent, Lily didn’t want to talk about it so close to the fae playground. 

He could definitely understand that.  “Aye.  Most things are.”

 “Particularly my mother.”  Lily shot him a grateful smile, and then stopped cold.  “Here.  Here’s where we came through.”

“You’re sure?  It looks like nothing other than more rocks.”

“There’s a magical barrier right there.”  She pointed, and Killian reached out to touch it, only for Lily to slap his hand away.  “Don’t be stupid.  It’ll fry the shit out of you.”

“Ah.”  There were times he _really_ hated magic, but he was the fool who kept getting involved with sorceresses.  Lily was even a dragon, too, which only made things worse for a man who had once hated every kind of magic he encountered.  _Then again, having her around on Neverland would have been fantastic.  She could have flown over everything, and then roasted Pan on a spit for dinner._   And _that_ was a much more pleasant thought than getting his hand fried by a protection spell.

While he’d been musing about the beautiful image of Lily frying Pan, she’d crouched down to look at the bottom of the barrier.  “It’s definitely fae magic.  I can’t really get much of a read on it, but it’s powerful.”

“Can you get through it?  Or around it?”  Killian glanced around the tunnel, but it really was just a tunnel.  The underground seemed to widen into a cavern about twenty feet beyond the barrier, but where they were, there were only rocks, and more bloody rocks.

“Not without someone knowing.  Mom’s trying to teach me the subtle magics, but I’m not always good at them.”  Lily shrugged.  “I’d rather turn into a dragon and just burn it away, but _that_ would definitely raise alarm.  And no offense, but I’m not going in there with only you for backup, even _if_ August is there.”

“Don’t worry, love.  I’m not insane enough to try, either.  We pirates are good at self-preservation.”

“And _that_ is why I like you so much better than some idiot hero.”  The smile she gave him was downright smoldering, and it made Killian’s heart skip a beat.

_Contain yourself, Captain!_ he told himself firmly.  Although the underground tunnels were definitely private, they were certainly not comfortable.  And the high likelihood of a fae stumbling upon them did water down his more amorous desires.  “I always knew you were a sensible woman, as well as a beautiful one.”

“There you go with the flattery again.”  Lily didn’t seem to mind, though, so Killian just grinned.  She took one last look at the barrier, and then rose.  “We should keep track of how to get here, though.  Assuming the hero types want to try some sort of frontal assault.”

“Aye, they probably will.”   Killian wanted to tell her that rescuing everyone that the fae had captured was very much part of the plan, but he managed to stop himself.  _He_ trusted Lily, but he liked her for her dark edges.  He didn’t think she’d throw her weight behind Danns’ again, but it paid to be careful.

Besides, there were much more pleasant things he wanted to discuss with her after they got out of the bloody tunnels.

* * *

 

“She’s ready,” Maleficent told Morgan in an undertone.  “You were right about her wanting the portal jumper’s hat.  She asked me a hundred questions about it beforehand, and even went so far as to kidnap another fairy when I did not have the answers she sought.

“Oh?  Which one?”  Morgan didn’t share her youngest son’s absolute detestation of fairies, but she knew exactly why Danns’ would order the fae to snag another one.  Reul Ghorm liked to play her cards close, too close.  The chief fairy would never complain to outsiders that one of her people had been taken.

Maleficent shrugged.  “I didn’t bother to ask the name.  She’s dead.”

“I see.”  Morgan chewed her lip thoughtfully.  “Did she find out what she wanted to know about the hat?”

“It appears to be so.  She speaks of drawing the worlds together in two days’ time.”  Mal’s eyes finally grew worried, her casual veneer forgotten.  “Do please tell me you have a plan in place aside from _letting_ her steal that which she needed to accomplish that.”

“We do, yes.”

Morgan could not say more.  She had warned Maleficent about the fact that Danns’ would undoubtedly want a portal-creating object—which, in Storybrooke, meant Jefferson’s hat—but she had not told her lover that Rumplestiltskin had already stolen the real hat (along with the real Jefferson) away.  As much as she _wanted_ to trust Maleficent, Morgan knew that was merely her emotions talking.  Assuming Mal remained on their side through the final battle, perhaps she could allow herself to truly trust her.  Until then, however, she had to be cautious. 

After all, her own miscalculations concerning Accolon had cost them all dearly.

“I cannot help you if you do not tell me what you need.”  Mal didn’t sound put out so much as she did annoyed, although Morgan thought she understood the reasons for caution.

Morgan let out a careful breath.  “When she begins work with the hat, we will bring her to battle.  I hope you will be there.”

“As if Lily and I will have a choice,” Mal responded dryly.  “I am certain she will want us there.  _You_ want us to change sides once the battle begins, ill-conceived though it might be.”

“Have you ever known me to embark on something ill-conceived?”

Mal laughed lightly.  “Aside from our relationship, you mean?”

“I would not call this ill-conceived.”  Mal’s raised eyebrow forced Morgan to concede a little.  “Perhaps foolish.”

“Perhaps.”  Mal’s eyes glinted with amusement, though.  “Still, your _son_ remains the most clever manipulator I have ever known, so assuming that trait runs in the family, I suppose I shall have to trust you.”

“You did approach me, you know,” Morgan pointed out quietly.

“Oh, I know.  I merely hope I do not regret it.”

* * *

 

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.”  Rumplestiltskin’s stomach was a mess of butterflies just at the _thought_ of having this conversation, but it needed to be done.

He knew that Belle had a soft heart, a _good_ heart.  She loved strongly and completely, and was the most forgiving person he’d ever met—as evidenced by the forgiveness she had given him so many times.  He _thought_ she was resolute in her stance against her grandmother, but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t absolutely positive.  Belle always wanted to forgive, but in this case, forgiveness would be disastrous…for everyone.  Rumplestiltskin knew that was a little hypocritical of him, particularly given his own past deeds, but at least he had never planned to smash worlds together and destroy thousands of lives.  His own evils had always been smaller in scale, or at least less mass murderous.

“About my grandmother.”  Belle met his eyes levelly, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself tense.  Then Belle swallowed hard.  “I know she has to be stopped…but is there any way—any _reliable_ way—to stop her and keep her imprisoned?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin had turned that one over in his head a hundred times, and even the Blue Fairy admitted there was only one way to hold an original power.  “Not without using Henry’s heart, which is—”

“Absolutely out of the question.”  She sighed, glancing over at the lake in Storybrooke’s park.  Rumplestiltskin had brought her here so that they could be away from the normal constraints of their lives, away from anyone who might interrupt them.  “I don’t want to think of the alternative, Rumple.”

“I know.”  Wrapping his arm around her as they walked, Rumplestiltskin pulled his wife close.  “And I’m sorry.  I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I don’t see another.  Not without setting her free upon another generation, and dooming Henry in the bargain, too.”

“No one deserves that kind of fate.”  Belle bit her lip, turning distraught blue eyes on him.  “And I think I know my grandmother well enough to know that she’d prefer death to exile.  But I—I hate that I’m growing so _cold_ about this.  She’s my _grandmother_ , and I’m supposed to fight for family!  But if I fight for her, I can’t do what is right, either.  How am I supposed to choose?”

“Normally, I would say that family should always come first, but I’m afraid that she has made her choices.  And in doing so, she has unleashed chaos and death upon Storybrooke.”

The death count was over forty, now, mostly from dances of death, but also from those who had somehow crossed the fae.  The majority of the dead were either very old or very young, but some of the sicker patients in the hospital had died, too.  Even at his worst, Rumplestiltskin had never _contemplated_ killing so many people in the span of a week, and it left him more than a little sick to his stomach.  _Cold I may be, but even I find what Danns’ has done extraordinarily wrong._   Rumplestiltskin shivered.  _Even as the Dark One, I would have found this_ wrong.

Belle shook her head sadly.  “We have to stop her.  I just wish things were different.”

“As do I.”  He wished he didn’t have to fight Danns’.   He wished that he didn’t have to deprive Belle of her only link to her mother.  He wished that he didn’t have to take away their daughter’s great-grandmother before she was even born.  But Rumplestiltskin had known his entire life that wishes were meaningless, so he pushed his longing for something different aside, taking a deep breath.  “You know what we have to do, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”  Belle’s voice was a whisper.  “I know she has to die.  There just isn’t another way to stop her.”

Rumplestiltskin squeezed shoulders with his arm, fighting back the instinctive urge to drop the topic as not to cause her pain.  _Don’t be a coward.  Just say it._ “The real question is what happens when she dies.”

“What do you mean?”  Belle stopped to look at him, her face creased in concern.

“When an original power dies, the power is released.  You saw what happened with Merlin’s power when it came here.”

That made her grimace.  “Do you think that will happen again?”

“No, but only because she has a living descendant: you.”  Rumplestiltskin’s words made Belle blanch, but he made himself continue.  “Her power will default to you, as Fionna’s did to her, and like your grandmother, you have a choice.”

“You mean I have to choose whether to be light or dark.”  Belle caught on right away, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Yeah.”

Belle was silent for a long moment, her eyes focusing in the distance once more.  Finally, she asked not about why she had to take the power, or what would happen to the darker parts.  No, she asked the last thing Rumplestiltskin expected.  “That means I’ll be what you are, doesn’t it?”

“Ah.”  His breath caught in his throat; for all his plans and all his thinking, Rumplestiltskin had somehow failed to come to that realization.  Gulping, he nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it does.  It’ll mean you’re an original power.”

“Then you won’t be alone.”  Belle touched his cheek so very gently, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself melting against her.  “Will it turn me into a faery, though?  I don’t want—I don’t want to be anyone other than what I am.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened at the very thought; he still didn’t like fairies on principle, and Danns’ had done nothing to make him like the older concept of a faery.  Fortunately, he knew the answer.  “No.  It doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh.  Good.”  Her smile was small, but Belle’s eyes were solemn.  “Then we’ll do it.  If that’s what it takes to save everyone from her power running rampant, I’ll take it.  And I’ll do my best to do better than my grandmother has.”

“No one in their right mind could doubt that,” he told her.  “You’re nothing like her.”

“I hope not.”

Before Rumplestiltskin could open his mouth to reassure her, power _crackled_ in the air.  Whirling around, Rumplestiltskin found himself face-to-face with his grandmother-in-law—and with Nuckelavee, who had teleported in right on her heels.  The two fae stood facing him, magic sizzling in the air between them, dark and deadly, and meant to trap him.  Something bronze glinted in Danns’ left hand, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t need to hear Belle’s sharp intake of breath to guess what Danns’ held.  He could feel the _emptiness_ in those bands, and he knew that they were what had bound Reul Ghorm’s magic so completely.

“No.”  Belle stepped up beside him before Rumplestiltskin could try to step in front of her, her voice harder than he’d ever heard it.  “Absolutely not.  You are _not_ doing this, Grandmother.”

“Belle.”  Danns’ smile was smooth, hinting at neither innocence or guilt.  “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Of course you didn’t.  You wouldn’t try kidnapping my husband if you _did_.” Belle’s eyes were practically on fire with rage, and Rumplestiltskin could feel the anger pulsating off of her.

“Whoever says that I’m here for such a reason?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Don’t play a player, dearie.  We can both see what’s in your hands.”

Danns’ eyes narrowed ominously.  “I only do what I must.”  The words were clearly directed at Belle, who rolled her eyes.

“No, you do what you _want_ to do to shore up your own power.”  She sucked in a deep breath, and Rumplestiltskin could see her fighting against heartbreak.  Fighting for _him._   Quickly, he took her hand, squeezing it gently as Belle continued.  “Did I ever matter to you at all, or am I just a pretty little doll that you can dress up and use as your figurehead?”

“Of course you matter to me.  You’re my—”

“But my opinions clearly don’t.”  Belle’s words snapped out like the crack of a whip.  “But I suppose I already knew that.  So, if you want to make a fight of this, let’s get on with it.”

“Sweetheart…” Rumplestiltskin spoke in an undertone, but his stomach was already twisting up with worry for Belle and their unborn daughter. 

Much to his surprise, Danns’ shook her head. “No.  No matter what you think of me, I will never endanger you or your child.”

Before Belle could open her mouth to say anything else, Danns’ and Nuckelavee both disappeared, leaving Rumplestiltskin and Belle standing alone by the lakeside.  After a moment, she turned hurt and worried eyes on him.

“I don’t have to kill her, do I?” Belle asked, her voice cracking.  “I think I might hate her, but I can’t—”

“Oh, no.  No, of course not.”  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin pulled her close, kissing her hair.  “None of us could ever ask that of you.  I’ll take care of everything.”

Belle just nodded, and Rumplestiltskin just held her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter; work has been busy and I’m getting miserably sick. I think this will be the only chapter this week. But, on the bright side, this chapter is about 2,000 words longer than usual!
> 
> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen—“A Glorious Company”, in which Emma learns some ground truths about magic, Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss baby names, Lily and Killian go on a date, Baelfire and Emma talk about family, Morgan asks Belle for an important favor, and our heroes meet to discuss the final battle.


	114. A Glorious Company

“Look, if you’re not going to start focusing and _stop_ daydreaming about your ex-boyfriend, we can just stop the lesson, now.” 

Emma jerked back in surprise, but Regina had had it with the younger woman’s inattention.  Overall, Emma had been doing fairly well in her new magic lessons, but today she was acting like an absolute idiot.  She’d actually been doing far better than Regina had expected her to, even if Regina would never admit it.  _And telling Emma that her time as the Dark One did her good on the magical front is probably_ not _a good idea.  Not if I want to stay friends with her, anyway_ , she told herself, trying not to sigh.  Then Emma started looking indignant, and Regina stopped suppressing the urge.

“I am not—”

“Oh, stuff it.  You’re standing there all moony-eyed over him like you’re a teenager.”  She rolled her eyes.  “Then again, given when you two fell in love, maybe you’re just picking up where you left off.”

Emma threw her a withering look.  “Who says he’s my _ex-_ boyfriend?”

“Well, good for you.  So you got back together.  Can we concentrate on the _magic_ now?” she snapped to hide her surprise.  Secretly, though, Regina was glad.  Henry would be delighted, and she preferred for her son’s other mother to be in a stable relationship that wasn’t with a homicidal pirate.  _And for my son’s father not to get in a relationship with a homicidal minion of Peter Pan, either._   Emma and Baelfire together kept extraneous family members under control, and Regina approved of that if nothing else.

“Stop being so hostile.  I can see you smiling.”  Emma smirked, and there was a light in her eyes that Regina hadn’t seen in months.  _Since before she became the Dark One, even._   This was the Emma Swan who had stormed into Storybrooke, facing Regina down without blinking an eye and even cutting down her beloved apple tree.  That woman was a menace…and Regina had missed her.

She was also absolutely ready to dump that menace on someone else, someone like the Black Fairy and all of her sadistic followers.

“It’s for Henry’s sake only, I assure you,” she replied dryly.  It wouldn’t do to let Emma know that she was quite happy about the current situation, after all.  It wouldn’t do at all.

“Sure it is.”  Emma’s grin was downright cocky, and the old Regina would have wanted to smack it off her face.

Now she just rolled her eyes.  As fun as baiting one another was, they were here for a reason, and Regina knew they didn’t have much time before Emma would need to use her magical skills in battle once more.  “Back to your magic lesson.  Do you remember those nasty spells you used as the Dark One?”

“Which ones?”  Emma sounded less than enthusiastic, and even a little ashamed.

“Any of them, really, but I was thinking of that ice-fire thing that you supposedly brought Mordred down with.”

“Oh.  That.”  Emma scowled.  “That’s dark magic.”

“So are fireballs, you know.”

“That’s different.”

Regina crossed her arms. “How?”

Emma shook her head.  “A fireball is just _fire_.  The stuff I used…it was dark and nasty.  I mostly remember it, but it was meant to hurt people, not help them.” 

“Any magic you use in combat is going to be meant to hurt someone.  If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that _no one_ can be a perfect little beacon of goodness all the time.”  Regina resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but it was hard.  “Even the Savior.”

“I’m supposed to be _different._   I can’t just go around using dark magic.  If I do, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”  Regina cut her off.  “Become like me?”

“I didn’t mean that.”  Emma looked horrified that Regina had caught the implication.  “You’ve come so far, and you’ve fought to be better.  For your happy ending.  But I _almost_ went down that road before I became the Dark One, and once I was, I—I let go.  I killed Granny.  And others, too.  I can’t let myself become that again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“ _What_?”

“I said you’re an idiot.  You’re so afraid of a _little_ darkness that you’re forgetting that’s what makes us human.”  She yanked her arms out of the defensive way they’d been crossed, stepping over to where Emma stood near the wall.  “Don’t you remember your father’s damned ‘we are both’ speech?  That’s not just about who I cursed people to be.  We’re a little hero and a little villain—especially me.  You lean towards the other way as the Savior, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t have _any_ darkness.  The very idea is ridiculous.”

That made Emma scowl even more deeply.  “I don’t, you know.  Lily got it, remember?”

“Yeah, she might have gotten whatever potential you were born with, but trust me, you’ve grown some in the meantime.”  Regina _still_ couldn’t imagine what had driven Snow and Charming to try something as idiotic as taking the darkness out of their child.  It was probably a good thing that Emma had had a crap early life, now that she thought of it.  The Evil Queen would have eaten an ‘all goodness and light’ Emma Swan for breakfast.

“You think so?”

“Trust me, I know a lot about growing darkness.  I used to be almost as nice as your mother.”

That made Emma blink, but after a moment, she nodded thoughtfully.  “You think I can use some of the darker stuff without…I don’t know, making myself worse?”

“I think you can be human and let the Savior crap sort itself out,” Regina replied honestly.

“Okay.”  Emma took a deep breath while Regina stared at her.  “Show me what to do.  If I’m going to fight to protect my family, I’m damned well doing to fight.”

“You got it.”

* * *

 

August needed a shower, but there wasn’t one in the small cell he shared with Sid.  He now knew everything there was to know about Sid, from his favorite color to the way his parents had thought he was the knight and Sir Galavant the squire, but even listening to his new friend babble was  preferable to thinking about the fae.  Yara had taken a shine to him, and August desperately wanted to scrub the memories of her touch off of him, but there was  no way to do that where he was.

“There’s a lot more people here,” Sid said after August lowered himself to the ground at his friend’s side.  “I heard a bunch of voices.  I think people were being brought in while you were gone.”

“Great.”  August groaned.  “So, they can spread the misery around.”

“Sounds like.”

“Sid?” A new voice came from the wall to their right; August couldn’t see through it, but the voice sounded female.  And young.

“Isabella!”  Sid was on his feet and against the wall in an instant.  “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, I imagine.  Although I’m rather annoyed at the chance to fulfill the trope of the ‘Princess in need of rescuing’ yet again.”  August could practically _hear_ Isabella rolling her eyes.  “Frankly, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it!  Back home, I was leading armies to save the day.  Now I’m stuck in here with a writer.”

“A writer?  Is he any good?”

“Hell if I know.  He talks a lot, though.”

“Hey!” August objected.  “I’m right here, you know.”

Sid shrugged. “Sorry.”  He looked back at the wall.  “He seems like a decent sort, Isabella.  You’d probably like him.”

She laughed.  “Well, that’s a good thing if I have no one but the two of you for company.”  Then she sobered.  “You’ve been gone for four days, you know.”

“I thought it was three.”  Sid looked a little nauseous, and August knew how he felt.

“Four days.”  He gulped.  “I’d thought it was less.  It’s hard to tell time down here.”  The thought made him swallow.  Before coming here, he would have thought that some of the especially crappy parts of his life would have beaten this little vacation in terms of suckage, but August would have been wrong.  The last four days had felt like a lifetime, and he was ready for it to be over.

“Gal and I were looking for you, Sid, but they left no trace we could follow.”  They could both hear her swallowing. “Richard said he was going to go to Regina about helping.”

August almost opened his mouth to say something cutting about the former Evil Queen, and then stopped himself.  Regina was trying.  He might not like her, but even he had to give her that.  _I just hope my father is safe, with whatever’s happening._ Sid, however, sounded very worried when he asked:

“What…what about Gareth?”

“Oh, Sid, I’m so sorry.” 

There wasn’t much else to be said after that.

* * *

 

Holding his son was a feeling that David never wanted to forget.  He didn’t want Neal to forget the sound of his voice, or the way he’d been loved.  If worst came to worst, and Neal was left an orphan…well, David didn’t want to think about it, but he did want to make sure that he spent every free moment with his children.  Just in case.

“There’s another battle coming,” he said quietly as Neal fingered his nose clumsily.  “We hope it might be the last one, but even if it isn’t, this battle is worth fighting.”

Neal cooed a little, and David walked over to a chair to sit down with him.  The fairies really had made a nice nursery in the convent, one full of color and every comfort small children could want, but that didn’t mean that David wasn’t worried.  Still, he was glad to see his son smiling and _safe._

“Let me tell you a story, kiddo.  There was once an evil fairy who wanted to rule over _all_ the realms.  She had lots of helpers—evil fairies just like her—but there were a lot of humans who were willing to stand against her.  Those humans stood up and got ready to go to battle, even though they didn’t all like each other, or at least not all the time.  But that didn’t matter.  What mattered was doing the right thing, saving people who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“That meant taking risks.  It even meant that some people were likely to die.  But heroes don’t just fight for themselves or their families.”  David’s voice cracked, but he forged on.  “Heroes fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.   They help people, even when it’s hard.  And they stand up when others would kneel.”

Neal grabbed for his nose again, making happy noises and grinning.  He probably thought David had said his name, but David didn’t mind.  He just leaned down to kiss his son on the forehead.

“I have to fight,” he whispered.  “I hope you can understand that, and I hope I come back. But if I don’t, remember that I love you.”

Their extended family had grown enough that he knew Neal would be well taken care of, even if David didn’t make it through the fight.  Emma would raise her brother with love and care, and even though the idea of possibly making _another_ child of his grow up as an orphan broke his heart, David knew he had to fight.    _Heroes will rise and heroes will fall, but the Heartless King will unite them to fight the darkness._   He had built a coalition of fighters, people from two different worlds, and it was David’s responsibility to lead them.  He couldn’t ask them to fight a battle that he would not, even if the price was possibly too much to bear.

So, he held his son close for as long as he could.

* * *

 

Tonight, they would meet and plan the final battle.  That afternoon, Rumplestiltskin and Belle closed up their respective businesses and cuddled on the couch.  He imagined that Bae was doing much the same with Emma, but Rumplestiltskin wasn’t there to talk about his eldest son.

Belle brought his hand to her stomach, her palm against the back of his hand and her touch warm.  “So, what are we going to call her?  We haven’t talked about it, and we probably should.”

“I suppose it is that time, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin knew that Belle was almost sixteen weeks pregnant, and the idea of becoming a father for the second time was so very real.  She was showing, now, just a little, and he’d never thought her more beautiful.  “Do you have any preferences?”

“You’re going to laugh at me if I tell you what I’m thinking.”  She blushed a little, and he revised his internal thought about Belle never having been more beautiful before.

He had to smile.  “I won’t.  I promise.”

“You will.”  Belle gave him that look, the loving one that said she thought he was full of crap. 

“I cross my heart.”  Rumplestiltskin leaned in and kissed her gently.  “Tell me?  Please?”

“I was thinking of Gabrielle.”  Belle shrugged minutely, looking embarrassed.

“Why would I laugh?  Gabrielle is a beautiful name.”  For the life of him, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t think of any reason why the name would make him laugh.  It also wasn’t a name shared by anyone they knew,  or—even better—of anyone who was dead. 

“Because I was thinking of  Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.” She bit her lip.  “The original author of _Beauty and the Beast._ ”

   “Oh.”  Rumplestiltskin felt his eyes go wide.  He hadn’t expected this, yet when he considered the name, he really didn’t have anything against it.  Naming his daughter after the mother who had abandoned him—and yet still lived—would be awkward.  He supposed that he _could_ propose naming her after his late sister and great-grandmother, but Rumplestiltskin had never known either of them.  “That’s…that’s a lovely name.”

“You can say if you don’t like it.”  Belle sat up to look at him, her eyes worried.  “I only thought that the story—”

“No, it’s a beautiful name,” he cut her off quickly.  “I just never thought of it.  It does tell our story rather well…and is better than naming her for some long-dead relative.”

Belle smiled, her eyes lighting up.  “I want our daughter to have her own name.”

“Not one belonging to a long-dead author who somehow foresaw our situation from a world away?” Rumplestiltskin teased her gently, but Belle still slapped him lightly on the arm.

“Giving her a name with _meaning_ doesn’t mean it is one that belongs to someone else, you daft man.”

“Of course not.”  Leaning in, Rumplestiltskin kissed her again, and felt Belle smile against his lips.  “Gabrielle is a wonderful name.”

“Thank you, Rumple.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”  Bending over, Rumplestiltskin placed a gentle kiss on her stomach.  “I never thought I would be blessed with the chance to be a father again.  You’ve given me that—and so much more.”

“It takes two, you know.”  Her smile was so gentle that it melted his heart.  “We’re in this together, and we will be, until the end.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, his throat tight and his hand still on his wife’s curved stomach.  “Until the end.”

Once, he had died to protect his family.  Tomorrow, he would _fight_ for them.

* * *

 

“Is this our first real date?”  Lily’s eyes twinkled, but the question made Killian’s heart skip a beat.

He’d taken her to lunch at the Italian place down by the docks.  Or, maybe Lily had taken him to dinner.  Perhaps it was a decision that they had come to together, but Killian had never had any doubt who he wanted to spend today with.  Tomorrow, they would go to war.  Tomorrow, he would for once in his life fight a battle truly worth fighting.  Oh, he’d helped in this way and that way, but Killian had never been one to actually lay it all on the line in the service of the greater good.  He was honest enough with himself to know that he hadn’t had the best of reasons for fighting before.  He’d done it for Emma, to make himself enough of a hero to be worthy of her.

He’d done _good_ things, then, but not always.  And Killian hadn’t really been the man he’d pretended to be.   Losing Emma had shocked him deeply, but it had also made him wake up.  Killian knew that he was a better man, now, and he’d done it for himself.  Not for a woman who he had idealized even more than he had loved her.  _Things are different, now,_ he thought, looking at Lily’s happy expression.  Lily wasn’t perfect; she wasn’t a Savior and she wasn’t some beacon of light.  She was real, though.  Real and someone who had crept into her heart.

So, he smiled at her with no regrets, feeling his own heart flutter.  “Aye.  I think it is.”

“Does that mean you want to date me?”  Her smile was a little coy, but he could understand why.  They’d certainly been beating around this bush for some time now.

“Is there a reason I should not?”

“Is there a reason you should?” she shot back, and Killian saw every one of Lily’s insecurities flash across her face.

Quickly, he reached out and took her hands in his own.  “Legions.”

“Name them, then.”  Her eyes were challenging, but he could see uncertainty in their depths.  She was afraid, Killian realized.  Now that they were making their relationship official, Lily was afraid that his feelings for her weren’t as strong as hers for him.  She had lost so many that she loved—everyone except her mother, and maybe now her father—and Lily was afraid.

“You’re strong.”  He squeezed her hands.  “You’re brave and you’re stubborn, and you can sass the life out of anyone.  You don’t take crap from anyone, and you’ve overcome darkness that wasn’t your own and become stronger still.”

“You make me sound like I’m some kind of hero.”

“Nah.  I like you better because you’re not.”  It had taken Killian a long time to come to realize how true that was, but now that he had, he felt _lighter_.  He didn’t have to try to be some perfect hero.  He could be himself, flaws and all.  He could do right, but he didn’t have to become someone he wasn’t to do so.

And that was a better happy ending than he ever could have imagined.

* * *

 

“If I asked you not to go, would you listen?”

The question made Bae stop cold, his arm in Emma’s refrigerator and his hand almost to a bottle of beer.  “Come again?”

“I know it sounds cowardly.”  When he turned to face her, she shrugged guiltily.  “I just…I just want to make sure Henry still has someone, you know?”

“You mean if the worst happens.”  Bae closed the fridge, beer forgotten.  They’d been sitting down for lunch at Emma’s house, just before they had to head over to his father’s for their last planning meeting.

“Yeah.”  Emma’s shoulders slumped, and Bae crossed the kitchen to stand next to her.  “I just keep thinking about what happens to Henry if we all die.  I’m fighting, you’re fighting, Regina’s fighting…”

“We’re all fighting because it’s worth fighting for.  This isn’t just some villain of the week.  Danns’ is threatening the fabric of our entire world.  We can’t just stand by and do nothing.  None of us can.”

“And I know that!”  She looked ready to strangle someone, _anyone_ , and Bae just wanted to hold her.  But he knew Emma, and he knew that sometimes she needed to shout things out.  “I know _why_ you want to fight.  I have the same damn reasons.  But we’re parents, too, and we can’t forget that.”

“Of course we can’t.  But I this goes so badly that we all die, we’re screwed, anyway.”  Bae swallowed, and then reached out to take her hand gently.  “And I can’t just sit by while others fight, Em.  I just can’t.”

Emma slumped.  “I know.  I just wish…I just wish we knew that we’d all be all right.  It seems like things just finally started looking up, but now we’re all going to fight to the death.   And I feel so damned selfish wanting you to stay out of it.  I know it’s not right.”

“It’s pretty human, though.”  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.  “I get it.  I wish _you’d_ stay out of it, too.”

“At least Henry’s not fighting?” Her laugh was wry. 

“Tell me about it.  A few years older, and we won’t be able to stop him.”

Emma groaned.  “Don’t remind me.”

“Me, neither.”

* * *

 

Morgan did not know how long she had been polishing Galatine for, only that the blade shone brightly already.  Yet she was not ready to stop.

She had few regrets, save that she would not be able to say a proper farewell to her sons.  But if she did, they would _know_ , and Morgan could not allow that to happen.  She didn’t want to die, of course, but Morgan was certainly not prepared to live while one of her family members died.  She had lived a long life, and sometimes even a good one.  And she knew what had to be done.  If someone was going to die tomorrow, it was _not_ going to be one of her sons or her grandsons.  Morgan would make sure it was her.

“You wanted me to come by?” Belle had let herself in when Morgan wasn’t listening, apparently, but she _had_ asked her daughter-in-law to come by.  She’d even left the door unlocked, just for this purpose, but Morgan’s heart was still heavy.

She made herself smile, but it was a wooden thing, dry and forced.  “I wondered if you might do me a favor.”

“Of course.”  Belle sat down by Morgan’s side, her expression concerned. “What can I do?”

“I have…letters for you to hold.  Just in case.”  Morgan took a deep breath.  “For the boys.  And my grandsons.”

“Morgan, you can’t possibly think that we would let—”

“I will do what must be done.”  She cut her off before Belle could say something sweet and compassionate that would change her mind.  “No matter what it takes.”

“And you won’t say a word to Rumple or Mordred.”  Belle sounded broken.

“I can’t.  They’d try to stop me.”

“And you think I _won’t_?”

Reaching out, Morgan put a hand on her daughter-in-law’s arm.  “I think you will protect your family at all costs, but there are others who need protection more than I.”

“That doesn’t mean anyone is going to die!”  Belle’s blue eyes were wide with shock and emotion.  “If you go into this battle thinking that you’re going to die, you might destine yourself to that very fate!”

“And I have made my peace with that.” Morgan squeezed Belle’s arm again, looking her in the eye.  “I do not _want_ to die, Belle.  But I will do so if it saves my family.  Because I value that above all else.  Do you understand?”

A long moment of silence passed; finally, Belle swallowed hard.  “I understand.”

“All I ask is that you take the letters, for me.  Give them back if the worst does not come,” she said more softly, knowing that she had to appeal to Belle’s sense of optimism.  “But don’t tell the boys.  They’ll only do something foolish, and get themselves hurt.”

“I don’t like lying like this.”  Belle frowned deeply.

“I know.  But it won’t be for long, I promise.”  Morgan hated pleading for anything, hated _needing_ anyone, but she knew that she needed Belle to do this for her.  “Please take the letters.  Just in case.”

After a long moment, Belle nodded.  “Of course I will.  I will help however I can.”

* * *

 

They were halfway to Lily and Maleficent’s house when a fae turned up out of nowhere, teleporting into their path with a malicious smile on his face.  Unlike some of the others, this one was dark skinned and darker haired, though he still possessed that same ethereal beauty.  Seeing that kind of beauty on a man was eerily disturbing, and Killian felt something in him recoil when the fae turned a leer on him.  Had he looked that way at women in the past?  Did they feel as objectified as he did right now, as powerless and as cornered?

“Get lost, Burber,” Lily snapped, glaring.  “We’re walking here.”

“You might be.”  If possible, the leer grew.  “But I _want_ this one.”

Lily snorted.  “Well, we don’t always get what we want.  Go find someone else to kidnap.”

“Kidnap?” Killian couldn’t help repeating the word incredulously, banishing the uneasy shiver he felt by sheer force of will.  “I don’t know what it is exactly that has you interested, mate, but I assure you that I don’t sail on such a course.”

“Do I look like that bothers me?”  Burber stepped closer, his eyes raking up and down Killian.

_I refuse to be frightened of some oversized fairy with more hormones than sense,_ Killian told himself firmly, pasting on a cocky smile.  “Truth be told, you look like you don’t have the brainpower to bothered by much of anything.”

“Beauty and spirit.  You’ll be exceedingly fun to break.”  Burber’s purr made Killian twitch uncomfortably, no matter how hard he tried not to react.

“No, he won’t.”  Lily’s voice was steel as she moved closer to Killian.  “Killian isn’t yours to take.  Get.  Lost.”

“And here I thought that you were aware of our ways,” a new voice spoke from behind them, making both Killian and Lily whirl around.  Nuckelavee stood only a few feet away from them, pinning them neatly between himself and the ever-prowling Burber.

“Ah, look who it is: the Psychopath-in-Chief,” Killian drawled.  But his heart was pounding wildly.  Lily was a dragon, and she might be able to fight them off—but Nuckelavee had defeated _Emma_ , and he knew that Lily wasn’t that powerful.  And that meant they were in for a _really_ rocky ride _._

“This one is a mouthy on, Burber.”  Nuckelavee smiled nastily.  “You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

“The hell he will!” Lily cut in.  “In case you haven’t noticed, my mother and I—”

“Should mind your place.”  Nuckelavee cut her off, waving a hand dismissively.  “You have no right to interfere with the desires of the fae.  Unless you wish to take it up with Our Lady?”

Lily blanched, but she snarled back right away.  “Gladly.  Or maybe I’ll just _burn_ you here and now.”

Nuckelavee’s eyes flashed, and there was suddenly enough magic on the air to make the hair on Killian’s arms stand up straight.  Quickly, he put a hand on Lily’s arm, stopping her before she could do something that could doom them both.  _I may not be able to help myself, but I can still save_ her _.  And that’s worth everything._

“It’s all right, love.” He dredged up a smile for her.  “I’m sure these… _gentlemen_ mean to treat me quite cordially.”  Somehow, Killian managed to say those words without too much sarcasm, but judging from Nuckelavee’s smirk, he understood far too well.  “And we wouldn’t want you harming your standing with the Black Fairy.”

_Save yourself now, save me later,_ he couldn’t say, but he thought he saw recognition dawn in Lily’s eyes.  She was still furiously unhappy, ready to fly off the handle at any moment, but she knew what he meant.  And like Killian, Lily had lost enough fights in her life to know when to back off and fight another day. 

“Of course.”  Lily’s voice was tight, but she let go of his hand and backed off, giving him a nod that practically screamed how she wasn’t going to let this go.  Her glare turned on Nuckelavee.  “I would _never_ want to do that.”

The last thing Killian heard before magic _tugged_ him away was Nuckelavee laughing.

* * *

 

They met in the Sorcerer’s House just before dark.  Rumplestiltskin ran through the plan quickly, earning himself some hard looks and some nods, while Henry glared from the corner and didn’t try hard to hide the fact that he was pouting.  There had been no question of not allowing Henry to attend this meeting—he probably would have spied on them if he _hadn’t_ been able to come—but the entire family was united in keeping him away from the battle.  Emma and Regina had both talked to him about it at length, but Rumplestiltskin could see that his grandson was still not entirely convinced.  Bae was watching Henry worriedly, though, and Rumplestiltskin knew there was nothing he could realistically do on that front.  So, he continued talking until he got to the end.

Predictably, Regina was the first to speak up.  “I don’t like it.”

“That’s a surprise.”  Emma smiled wryly, which softened her dry tone a little.  Not enough to make Regina stop glaring at her, however.

“I am _not_ some precious little puppy who needs to be coddled.  Give me one reason—besides the obvious!”—she gestured angrily at her rounded stomach—“why I should be left out of this magical battle royale?  You need every magic user you can get.”

The last was directed at Rumplestiltskin, complete with a glare hot enough to melt titanium.  He held his hands up, palm out, signifying that he didn’t want to argue with her, but Rumplestiltskin knew that was useless.  Regina was already spoiling for a fight.

“Someone needs to go with David’s team.  They’ll need magic to get those prisoners out, not to mention to defeat any wards the fae have left on them.”

Regina’s glare only deepened, and her face twisted up in a snarl.  “And because I’m pregnant.”

“There is that unescapable fact, as well.”

“But I’m _not_ the only woman who is going to have a child who is in this room!”  Regina gestured at Belle.  “No offense, Belle, but I’m a lot better with magic than you are, particularly the nastier stuff.  You don’t exactly take pleasure in screwing anyone over, no matter how much they deserve it.”

Belle’s smile was crooked.  “None taken.”

“But you’re the only one who’s at risk,” Morgan pointed out, rolling her eyes.  Rumplestiltskin knew his mother well enough that to know she had no intention of coddling any ego, and it showed in her dry tone.  “If you think Danns’ will hurt _her_ , you need to have your head examined.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point is that we need your help, Gina.”  Robin spoke up softly, but Regina’s head immediately whipped around to look at her husband.  “If we don’t have someone with magic along, we may end up trapped as soon as we get anywhere near the underground prisons we _think_ the prisoners are being held in.  And if we’re wrong, we’re going to need your help finding them.”

“Not to mention the fact that there’s no way to be sure some fae won’t stay down there,” David put in.  “They outnumber us pretty badly on the magic front, so they can afford to leave a rear guard.  And if they do, we’re screwed without you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Charming, but I don’t need a pep talk.  Particularly not from you.”  Regina’s glare had lessened slightly, but Rumplestiltskin could see that she was getting worked up again.

Clearly, Emma could, too, because she snapped:  “Oh, stop being an idiot.  You want to go along for the big battle?  Fine.  You can take my spot.  I’ll play lock breaker and pick off any extra fae.”

“Now you’re being stupid.  Savior magic is _clearly_ going to be required in that mess.”

“Great, then who the hell else should go where you don’t want to?” Emma retorted.   “Belle is the only one who is guaranteed _not_ to get hurt, so she’s out.  This one”—she gestured at Mordred—“wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass.  _She_ ” _—_ this indicated Morgan, who was arching an eyebrow darkly—“is even nastier than you are.  And Rumplestiltskin is the only one who can go toe-to-toe with the biggest bitch in town.  So, if you’ve got any better ideas, let’s hear them.”

“I _know_ all that.  Shut up.”  Regina didn’t give in gracefully, but she did give in, glowering all the while.  She did brighten slightly when Robin whispered something in her ear, but Rumplestiltskin absolutely _did not_ want to know what that had been.

“Speaking of where the prisoners are hidden, where the hell is Killian?” Bae spoke up as silence fell, making everyone look around.

“Not answering his phone.”  Surprisingly, that was Mordred, who had his own phone in hand.  But being distracted by technology did explain why he’d been so quiet during that argument; Rumplestiltskin’s brother was not known for keeping his opinion to himself.

“That’s weird.”  Bae dug out his own phone immediately.  “Did you try texting?  I know he was with Lily, earlier…”

“Yes, I tried texting. “  Mordred scowled.  “I do know how.”

“I think we just discovered the fae’s newest prize.”  Morgan cut into the argument before Bae could retort.   “He does suit their usual tastes.”

“What?” Rumplestiltskin knew at least three or four other voices joined his, Regina’s chief amongst them. 

It was Emma who spoke up with a frown.  “They like pretty people, don’t they?  The bastards.”

“Pretty?” Bae echoed, and then snorted. “I guess if you like the smoldering pirate type, sure.  Assuming you can put up with his sarcasm.”

Morgan’s eyes were dark.  “It wouldn’t surprise me.” 

Rumplestiltskin heard what she didn’t say, of course; Danns’ knew that Killian was part of the surprisingly large Cornwall clan, and that would make him a target.  The simmering anger in his mother’s eyes said that they should have seen that coming sooner, but alas, they had not.  And now his nephew was in danger because _he_ hadn’t seen this coming.  Yet they could not afford to focus on that, not now.

“They don’t kill their pets quickly, do they, Mother?” His cold question earned Rumplestiltskin glares from David and Robin, but he ignored those.  It wouldn’t be the first time his detached outlook had earned him ire.

“Not at all.”  Morgan nodded, fury making her every move jerky, but he could see that she knew what he meant.  She was cold-blooded, too, his mother.  She knew that derailing their plans now would only further endanger Killian, not save him.

Others in the room did not look so sure, but he did not give them time to argue in favor of some ill-considered rescue mission.

“Then we have time enough.”  Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath.  “Danns’ likely intends to use the portal jumping hat as a catalyst to merge all the realms together.  She needs something already linked to the hat, to that particular brand of innate portal jumping magic that she does not possess.  She’ll have to do that as close to the center of Storybrooke’s magic as she can, which is either the well or the middle of town.  I would bet on the latter, given that Storybrooke was _created_ with magic and the well only returned what was lost.”

“And the hat?  What if she has something else up her sleeve, or what if her plan _works_?” David asked, sounding more concerned than confrontational.

“It’s not the real hat, is it, Grandpa?” Henry spoke up suddenly, making all the adults jump.  Rumplestiltskin turned to look at his grandson, who shrugged easily.  “You knew someone was coming for it, otherwise you wouldn’t have suddenly arranged for Grace to spend the night at Mom’s.”

Bae—who had actually arranged said sleepover—started to open his mouth in shock.  “How did you know that was him?”

“C’mon, Dad.  You’re subtle, but not like Grandpa.”  Henry snorted.  “That sleepover had his fingerprints all over the place.”

Bae’s mouth flopped open in shock, but after a moment, he laughed.  “Guilty as charged.  Pop was all over that one.”

Henry rolled his eyes theatrically.   “Yeah, that was kind of obvious.  But anyway, my point is that Grandpa has to have the real hat.  Particularly since Uncle Mordred was pretending to be Jefferson.”

“You knew?”  Mordred’s eyes went wide, but Henry only laughed.

“Whale complained a lot.  And Grace thought it was funny.”

Mordred scowled.  “That rat bastard.” 

“There, there, dear.”  Morgan patted Mordred on the shoulder, which just made his scowl deepen and Rumplestiltskin snicker.  He absolutely didn’t feel guilty for having dumped his brother on Whale.  Whale had more than held his own, after all, and it probably did Mordred good to be mortified from time to time.

“At dawn, Jefferson, Whale, and Grace will head to the Enchanted Forest using a portal through his hat.  They will take the children any anyone else likely to be targeted with them.  That way, even if Danns’ _does_ get her hands on the real hat, she won’t be able to use it.”

“The rules only allow one portal at a time.”  Regina nodded thoughtfully.  “And no one else can jump in after them, either.”

“That’s the idea.”  He allowed himself a cool smile.

"How are we so certain that she’s going to use that fake hat?” Robin asked suddenly.  “What happens if she isn’t drawn out, and she does something you _don’t_ expect?”

“A reliable source has told us that she intends to begin her work at dawn.”  Morgan’s eyes flicked to Rumplestiltskin, and he could see the worry carefully hidden in their depths.

_I never would have expected Mother and_ Maleficent _, but they’re strangely suited,_ he thought behind a blank expression.  _I only hope that survives this battle._

Robin shifted uneasily.  “And you trust this person?”

“I trust the information.”  Morgan’s eyes flicked to Rumplestiltskin, who nodded. 

“Nuckelavee stealing the hat indicates that Danns’ intends to act soon.  If she does _not_ try to bring the realms together tomorrow, we can still bring her to battle.  I will just be…messier.”

He smiled coldly to mask the way his stomach was heaving wildly.  Rumplestiltskin was no warrior, and he was certainly no hero, but he knew that if he failed tomorrow, everyone else would fail with him.  _A long way from being the cowardly spinner, isn’t it?_ his internal voice of doubt said half-mockingly.  He wasn’t sure if he was a better man than he’d been, or if he was actually stronger or just had learned to pretend…but in the end, that didn’t matter, did it?

He’d pretend to be anything so long as it protected his family.

* * *

 

“Mother!”

Lily’s desperate call made Maleficent’s head snap around, and she rushed down the stairs to find her daughter standing in their house’s front hall, seething with anger.  As Maleficent approached, Lily grabbed a vase off of a shelf near the door, smashing it into the floor and then reaching for a candelabra.  Fortunately, Mal caught her daughter’s arm before Lily could throw that, too.  She didn’t care if Lily destroyed things, of course, but the candelabra was enchanted, and it would probably hurt them before it broke.

“Lily, what is it, darling?”

“They took Killian.”  Lily turned to face her, eyes burning with rage.  “I told them not to, and they still _took_ him!”

“Who?”  A cold chill ran down her spine; Mal thought she knew the answer, but she prayed it was otherwise.  Perhaps Rumplestiltskin and his allies had done something foolish, and—

“The _fae_ ,” Lily spat.  “Nuckelavee and Burber.  I wanted to fight them, but Killian wouldn’t let me!”

“They took him as…as a pet?” Mal had to swallow hard.  She didn’t really care for the pirate, or at least wouldn’t if her daughter hadn’t been busy falling head over heels for him.  But Killian mattered to Lily, which meant that Mal wanted to rip anyone who hurt him from limb to limb.

“Yes.”  The word was a hiss, and Mal could feel the fury radiating off of her daughter.  “I am _done_ with them, Mother!  I am done with your games and your playing at being—”

Quickly, Mal clapped a hand over her daughter’s mouth.  “Be careful,” she whispered.  “You never know who might hear you.”

Eyes wide, Lily twisted to face her.  When Mal removed her hand, Lily spoke in a whisper.  “That spell is still on  you?”

“No, it’s gone.”  Mal shook her head.  “But you cannot shout about such things.  You never know what ears are listening at the keyhole.”

Before Lily could say a word, Maleficent pulled her up the stairs, heading into Lily’s room.  She threw a few spells up as they entered the room, ensuring their privacy.  The mirrors were already covered, and now no one could use magic to spy on them.  No one would lurk at a keyhole on the second floor, either, which gave them just enough freedom.  Though Maleficent would still speak quickly, just in case.

“She’s acting tomorrow.”  There was no need to say _who_ she meant; Lily knew all too well.  “The battle will come when she tries to use the portal jumper’s hat to merge all the realms into one.  Rumplestiltskin and the others will move to stop her, and we will help them.”

“We will?”

“If you want Killian back, they are our only hope.  And we can tip the battle in their favor.”  Mal smiled crookedly.  “Besides, your father is already with them.”

That made Lily blink.  “Dad decided to fight?”

“His old friend Robin seems to have convinced him.”  Mal shrugged; the fact that Tad had agreed to help was surprising, but only so much.  Tad wasn’t exactly the type of man who charged into battle, but he _was_ loyal to a fault.  And he was a generous man with his friends, likely to risk himself rather than risk disappointing them.

“Then we’ll fight, too.”  Lily’s chin came up.  “For him and for Killian.”

Maleficent squeezed her daughter’s shoulder, appreciating the fierceness in Lily’s eyes.  “That we will.”

* * *

 

“Rumple, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Belle had waited until all of their guests had left.  Bae was spending the night at Emma’s—which was no big surprise, but had made Henry grin like a madman and agree to stay at Regina’s without a moment of argument.  That left them alone in the house, since Mordred had gone home with Morgan, much to everyone’s surprise.  He was still grumbling about Morgan’s ‘sordid’ relationship, but he went along as soon as Morgan promised that Maleficent would not be there.

Her husband turned to face her, his shirt half unbuttoned.  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I’ll promptly forget if you keep distracting me like this.”  Stepping forward, Belle couldn’t resist stroking Rumplestiltskin’s chest.

“Talking first.”  Rumplestiltskin grinned briefly, though, and Belle could see the desire filling his eyes.  Common sense said that they _should_ do their best to get a good night’s sleep before the final battle, but Belle had a feeling that they would not act with sense that evening.  “Then we’ll move on to more…entertaining pursuits.”

“All right.”  Belle let out a breath, thinking back to the way Morgan had sounded when they’d spoken that afternoon.  “It’s…about your mother.”

“What about her?”

“I think she means to die, Rumple.  She gave me letters for you, Mordred, Bae and Killian.  In case the worst comes.”  Belle swallowed hard.  “But she was polishing Galatine when I came in…and she sounded resigned.  She said that she doesn’t _want_ to die, but that she will before she lets anything happen to any of her family.”

“Oh.”  Much to Belle’s utter shock, Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Is that all?”

Belle felt her jaw drop.  “Rumple!  How can you say that?”

“Because I’ve known for some time.  My mother is many things: she’s strong, she’s determined, and she’s dedicated to bringing Danns’ down.  But she’s also very predictable in some ways.”

“You inherited that from her, you know.”  It was all Belle could think to say; she was still a little breathless over the fact that Rumplestiltskin had _known_.  Oh, her husband was the ultimate chess master, but the fact that he had managed to predict what Morgan would do was still a little staggering.

His smile was crooked.  “I know.  Which is why I knew she would want to try.”

“You’re going to try to stop her, aren’t you?” she had to ask.  Belle’s hand drifted to her stomach of its own accord as she looked down.  “I want our daughter—our Gabrielle—to know her grandmother.”

“As do I.”  Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around her.  “I will do my best to stop her.  To save her, if I can.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on getting this chapter up – the holidays got away from me. Hopefully, we’ll get back to normal from here on out.
> 
> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen—“I March to Meet My Doom”, in which Henry’s family unites to keep him away from the battle, Morgan’s children worry she might succeed in doing something dramatic, Danns’ requires a sacrifice to begin her victory, and the final battle begins.


	115. I March to Meet My Doom

In another time and place, Regina would have been annoyed at having to share this moment with her son’s _other_ parents, but nowadays, she was just happy to know how many people loved Henry.  She had no intention of dying today, but one never knew what might happen.  Yet she did know that, no matter who failed to come back from this battle, someone would be there for Henry.  And in the end, that was more important than anything else. 

She and Robin had made arrangements for Roland’s care if the worst happened to both of them, too.  Such arrangements might not matter if the town was half-destroyed by Danns’, but knowing that Roland wouldn’t be separated from Henry was important, too.  Henry had definitely taken Roland under his wing these past few months, and Regina knew that Roland wouldn’t know what to do without him.  Little John would look out for him, too, of course, but Roland would get to stay with his step-brother.  And that fact comforted Regina in ways she couldn’t begin to define.

Even when her son was giving her an incredibly mulish look.  They’d all gathered in the courtyard at the convent, which was a safe and protected place for Jefferson to use his hat away from the fae.  The portal jumper wasn’t far away, either, talking to Astrid, Aurora, Ella, and Thomas, none of whom had ever jumped through a portal but would be doing so today.  Regina had arranged for the mobile patients from the hospital to go, too; most of them were in okay shape after that Dance of Death, but they were still easy targets for the fae to pick off, and she needed to protect them.  The entire nursery was going along, too, under the watchful eyes of their normal babysitters.

“I still think I can help.”  Henry wasn’t just tired—it was before dawn, after all—he was manifestly unhappy.  “And _don’t_ tell me that I can help by watching the little kids.  The fairies have been doing that just fine for days, and Whale and Jefferson don’t need my help.  They have plenty of _adults_ along.”

“I know that, Henry.”  Regina tried to smile, but she knew the effort fell flat.  “And I know you would rather fight than stay.  But you’re just going to have to trust us on this one, all right?  These battles are going to be ugly.”

“I can still _help_.”

“You do know that there’s more to making sure the world is worth fighting for than _fighting_ for it, right?” Much to Regina’s surprise, David spoke up from where he was cradling Neal.

All teenager, Henry rolled his eyes.  His heaving sigh was a little over-dramatic, but Regina had been expected it.  “I know that.”

“Yeah, but you’re not thinking of the important details,” David continued patiently.  “What happens if this battle goes too badly?  Then you’re going to be the only family Neal has.  _And_ you’re the Author.  Someone is going to have to tell the true story, in the end.  And I’m afraid that falls to you.”

“How can I tell the story if I can’t _see_ what happens?” Henry crossed his arms.  “I know none of you will let me fight.  I just don’t want to have to go hide in the Enchanted Forest.  I won’t even know if everyone is okay or not!”

“I know.  And I won’t tell you that it’s _easy_.”  David squeezed Henry’s shoulder as Neal wiggled.  “But heroes don’t do what is easy, Henry.  They do what is necessary, even if they don’t want to.”

“I know.”  Henry’s expression was a little embarrassed, and Regina knew that David’s point had gone home.  “I just wish I could be with everyone else.”

“You know what?” Bae entered the conversation with a crooked smile.  “Part of me wishes I could be with you instead of in the battle.”

That made Henry frown.  “Why?”

“‘Cause I’m still just a spinner’s kid from the Frontlands who doesn’t know how he got tangled in with all this royal and hero stuff.”  Bae shrugged.  “I’m willing to fight for what I believe in, but there’s a big part of me that misses things being simple.”

“Can I switch places with you?” Henry didn’t really look hopeful on that front, but Regina couldn’t let it stand.

“No!”  Fortunately, Emma said the word at the same time, and they exchanged a knowing look.  They’d both had memories of raising this brilliant and stubborn boy, and Henry really was the best—and the worst—of both of them.

It was Bae who laughed and ruffled his son’s hair.  “Your moms have spoken, bud.  It takes a far braver man than I to try to go against them when they’re teamed up.”

Henry glanced towards David, but his grandfather only laughed.  “Don’t look at me!  I’ve got my hands full with my own kids.”

“Okay, enough lollygagging.”  Whale turned to glare at them all.  “We need to get moving if this is going to get done, right, Jeff?”

Jefferson shrugged eloquently.  “I wasn’t going to interfere in the family drama, personally, but yes.”

“Take care of yourself, Henry.”  Regina couldn’t resist stepping forward to hug her son, or kissing him on the forehead. 

“You, too, Mom.  And Robin.  I want you _all_ back after this.”  Henry managed a smile, and then Bae and Emma descended to hug him, too, and Regina stepped back.

They all stayed to watch Jefferson spin the hat and everyone jump in, but then they had to leave.  There was a battle to be fought.

* * *

 

Mordred caught his arm almost as soon as Rumplestiltskin and Belle teleported into the library.  They were using the diner as a staging point, because the clock tower was right overhead, and it would be easy to see when Danns’ decided to act.  Blue had fairies watching over the wishing well, and while Rumplestiltskin would probably never trust the senior fairy, he did believe she would tell them if Danns’ tried to work her magic there.  _There’s still a question of what catalyst she’s planning to use,_ Rumplestiltskin thought uneasily, allowing his brother to lead him behind the horror section.  _Even Jefferson’s real hat wouldn’t be enough.  She has to pour enough magic into it to crack the portal open._

Mordred glanced around nervously before speaking.  “Mother is planning on doing something dramatic.” 

“Yes, I know.”  Thankfully, this wasn’t a wrinkle Rumplestiltskin had failed to foresee.  “I have a plan.”

“Care to clue me in on it?”  His brother looked terribly relieved, but still angry enough that he wanted to burn someone alive.

Silently, Rumplestiltskin pulled the left side of his gray suit jacket away from his body, revealing the kris dagger tucked in there.  Mordred’s eyes went wide for a moment, and the breath he sucked in was audible.  “I thought Swan would still have that.”

“She returned it to me.  I thought I might make use of it.”

Mordred nodded choppily.  “Good.”  A beat.  “Mother brought Galatine.”

“I noticed.”

“I wish I could just _take_ it from her, but she’d likely be very wroth.”

Rumplestiltskin let out a breath.  “That she would.”  Morgan was still annoyed that they’d run off without her last time.  Trying to take her sword from her would only tip her off to the fact that her sons had no intention of letting her die.  “She gave Belle letters for us, ‘just in case’.”

“There are times I could kill her myself,” Mordred growled.

“And I.  Though you no doubt have stronger feelings in that regard than I.”  Rumplestiltskin figured that Mordred had known their mother far longer, after all, and had many more years to have grown frustrated with Morgan’s stubbornness.

Not that either brother could even pretend to have inherited their own obstinate natures from anywhere else.

“Feelings in what regard?”  Their mother’s voice made the brothers spin around; both trying desperately not to look guilty.  As Mordred had said, Morgan wore Galatine strapped across her back, with the hilt sticking up over her right shoulder.  She was serious and cool, their mother, not displaying any of the twitchy nervousness Rumplestiltskin felt.

“Nothing.”  Mordred said the word far too quickly, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to shake his brother.  Did the idiot know _nothing_ of avoiding questions?

Morgan’s eyebrows rose.  “Is that so?”

“Well, not nothing, of course.”  Mordred fidgeted, and Rumplestiltskin was torn between enjoyment over watching him squirm and the desire to save him from himself.  “Technically—”

“She’s here.”  Emma’s voice cut off Mordred’s sad attempt at evasion.  She’d been standing by the front windows ever since they’d arrived, and her voice was dead calm.

All three heads whipped around, but Rumplestiltskin got in first: "How many fae are with her?"

“Thirteen.”  Tink had moved up next to Emma, and was squinting at the figures in the square.  “No, eleven.  Two of them are Maleficent and Lily.”  Tink’s scowl was audible.  “Jhudora’s not one of them.”

That left three fae unaccounted for, but Regina had faced worse odds.  Even if one of them was amongst the worst of the fae, she’d be fine.  Emma meet his eyes, seemingly reading his mind.

“I’ll text Regina and tell her to go.”

Rumplestiltskin just nodded, and started to quietly sink into his power.  He’d need every bit of it today.

* * *

 

They landed in the Enchanted Forest rather less gracefully than Henry would have expected.  In fact, he ended up half under Grace with Whale’s foot on his face, which left Henry spitting out the taste of leather.  “Ow!  Get off me!”

“Sorry.”  Grace scrambled up, but Whale just snorted as he climbed lazily to his feet.

“Kids these days.  Do you do anything _other_ than complain?”

“Victor!” Grace glared at him.  “That wasn’t nice at all.”

He just shrugged.  “I’m not a nice man, Gracie.”

“You’re plenty nice when you want to be, and Henry’s my best friend.”  She crossed her arms, giving Whale the stubborn look that Henry knew all too well.  “I don’t insult _your_ friends.”

Whale laughed.  “That’s because your father is almost the only one who likes me.  But I am sorry for being mean to your friend.”

“You should apologize to Henry, not me.”

“Don’t push it, Gracie.”  Whale grinned at her before heading over to join Jefferson. 

Grace opened her mouth to say more, but Henry got in first.  “It’s okay.”  Brushing himself off, he shrugged.  “I’ve heard a lot worse.”

“He’s just mean because he doesn’t really know how to deal with people.”  Her smile was crooked.  “Probably comes from having been chased by too many lynch mobs.”

“I can imagine, yeah.”  Henry had read about Whale plenty in his book—and then it hit him like a ton of bricks.  He was in the Enchanted Forest!  Like, the actual Enchanted Forest, too, not the screwed up alternate version of it that Isaac created.  And this time, he hadn’t had to be kidnapped by Mordred to get here, either.

Unfortunately, it didn’t really look like much of anything besides a forest.  Everyone else seemed to be noticing the same thing, too, because people were starting to mutter.  Thomas looked downright annoyed, actually, although Ella seemed a lot less put out.  Most of the hospital patients just seemed relieved to have gotten through the portal safely, but Henry made a point of checking on Neal, just in case.  He might have complained about being delegated to watch over his little uncle, but he _was_ determined to keep an eye on him.  Ella shot him a smile; she had a baby pack on her back with Neal in it, and he seemed to be enjoying the ride.  Maybe Thomas was so annoyed because he was carrying their second child in the same way while Alexandra skipped alongside him.  Henry figured he could offer to take Neal later, but for now,  he kind of wanted to explore.

A hand tugged on his.  “Can we go to Papa’s camp, Henry?” Roland asked.

“That’s a good question.”  Henry gave Roland a smile before looking Jefferson’s way.  “Where are we, anyway?”

“Well, I’d say we’re in the woods.”  Jefferson gave him a roguish grin, but Grace glared at her father.

“ _Papa_.”

Jefferson laughed.  “We’re actually near your grandparents’ old castle, Henry.”

“That could be good or bad.  Which one?” he had to ask.  As cool as visiting the Dark Castle could have been, Henry was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be safe to hang out there without his dad or his grandfather along.  Or Belle.  Belle could probably manage whatever surprises the former Dark One’s castle contained, too.

“Your _other_ grandparents.”  Jefferson’s smile flagged for a moment, and it was clear that he was thinking about Snow, too.  The last time everyone had been back in the Enchanted Forest, Snow had been alive, and staying in that castle.  Pain welled up in Henry’s chest, but he pushed it away resolutely.

“Can we go see it?” 

Jefferson nodded.  “David actually told me to go there, so that’s where we’re headed.   It should be right through this patch of trees.”

 “Then let’s go!”  Henry was pretty sure that his grandmother wouldn’t begrudge him his curiosity, and maybe he could find something to bring back for his mom.  Emma would like that, he knew, and David would be pretty happy with it, too.

* * *

 

Regina’s phone vibrated insistently, and she felt her heart leap into her chest.  The only people who might text her were either with her now or in the Enchanted Forest—or Emma.  So, she let out a nervous breath and then pulled her phone out, opening the message quickly.  _They’re here.  3 Fae left for you to deal with._

“Well, that’s so nice of you.”  Her mutter made Robin turn his head.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”  Regina shook her head.  “Just Emma being Emma, really.”  She wouldn’t mention how good it felt to have the old Emma back.  That Dark Swan business had gotten really old, really fast.  “She said the fae have arrived.  The party is three short, though, so we’re going to get a few surprises.”

“Oh, that’s just lovely.”  Robin smiled crookedly.  “But it could be worse, I suppose.  Are you ready, David?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be.”  David glanced around, looking at their assembled group and speaking up.  “We’re heading down into the tunnels beneath the town.  Regina is going to teleport us there with magic, so be prepared for a _tug_ and a little dizzy feeling.  It’s not too bad, but if you’re going to puke, try not to do it on the guy next to you.”

“Or _girl_ ,” Roberta, King Richard’s wife, said rather pointedly.  She was holding a silver-tipped sword just like everyone else, and looked a lot more certain about what to do with it than her husband did.

“Or girl.”  David just grinned, and then turned to Regina.  “You ready?”

“Sure.  Why not?”  She shrugged nonchalantly.  “I’ll try not to teleport anyone into the inside of a wall.”

“Can you do that?” Richard asked from where he was fretting next to Roberta.  “Put someone inside a wall?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Regina couldn’t help grinning, but she raised her hands and summoned magic to herself.  She’d never teleported so many people at the same time before, but she was certain that she could do it.

Magic _pulled_ and suddenly they were inside the tunnels.

And it was time to start their little war.

* * *

 

Danns’ set the portal jumper’s hat down on the ground in the center of Main Street, not caring about the few cars driving by.  They would stop when the magic began, or they’d find themselves thrown aside.  It was their choice; she cared not for their fates.  Anyone stupid enough to be here when her work began deserved whatever happened.

A swirl of blue smoke came from her right.  “He was not there, My Lady.”

“Oh?”  Danns’ turned her head to look at Jhudora, who was frowning.  “Was his mother?”

“No.” 

“Pity.”  Her preferred sacrifice was Mordred, but Morgan would have done nicely, as well.  Neither was known to be an early riser, which raised the question of where they had gone.  Dawn was barely breaking, yet Morgan’s home was empty.  For a moment, she contemplated having Jhudora go free Killian Jones from his cell.  She could barter him for one of the ones she actually wanted, for one of those damned Cornwalls, both of which had magic enough to spare for her purposes.

But, no.  Danns’ was not a fool, and she would not let her thirst for vengeance distract her from her true goal.  Mordred’s death was not necessary.  It was merely something she wanted to give to Arthur’s shade as a going away gift.  It could wait.  Taking a deep breath, she re-centered herself and turned to Jhudora.

“Stay, then.  I have no doubt our dear ‘heroes’ will arrive soon enough.”

Jhudora snorted.  “They won’t if they know what is good for them.”

“Their types never do.”  She smiled thinly, looking down at the hat.  Danns’ would have preferred to do her work in peace, but she knew that using this much magic would draw in every magic user in town.

That was why she had brought the fae, of course.  Danns’ knew that her power would be tied up in the hat for long enough that she would need protection.  Yet, magic still came at a price.  Particularly magic such as this.  So, she still needed a sacrifice.  Zelena’s death—tied as it was to her magic—might be enough, but an innocent or an unwilling sacrifice would be much more powerful.   But who should she choose?

Quickly, Danns’ ran through a list of people in her mind, people who would be either innocent enough for her purposes or whom she disliked enough to want to kill.  For a moment, she contemplated the psychiatrist whom she had used to take Henry’s blood, or the wolf girl who had angered Lamorak so much.  Either would suffice when combined with Zelena’s power, but in the end, there was really only one person who Danns’ wanted to _hurt_.  She couldn’t kill Mordred, at least not right now, but there was someone else from that family who she could reach.  In fact, there was someone who she already _had._

Danns’ turned to Jhudora with a smile.  “I have changed my mind.  Fetch Killian Jones for me.”

* * *

 

He’d been left in a cell by himself, but that hadn’t kept Killian from talking to Princess Isabella to his left or Ruby and Mulan to his right.  They were all more angry than scared, but the fact that so _many_ of them had been gathered was just a little unsettling.  There was no way the fae thought they could hide this, which meant they didn’t care if the entirety of Storybrooke—not to mention the two other towns—knew what they were up to.  And _that_ was worrisome.  Killian would have loved to think they were just being overconfident, but he had a feeling that was far from the case.

And the way Burber had licked his lips and looked Killian up and down the night before left a chill running down his spine, even now.  Killian was _not_ the type of man to fancy other men, and never had been, but he’d known others who were.  And he knew that look.  That was a predator’s look, one that said Burber could take whatever he wanted, and no one could stop him.

“Someone’s coming!” Ruby’s harsh whisper suddenly came from the right, jerking Killian out of his unpleasant reverie. 

“Who?” he asked, just as Mulan whispered:

“Can you tell who by smell?”

He could hear Ruby inhaling.  “No.  But whoever it is, they’re female.  They smell… _sharper,_ somehow.”

“And they’re more insane than their male counterparts.”  Mulan’s frown was audible, but Killian was just glad no one could see his relief.

Burber wasn’t female, which meant the sadistic prick hadn’t yet come for him.  Killian had never thought he’d actually miss his old hook—most of the time, having two hands was a godsend—but right now, he really wished he still had a weapon attached at all times.  His hook would have looked nice stuck in _any_ fae, but Burber and Nuckelavee had relieved him of all of his knives and daggers when they’d thrown him in here.

“Isn’t that a natural fact of existence?” he quipped towards his neighbors, just to break the tension.

“Very funny.”  Mulan sounded annoyed, but Ruby snorted in amusement.

“Sanity is overrated,” Ruby chuckled, but then sobered quickly.  “Or at least I used to think it was.”

“Ah, don’t hold us to fae standards.  They make even the crazy humans look—” 

His cell door opened, and Killian chopped his words off.  Jhudora stood there, her eyes shining with malicious glee.  His stomach dropped like a rock; something in her expression told Killian that nothing good was going to come of this conversation.  Still, he scraped a smile up from somewhere, baring his teeth at her defiantly.

“Well, you’re more my type than Burber is, love, but I still can’t say that my tastes run in your direction.”

Jhudora snorted.  “You’re nothing but a pretty face with a useful bloodline.”

“Well, that’s two things I have up on you, at least,” Killian retorted, but it took all of his self-control not to back away.

“Your bravado is pointless.”  Her eyes gleamed.  “My Lady wishes to see you.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice in this matter, do I?  Because my schedule is rather full.” 

At least his words made her eyes fill with fury, but then magic _tugged_ , and Killian found himself spiraling through space.

* * *

 

Watching her grandmother speaking to Jhudora made Belle swallow hard.  She didn’t want to fight in this battle.  She didn’t want to be on the opposite side from her mother’s only remaining blood relative.  Yet Belle knew that she _had_ to.  Reason had failed.  Pleading for justice and right had failed.  Some battles were worth fighting, and Belle knew this was one of them.  She just wished she could banish the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?”  Rumplestiltskin touched her arm as he spoke, and Belle turned to face him, trying to smile bravely.

“I suppose I’m just nervous.”  She had made her choice, and Belle was determined to see things through.

“You don’t have to be here for this.  We can—”

“No.”  Belle shook her head firmly.  “I need to be here.  And you don’t have to worry so much, Rumple.  You know that Grandmother won’t let the fae hurt me, and I’ll be focused on protecting everyone else with my magic.  I’m not going to be in any danger.”

His laugh was shaky.  “Every battle has danger in it, sweetheart.”

“I know that.”  Resisting the urge to roll her eyes was hard, but Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin was a worry-wart by nature.  He was far more nervous than she was, despite having almost limitless power at his fingertips.  Yet Belle thought she knew what was eating at him, and it wasn’t _her_ being in danger.  For once.  So, she reached out and squeezed his arm.  “You’re worried about Bae, aren’t you?”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  “Am I that obvious?”

“To me, yes.”

“Then, well…yes.”  He swallowed hard.  “At least I can help you if something goes wrong, but Bae…”

“Regina will take care of him.”  Emma volunteered the words unexpectedly, her eyes flicking over to them.  Then her voice dropped darkly.  “Or at least she’d better.”

Much to Belle’s surprise, that made Rumplestiltskin laugh.  “Indeed she should.”

“She doesn’t want to know what I’ll do to her if she _doesn’t_.”  Emma mumbled the words, looking a little embarrassed—and like she was waiting for Rumplestiltskin to mock her.  But Belle knew him better than that, and she could see the smile lurking in his eyes.  Emma, however, threw Belle’s husband a defensive glare when she spotted the twinkle.  “ _What_?”

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.”  But his slight smile did not help.

“If you even _think_ you can laugh at me, Rumplestiltskin, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, dear?” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, his tone conversational.  “Besides, you make my son happy.  Why would I laugh at that?”

“Because you’re a bastard?” Emma said the words like they were self-evident.

“Technically, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged casually.  “But you  might want to take that up with my mother.”

Emma blanched.  “No, thanks.”

“I _can_ hear you both, you know.”  Morgan’s dry voice made Emma jump and Belle snicker.  Only Rumplestiltskin seemed unsurprised to see his mother enter the conversation, but then he did take after her in so many ways.  Morgan’s expression, however, was grimly serious.  “And why don’t we all focus on the battle to come.”

“It’d be a lot easier to focus if we were out there fighting instead of in here _waiting_.”  Emma directed her glare right at Rumplestiltskin.

“Easier yes, but certainly not smarter.”  His eyes flicked towards the doorway, beyond which they all knew Belle’s grandmother was doing her work.  “We have to wait until Danns’ magic is tied up in her spell.  Otherwise, our small numbers are sure to be overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, but with a fake hat, how much is she really going to pour into it?” Emma asked logically.  “If she notices it’s fake, and we miss our chance—”

“Um, guys, we’ve got a problem.”  Tink’s voice was dark as she cut in, making everyone turn to look at her.  Unlike the others, Tink was still watching out the window, and now her face was ashen.  “Jhudora’s back, and she’s brought Killian with her.”

Belle’s heart dropped towards the ground, but Rumplestiltskin’s reaction was far more interesting.  His entire body tensed, and then his head whipped around to stare at Morgan, who had gone deathly pale.

“The catalyst,” they whispered together.  Morgan finished alone: “Damn.”

“Indeed.”  Rumplestiltskin scowled, clearly disliking the way his plans had just gone down the drain.  “We must now—”

Movement caught the corner of Belle’s gaze, and she knew who it had to be before she spun to see who was heading for the doors.  Morgan, however, got in first, her voice sharp and desperate.  “Mordred!”

Mordred didn’t bother to answer; he just yanked the library doors open and stepped out into the dawn before anyone could stop him.

* * *

 

Jefferson stopped cold, making Henry smash right into his back.  They were only about a hundred yards away from Snow and Charming’s castle, and Henry was excited enough to get there that he could almost forget the danger everyone was in back home.  But when Jefferson stopped mid-stride, he knew that something had to be wrong.

“Jeff?”  Whale’s voice was surprisingly gentle.  “You okay?”

Jefferson just shook his head.  “It’s started.”

“But I thought the hat she has is fake!” Henry couldn’t stop himself from objecting.  “I thought that meant everyone would be safe!”

“It means that the Black Fairy can’t merge _all_ the realms together.”  Jefferson grimaced.  “The one she got actually has a doorway to one realm and a partial doorway to another.  I had a hard time stopping it at just one.”  He shrugged.  “I guess I’m not used to making partial hats on purpose.”

“What realms?”  Henry couldn’t chase the sick feeling out of his stomach.  His family was in danger; they were _fighting_ against the Black Fairy, and now he learned that the hat Danns’ had could actually hurt people.  He was almost scared to hear the answer, but he tried to focus through the wild way his heart was pounding in his ears.

“ _Please_ tell me we’re not the idiots who just jumped into one of them,” Whale put in guardedly, looking worried.

“Arendelle and Wonderland.” 

Henry swallowed hard, trying not to shout.  “Why those two?”

Jefferson just shrugged.  “They’re small.  Little populations, not a lot of people to get hurt if the worst happens.”

“But there are _people_ there!” The words finally burst out of him with more force than Henry intended, and he fought to calm himself.  “Couldn’t you choose somewhere empty or something?”

“No.  She’d have known.”

“But now she’s drawing them in.”  Henry felt sick.  “And we can’t do anything.”

He knew that was the idea, but Henry _hated_ being left behind, hated being sent to somewhere safe while his family fought to save all the realms.  He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was really little, and he hated it so much.  Suddenly, a hand landed on his arm, and he turned to see Grace giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Trust your family, Henry.  It’ll be all right.”

He swallowed hard.  “I hope so.”

But there was no way to know until the end came.

* * *

 

“Damn.”

“What is it, Gina?”

“There are barriers here that weren’t here before.”  Regina frowned, glaring at the magical trap she’d just untangled.  “Unless the pirate was lying, of course.  Or just stupid.”

That earned her a glare from David.  "Killian had no reason to lie to us.  You know that.”

Regina snorted.  “Yeah, but that doesn’t rule out stupidity.”  Sighing, she gestured their group forward.  “This set of spells is down.  But don’t get too far ahead of me or I won’t see the next one in time.  Wouldn’t want any of you turning into snails or something.”

“Snails?” Baelfire arched an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with laughter.  “I thought that was just my dad’s thing.  You really want to emulate him that much?”

“Oh, shut up.  My point is that you don’t want to run into magic you can’t stop,” Regina snapped before she could stop herself.  She didn’t _like_ surprises, and there were far too many of them in the tunnels, already. 

Their group of nine was merely the advance party; most of the knights and fighters that David had gathered were assembled near Granny’s under Midas’ command, waiting for a call and directions of where to go.  In the meantime, they would protect the fairies, who waited in the diner to take care of any wounded.  Regina hoped there wouldn’t be a big battle, but she knew that Lamorak had a surprising number of idiots following him.  _And at least three fae to back them up._   _This is probably going to get really ugly_ really _fast._   Regina gritted her teeth, trying not to glare at where Richard and Galavant were muttering.  Tad was saying something about smelling magic, and Leroy was glaring none-too-hospitably at the Musicbrooke quartet.  But that wasn’t her problem.

_Her_ problem was the next layer of magical wards, which almost turned Richard into a bubbling mess of goo.  Tad _did_ seem to see that coming and yanked the sort-of-king back in time, but then Regina found herself up to her elbows in dismantling the mess.  It seemed to take forever, and by the time they were through, she was certain that the fae had to know they were coming.  After all, not _all_ of the opposition could be stupid, and she was sure that she’d tripped some warning or another.  Untangling magic really wasn’t Regina’s specialty, but even she could figure out that blasting their way through the barriers was a good way to bring tons of rock crashing down on their heads.

“You’re right,” Baelfire paused at her side as Regina waved the others through this barrier.  “They know we’re coming.”

“Finally, someone speaks sense.”  Regina tried not to roll her eyes, but it was hard.  Robin was trying to mediate between Leroy and Tad—who had done _something_ to piss the grumpiest of all dwarves off—which left Regina with Rumplestiltskin’s son for company as David and Galavant ranged ahead.

“The real question is if they know we’re coming _now_ ,” Bae mused.  “Or if they just got paranoid after Lily and Killian went for a walk down here.”

“I thought your piratical cousin was convinced no one knew they came down here.”

Bae shrugged.  “He’s been wrong before.  We can take it up with him when we find him.”

“Assuming none of these traps get us, first.”  Her voice was a growl.  Regina wanted to _crush_ something, not play puzzles with spells the fae had left behind.  And she hated the idea of being down here like some kind of locksmith while everyone else fought the important magical battle.  “We’re taking too long.”

“Yeah.”  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin’s offspring hadn’t seemed to inherit his endlessly annoying patience any more than Henry had.  “Any ideas of how to get around this stuff?”

“Well, I could blast my way through, but you won’t like what happens.”

He grinned.  “What, like the ceiling will come down on us?”

“Yeah.  Exactly that.”  Now she did roll her eyes.  That was probably the worst idea ever, but then Rumple’s kid had to go prove that he could be dumber.

“What if we run fast?”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking that intelligence skipped a generation in your family.”

Bae laughed, shrugging.  “I’m actually serious.  We’re getting close, right?”

“Yes.”  Eyes narrowed, Regina watched him closely.  “There’s probably only another few hundred yards to go.”

“Then blast us through.  Like you said, they know we’re coming.  Might as well show up faster than they think we can.”

“I hate the fact that you’re making sense.”  Regina sighed.  “And I can see why Emma likes  you.  You have _no_ finesse.  None at all.”

Bae just grinned.

* * *

 

Killian had liked his cell better.  It had been dirty, cold, and miserable, but it was better than _this._

Then again, almost anything would have been better than finding himself face-to-face with the Black Fairy.  She held a suspiciously sharp dagger in one hand, and at her feet lay a hat that even Killian could see was magic.  Then again, the multiple colors filling the air around the _spinning_ hat was probably a dead giveaway; it looked like it was spitting out a drunk rainbow and trying to merge with the street.  The hat was spinning faster and faster, though, drawing Killian’s eye against his will.  He _should_ have been focusing on Jhudora, who wasn’t nearly far enough away for his tastes, but he found himself staring stupidly until Jhudora shoved him forward, making Killian stumble a few steps towards Danns’.

“You’ll do nicely, I think.”  Danns’ smile was sharper than the dagger she held, and it sent a very cold shiver down his spine.

“I do many things ‘nicely’, love, but none of them involve dancing to your tune.”  He gave her his best smile, but even Killian knew it was a weak and crooked thing. 

“Luckily for you, no dance is required.”  Green eyes studied him.  “Just your death.  I had preferred Arthur’s foolish bastard, which would have been a meaningful way to honor my husband, but…you will do.”

Killian stared at her incredulously, trying desperately _not_ to look at Lily, who wasn’t too far to his left and looked ready to explode from anger.  _I can’t drag her down with me.  I won’t!_   So, he scoffed like he didn’t care a whit about what was going to happen, and like the woman he loved wasn’t being held back—subtly, because it was Maleficent—by her mother.  Quickly, he shook his head, desperately trying to tell Lily not to try to interfere, before turning back to the Black Fairy with his best sneer in place. 

“You want me to die because you’re feeling guilty over killing Arthur?  I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re insane.”

Green eyes flashed.  “You may think what you will.  It does not matter, anyway.  You will be dead.”

“I’d rather be dead than working with you.”  Killian couldn’t help sneering.  Bravado couldn’t get him killed any faster at this rate, anyway.  Not when he was surrounded by fae and Danns’ meant to kill him, anyway.

“Well, that can be arrange easily enou—”

Suddenly, the doors to the library slammed open, and Mordred strode out like a demon was on his heels.  Killian’s heart sank, dropping heavily into his stomach and leaving him feeling sick.   Every fear he’d felt for himself vanished; Killian was all right with dying for his own actions, but the last thing he wanted was for his uncle to die trying to save him.

_“You do have a habit of failing family, don’t you, bastard?”_   Jhudora had mocked Mordred with those words during the fight at the cabin, and Killian knew his uncle well enough to understand that those words _burned_.  It had taken Killian some time to understand exactly how much Mordred hated himself for failing to save Gwaine, but now he knew how very much Mordred would do to keep history from repeating itself.  A few months ago, Killian wouldn’t have cared what happened to Mordred—and at one point, he’d been angry enough to actively hope Mordred might die.  But so much had changed.  Mordred had become _family_ , and family didn’t walk away.

“How appropriate.”  Danns’ voice was a purr as she turned to face Mordred, but even as Killian tried to inch away from her, she reached out and dragged him close, her grip far stronger than he would have expected.  He tried to pull away, but there was no give in the hand that held him, and Killian could feel the telltale prickle of magic wrapping around him.  “You are just the man I wanted to see.”

“Is this where you ask me to trade myself for my nephew?” Mordred’s voice was cold but tight; Killian could tell that he’d do it if asked.

“I do think it is rather appropriate, yes.  For your father.”

“My father has nothing to do with this.  You just want to use my death and my magic as your catalyst.”  Mordred’s sneer matched the one Killian had worn just moments earlier.  “So you can destroy worlds.”

Danns’ smiled thinly, and did not argue the point.  “Indeed.  And I will kill him.”

“I think not, dearie.” 

Killian had been so focused on Danns’ and Mordred that he hadn’t noticed Rumplestiltskin and Morgan coming out of the library.  Emma, Belle, and Tink were right behind them, and Killian’s knees went a little bit weak.  He hadn’t _wanted_ to die, much though he’d accepted the possibility, and the gut-wrenching relief rolling through his body made Killian feel a little like a coward.  He’d never be as close to this uncle as he was the other, but the fact that his grandmother _and_ Rumplestiltskin were there—not to mention the others—meant that he had a chance of actually not dying.  That thought made his gaze drift towards Lily, and the worry in her eyes made Killian’s heart clench.  He had too much to live for to die today.

That made Danns’ laugh.  “And here I thought you two were mortal enemies.”

“Oh, we were.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged casually.  _He_ didn’t look worried, of course.  Mordred looked angry and Morgan coolly but concerned, but Rumplestiltskin’s expression was infuriatingly casual.  “But, you see…he’s family.  And that means that, as annoying as he can be, and as much as we’ve hated one another, I’m not about to let you kill him.”

“Try and stop me, then.” 

Silver shone at the corner of Killian’s vision, and the knife flashed towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen—“Great Battles Ruining Overthrown”, in which family members try to save Killian, Danns’ uses an unexpected catalyst to start dragging the worlds together, David’s team finds the prisoners, Elsa and Anna feel the results of Danns’ spell in Arendelle, and the battle rages.


	116. Great Battles Ruining Overthrown

When he’d asked Regina if she could blast her way through the last few layers of protections the fae had left behind, Bae hadn’t really expected her to bring the ceiling down on them.  Oh, he’d known it was _possible_ —since magic generally had a tendency of trying to screw people over in the worst way ever—but he hadn’t really expected a the tunnels to start caving in.  Bae hadn’t anticipated the ground to start rumbling under their feet or the tangible current of power and danger in the air, and he really hadn’t expected the way that the world seemed to start coming apart at the seams.

So they ran.

Fast.

Regina was in the lead; she had to be, if she was going to defeat the various magical wards that were in their way.  But even she couldn’t stop the way a sudden wall of ice materialized in front of them, growing out of the ground with no warning.  Regina and David both slammed into it head first, staggering back dizzily.  Bae barely managed to stop before he did the same, and only by throwing himself against the wall to his left.  Galavant and Richard piled right into David and Regina as Robin managed to dodge in the same direction Bae had.  The rest of their team ran right into the already dazed group, swearing and grumbling.

But the tunnel was still shaking madly.  “Do something, already!” Galavant shouted, struggling to untangle himself from the pile that Leroy and Richard had become.

“Get out of the way!” Tad’s accented voice boomed out, and then suddenly the tunnel got _smaller._

Infinitely smaller, actually, because now there was a dragon in there with them, slamming Bae up against the wall and pressing so hard against him that he could barely breath.  An entirely unauspicious squeak came from his right as Robin got hit by a swinging tail, and Leroy dove to the ground even as he managed to stagger to his feet.

“Tad, be care—” Galavant’s warning came too late.

“Burn the ice away!” Richard’s shout was jubiluliant, and Tad did just that.  Meanwhile, Bae had the unpleasant experience of learning that a dragon’s entire body _did_ seem to heat up when he sprouted flames, because Tad’s midsection was still holding him against the cave wall, and damn, it was warm.

Then Tad was human again, leaving Bae and Robin wheezing for air.  Regina and David were still on their feet, albeit a little singed, and Leroy, Richard, and Galavant seemed quite content on the floor.

“If you all want to merely stand here and wait for the apocalypse, you are welcome to, but perhaps we might want to get on with the battle?” Tad asked in the growing silence.

“Try a warning next time, will you?” Regina snapped, but Bae could see her coming back on balance.

Tad shrugged eloquently.  “I did tell you to get out of the way.”

“I hate to tell you this, my friend, but I’m with the Queen on this one.”  Galavant grimaced as he got back to his feet, brushing himself off.  “I really hadn’t wondered what it felt like to be roasted alive, but now, thanks to you, I have a pretty good idea.  One I could live without.”

Regina turned to glare at Tad.  “You and me both.” 

“Oh, don’t complain so much.”  Richard grinned.  “We’re all fine!”

“But we won’t be if we don’t get moving, so can we save the arguments for later?”  Bae hated being the practical one.  Maybe Richard, Tad, and Galavant came from a world where the narrative would stop to let them bicker, but Bae knew that Storybrooke didn’t work like that.

“Baelfire is right.”  David’s calm voice seemed to effortlessly quell the growing argument.  “We don’t have much time, and there are people depending on us.  So, let’s get moving.”

* * *

 

Teleporting the pirate was out of the question.  Danns’ had blocked that—Rumplestiltskin didn’t even need to check to see if she had; it was merely common sense.  Although he did check, just to be sure.  He already had a loophole in mind, but it would have been so much easier if he could simply have pulled Killian away with magic.  Granted, a few short months ago, he probably would have laughed and told Danns’ to do her worst, and that he’d consider it a favor if she finally wiped Killian Jones out of existence, but the man _was_ his nephew.  And, more importantly, Baelfire cared about him.  And that meant Rumplestiltskin was going to save him.

_I’m also going to stop my brother from doing something utterly stupid, like offering himself up._   That was why he had spoken up, after all.  Mordred was impulsive when it came to those he cared about.  Rumplestiltskin had learned that firsthand.  And that meant he knew that he had to be the one to act.  So, his eyes flicked right as Danns’ brought her knife—which was somewhat magical, but thankfully not a secondary power—slashing towards Killian.  Lily met his gaze, and Rumplestiltskin quickly flicked his eyes upwards.  Fortunately, the girl had inherited her mother’s mental acuity instead of her father’s singing ability, and she seemed to understand exactly what he meant.   

Danns’ still meant to stab his nephew, but one twist of Rumplestiltskin’s hand sent Killian sailing straight into the air.  Killian yelped, and Danns’ sputtered in shock, but Lily broke away from Maleficent, sprinting forward and turning into a dragon as she leapt into the air.  She caught Killian as he rocketed into the sky, and then immediately banked left to dodge the spell Danns’ fired in her direction.

A pair of fae tried to target Lily as she swooped higher, but Mordred and Morgan both reacted with blinding speed, knocking Jhudora and whoever the other one was straight off their feet.  Rumplestiltskin threw a shield up between Danns’ spell and the dragon, only to find her twisting to face him with fire in her eyes.

Her smile, however, was cold.  “Well done…Sorcerer.”

“I am what I am.”  Rumplestiltskin tried to make his answer flippant, but the effort fell flat.  The words came out hard and dark, a reminder to _both_ of them that he would fight.  He gestured at the still-spinning hat, feeling power arcing away from it.  Danns’ spell was still missing that essential ingredient; had he denied her by saving Killian?  “As, apparently, are you.”

“I will not allow you to stop me.”  Now Danns’ wasn’t smiling, not at all.

“And we’re not prepared to let you ruin thousands of lives by smashing worlds together.”  Belle stepped up to his side, and Rumplestiltskin felt her right hand slide into his left.  “Stop this before it’s too late, Grandmother.  Please.”

Danns’ snorted.  “This from the girl who said she was finished with me?” 

“This from your _granddaughter_ , who doesn’t want you to die,” Belle snapped.  Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand, but he knew that even his touch could not soothe the heartbreak roaring through her.  “But I am not a girl.  I am a woman who knows my mind, and I will do whatever I must to protect this world and every other.”

“You will not fight your own family.”  The words were a scoff, disbelieving and impatient all at once.

“Watch me.”  Belle’s voice was strong and determined, but it was Danns’ face that Rumplestiltskin was watching.

Something flickered in those green eyes, something hurt and a little broken.  Many people would have taken that for a good sign, or at least an advantage—but Rumplestiltskin knew better.  It was the broken ones who were always the most dangerous.  He knew that from experience.  Much to his surprise, Danns’ just shook her head.  “I will not allow you to be harmed, Belle.  No matter what you think of me.”

While they spoke, Rumplestiltskin watched the hat, watched it spinning and spinning, eyed the threads of magic arcing outwards from its edges.  It wasn’t ready, but could he stop her in time?

Morgan and Mordred had fanned out to the left and the right, with Emma outside of Mordred and Tink to Morgan’s left.  They formed a wedge with Rumplestiltskin and Belle at the center, facing off against a dozen fae and Danns’.  Thirteen against six weren’t so bad odds, however, particularly once Lily landed behind their wedge, setting Killian on the ground as she did so and transforming to be at his side.  Then, of course, Nuckelavee and Jhudora both twisted to look at Maleficent, the traitor in their midst.

She merely shrugged.  “Well, this was hardly how I intended to begin the morning, but if you insist, it is what we shall do.”

Maleficent transformed without another word, launching into the air and breathing fire at the same time.  Unlike Lily, Maleficent was an experienced dragon, and she knew better than to target the most powerful of the fae.  Instead, she bathed two of the younger ones in a jet of flame, burning one to a crisp and forcing the other to use all the magic she had to save herself.  But that knocked at least one of the fae straight out of the fight, turning the odds to twelve against eight.  Maleficent roared overhead, swooping downwards faster than Rumplestiltskin could have expected.  Her jaws extended, and then suddenly there was a line of fire between the heroes and the fae, burning into the asphalt and kicking up smoke.

Unfortunately, all it did was give Danns’ time to summon a emerald green stone to her left hand, and realization hit Rumplestiltskin even as he let go of Belle’s hands to summon magic to himself.

Danns’ crushed the stone, and Zelena’s power dropped into the still-spinning hat.

* * *

 

The world rocked beneath their feet even as they burst into the line of cells.  David and Regina were still in the lead, with her magic sweeping the way before them clear.  Yet there seemed to be no guards, which made David wary.  Were the fae so confident that their magical wards would be able to keep intruders out?  That seemed rather stupid, but then, he wasn’t a fae.  Maybe they just trusted their magic that much—but if they did, where were Lamorak and his merry group of bullies?

“Something’s not right.”  David glanced around, taking in the line of doors on the right.  There was nothing but sheer rock to the left, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that there might be a nasty surprise awaiting them on that side.

“What’s not ‘right’ is that we destroyed the way out.”  Regina glared at Tad as she growled the words.  “The tunnel is collapsed.”

Tad only shrugged.  “You were the one who decided to get through the wards _fast_.  I merely helped.”

“Will you two quit it?” Bae snapped before David could interject, stepping up to David’s side.  Then Baelfire glanced at him.  “You’re right.  Something’s…off.  Where are the guards?”

“They left a little while ago.”  A disembodied voice spoke up from one of the cells, sounding angry.  “After Jhudora dragged Killian out.”

“Ruby!”  Two quick strides brought David to that cell door, where he found Snow’s oldest friend standing right in front of the small window, looking disgruntled.  “Are you all right?”

Ruby’s smile was cold and a little twisted.  “As much as anyone can be in this place.  Took you guys long enough to show up.”

“Yeah, well, we had to do some pretty careful planning to make sure the fae didn’t all drop on our heads when we did.”  David refused to let the rising feeling of guilt overcome him.  No matter how long it had taken for this rescue to get organized, they were here _now_ , and that meant he had a job to do.

“Oh, I’m not complaining.”  Now she grinned.  “Or at least not until you get me out of here.”

David twisted to look at his stepmother-in-law.  “Regina?”

Her hands were already up, glowing white and red.  “This is the easy part.  Stand back.”

Magic played through the air, zipping to the lock on Ruby’s cell door and then from there to every other cell along the wall.  A moment of pregnant silence passed, and then all the doors popped open, their locks _clicking_ obligingly.  Ruby bounced out immediately, pausing only to glance Mulan’s way before giving David a quick hug.

“Thanks for coming for us.”

“Please don’t thank me.”  Swallowing, David shook his head.  “Like you said, it took us long enough, and it’s the right thing to do.”

“Hang on a minute,” Baelfire interjected.  “You said Jhudora took Killian?”

“Yeah.”  Ruby looked thoughtful.  “She came and grabbed him, saying something about the Black Fairy wanting to see him.”  Ruby glanced at Mulan, who nodded a confirmation.

“The guards all disappeared right after that.”  Mulan glanced around warily.  “I didn’t hear them _leaving_ , but a lot of doors opened and closed.  Maybe that means there’s another way out.”

“See?” Richard spoke up cheerfully from next to where Isabella and Sid were standing.  Isabella was tucked up close to Galavant and smiling hugely, but Sid looked like he was spoiling for a fight.  “I told you thinks would work out!  There’s always another exit.”

Galavant chuckled.  “Maybe in your dungeons, Richard, but not everyone’s quite as lax about security as you are.”

The pair continued joking, but David’s attention was stolen by Baelfire, who had pulled out his phone and was typing furiously.  “Who are you texting?”

“My dad, Emma, and Belle.  They need to know that Danns’ wanted Killian for something.  Could be important.”  Bae grimaced.  “And Lily’s going to shit a brick if something happens to him.”

“Yeah.”  David hadn’t thought of that, but if the fae wanted Killian for something, it probably wasn’t good.  But even after they waited a few moments, there was no answer.  “Nothing?”

“No.”  Bae scowled.  “I’ve got a bad feeling that they’re busy.”

There was no disputing that, and David felt his heart clench with worry for Emma.  She was out there, in the dead center of Storybrooke, fighting off the same fae who had imprisoned the people David and his fellows had just rescued.  He knew that their role was important, and their battle would ensure the safety of Storybrooke’s people, but David still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.  He couldn’t be there for Emma—and wouldn’t have been able to save her, even if he _had_ been there—and the thought of his daughter in danger made him want to break things.

“David!”  Regina’s voice rang out from up ahead, where she and Robin had gone further down the hallway while the prisoners reunited with their rescuers.  “We found a door!”

* * *

 

Lily set Killian on the ground more gently than Killian would have expected, even if  his shoulders were absolutely _burning_ from having been squeezed none too gently by a dragon’s claws.  Not that he was objecting—being caught by a dragon was infinitely preferably to being shanked by the Black Fairy—but his shoulders still hurt too bloody much.

Then the dragon thudded to the ground next to him, quickly transforming into Lily.  She threw herself into his arms almost immediately, kissing Killian as soundly as he’d ever been kissed in his life.  Surprise made him squeak, but he wasn’t so surprised that he couldn’t manage to wrap his arms around her and hold on for dear life.  Forty feet away, Maleficent was saying something cutting, but neither of them really paid much attention as Mal transformed into a dragon and took to the air.  For one blissful moment, the battle didn’t matter; nothing did, save Lily, and how amazing it felt to be this close to her.

The moment had to end, of course.   There wasn’t time to enjoy themselves, not with eleven murderous fae and their ‘queen’ facing down against Killian’s family, one of his best friends, and his former lover.  _Along with my current lover’s mother, assuming Lily is amenable to that label,_ he added to himself as Lily pulled back.  The smile she gave him was equal parts defiant and embarrassed, and her words came quickly, even as she glared at him:

“I’m not sorry.”

Killian felt a wide grin split his face.  “Love, the only thing _I’m_ sorry for is that we lack the time to properly finish that kiss.”

“Good.”  Lily’s defiant expression didn’t waver, but he could see the smile starting to tug on her lips.  “I probably should go roast some fae or something.  I think this means we’re openly on the good guys’ side, now.”

“Aye, it probably does.”  Pretending that his heart wasn’t tight with worry for her was next to impossible, particularly when magic started filling the air.  His voice was hoarse, for all of Killian’s attempts to sound casual.  “Watch your back, Lily.  I intend to finish that kiss later.”

She’d started to turn away, only to pause and glance over her shoulder with a wink.  “What, you don’t like watching my backside for me?”

Lily transformed before he could reply, but that didn’t stop Killian from shouting:  “I like it better when you’re human!”

He was fairly sure that Lily’s dragon roar was one of laughter, but Killian couldn’t spare the time to watch her.  It was time to find a weapon that would work against the fae.

* * *

 

The world started shaking just as Anna sat down for breakfast.  Kristoff was late—as usual—but she and Elsa had settled in without him, and the day _had_ looked like it was going to be a nice one.  Until _everything_ started trembling, with the glasses on the table clinking wildly into one another, the plates rattling, and both carafes of juice spilling their contents on the table.  Even their chairs were shaking wildly, and Anna felt a horribly familiar feeling of fear washing over her.  She spun to look at her sister so quickly that her neck cracked.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”  Elsa swallowed hard.  “But it’s definitely magical.”

Anna’s heart plummeted.  “It is?  _Again?_ ”

It hadn’t been so long since they’d gotten rid of their other magical problems, and Anna was really ready to be finished with this mess.  In Anna’s experience, magic users really weren’t very good to have around.  Elsa was different, of course—she only used her magic to benefit the people of Arendelle or for fun.  And maybe Emma had been different, back during the short time she’d been in Storybrooke.  Elsa seemed to think so, even though Anna hadn’t really met her much.  And Belle’s husband _seemed_ to be okay these days, but Anna remembered what a scale-covered and nasty mess he’d been before.  So, she could do without having any sorcerers in Arendelle, thank you very much.  They were more trouble than they were worth.

“It seems like.”  Elsa’s grimace spoke volumes about how she felt.  “I can feel it, though.  This magic is…it’s deep.  Deep and dark.”  She shivered.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”  Her normally pale face had turned ash white, and Elsa looked down at her hands, twisting them together nervously.  “It feels like the very fabric of existence is being stretched and pulled.”

“That sounds ominous.”  Turning, Anna saw Kristoff stalled in the doorway, his expression worried.  “Is that what’s causing the shaking?”

Elsa nodded slowly.  “I’m afraid so.”

“Then we should go talk to Grand Pabbie.”  Anna jumped to her feet.  “I’m sure he knows what’s going on!”

Grabbing her sister, Anna pulled Elsa and Kristoff out the door behind her.  If anyone knew what was happening, it would be Grand Pabbie.  _He_ wasn’t some stupid sorcerer who screwed up as much as he helped.  Grand Pabbie was the leader of the rock trolls, and he was as old as the world itself.  He would know why the ground was shaking harder and harder, and he’d know how to stop it, too.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin was a hair too slow.  He had known that Danns’ would need a catalyst, had known that she’d need the complete and unfiltered magic of another sorcerer to feed the _reaction_ she had sought.  The hat of a portal jumper wasn’t enough; even Jefferson’s real hat would not have been.  Danns’ needed pure and unadulterated power to start the merger of all the worlds, and he’d known that she would attempt to sacrifice someone to get that. 

He hadn’t expected her use Zelena’s power.  In retrospect, it was clear that Danns’ had gathered what was left of Zelena after the witch’s death, but none of them had seen it coming.  And now Zelena’s magic powered the hat, allowing the particular magic of portals to reach out across realms.  The only silver lining of this surprise was that Rumplestiltskin had, as always planned for every eventuality, so the hat Danns’ was using could only reach out to two realms.  _Yet I know—even if I have told no one else, including Belle—that the hat_ could _reach further if given sufficient power._   Danns’ would need something spectacular to fuel the reaction, like an original power, a half power, or even a Savior, but it could be done.

And he had to stop it.

Even as a great flash of green light erupted from the hat, Rumplestiltskin’s hands shot up and outwards.  His first attack was simply power, unrefined and barely aimed, designed to throw Danns’ off her game.  The wave of magic didn’t really have the result Rumplestiltskin had hoped for, but it did make Danns’ throw defensive spells into the air, and that was enough.  Heart pounding—despite his best efforts to be dispassionate and firm—Rumplestiltskin took three steps forward, forming the spearhead of the attack they had planned.

Danns’ fired three spells at him, all designed to rip him from limb to limb.  _So much for sparing me for Belle’s sake!_   He batted all three aside, aware of the others moving behind him and the two dragons raining down fire overhead.  He hoped Maleficent would land and lend her skills to this mess, but even if she did not, the odds were not too bad.  Nuckelavee, Jhudora, and Yara were the most dangerous of the bunch; the others were of a talent and power level that any of the others could deal with.  He had to hope that his mother and Mordred—and perhaps Emma—could deal with the more powerful fae.  His attention had to be on Danns’ a’Bhàis.

Even when Burber and Odelia both threw fiery attacks his way, Rumplestiltskin could not afford to give them his attention.  He teleported away, bringing himself backwards two strides and watching the magic sizzle by in the air.  Then to his left, Belle’s hands came up.

“I’ve got this, Rumple.  You worry about closing that portal before it gets out of control.”  She gave him a confident nod, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed back the need to worry for her ceaselessly.

Instead, he gave her the best smile he could manage.  “I trust you.”

Rumplestiltskin trusted her like he trusted no other, and judging from Belle’s blinding smile, she knew that.  So, he turned his attention back to Danns’, catching the silver-blue spell she’d thrown at him, hammering it together between his hands and watching the spell sputter out.  Normally, he’d prefer to simply unravel a spell, but sometimes power _did_ have its uses.  Then he looked up at Danns’, allowing a small smile to play over his face.

“Is that the best you have, dearie?”

“Of course not.”  She looked mildly offended.  “If you plan to oppose me, you will have to—what is she _doing_?”

The question was directed towards Belle, who had cast the most powerful protection spell Rumplestiltskin could find.  He would have struggled to weave the spell so strongly, but Belle’s loving nature gave it potency that even an original power could envy.  Her magic spread quickly, forming a glowing and nearly transparent barrier between the humans and the fae.  Human magic could pierce that shield easily; it was designed as defense, and would protect all of them.  Maleficent and Lily were on their own so long as they were in the air, but if either came to ground, Belle could protect them.

After all, she was the only one they all knew Danns’ would never target.

Rumplestiltskin bared his teeth in a rabid smile before he answered Danns’.  “Protecting those she cares about.”

“I will not stand for this!” Danns’ snapped.  “If you care at all for her, you will stop her from fighting.  For all our sakes.”

“If you want that, you never even tried to know her well.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “It would be easier to stop the sun from shining.”

“I’m not a child to be sent off to safety, either,” Belle snapped.  “I fight because I want to, Grandmother.  Stop trying to put my husband in between us, and I will face whoever I have to.”

Danns’ face closed off sadly.  “So be it.”

Her next attack was black and dark, full of sharp teeth that felt like freezing stone filling the air.  It was aimed at Rumplestiltskin, of course; she still wouldn’t target Belle.  Yet they all knew that the shield Belle had built would not protect against Danns’ magic for long, so Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, leaving Belle’s protection.  Magic rippled around him as he blocked Danns’ attack, bouncing it back towards her with the wave of one hand.  Meanwhile, he kept doing exactly what he had started doing at the beginning of this conversation—weaving the magic that would break through Danns’ spell on all the realms.

* * *

 

Emma knew exactly which fae she was going after before Maleficent and Lily even came to their side.  Nuckelavee was a sadistic bastard, and he’d targeted her more than once, but that wasn’t the reason she wanted to face him.  Or at least not all of it.

_Someone_ had to stop him, and Emma knew more of what kind of horrors Nuckelavee reveled in than anyone.  Perhaps Morgan knew as much as she did, but Morgan had never been _allied_ with the fae.  Emma had, albeit unwillingly, and she knew what kind of monster Nuckelavee was.  He was Danns’ right hand, as well as the man who had orchestrated Storybrooke’s first brutal Dance of Death.  She’d had to watch him gloat after that, had to watch as he relished every death and lamented that _more_ humans hadn’t died in such pain.  Emma had been the Dark One, then, bound to obey Danns’ commands as long as she had the dagger, and she _knew_ what Nuckelavee did to those he took.  And what was she, if she didn’t stop monsters like that?

So she nailed him in the face with a ball of white light even when he tried to attack Morgan, making Nuckelavee twist to face her in surprise.  Emma just shrugged.

“Expecting someone else?”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t have the courage to face me.”  His smile grew, his eyes gleaming and eager.  “I do love being mistaken on that front.”

“I bet you do.”  Emma just rolled her eyes.  “I bet it’s a feeling you’re used to.  There’s a lot of wrong going on in your head.”

“Oooh, the Savior is _angry_.”  Nuckelavee threw his head back and laughed.  “Should I run and hide?”

She felt her eyes narrow.  “I’d find you wherever you went.  And I’ll stop you.”

“Color me terrified. ”  His grin was mocking, and Emma wanted to wipe it right off of his face.  In fact, she wanted nothing more than to smash Nuckelavee’s face straight into the asphalt of Main Street, but Emma knew that would take a lot of work.  _And I need to_ not _start thinking of the most violent thing I can do to people, either._   Emma gritted her teeth against the outpouring of rage she felt.  She might not have her own original darkness back, but Regina was right.  She’d managed to grow more than enough of it since her parents had wiped her clean.

“I’m not here to terrify you.”  Emma brought her hands up, concentrating on Storybrooke instead of her own anger.  _Magic is emotion, and protectiveness qualifies,_ she told herself firmly.  “I’m here to stop you.”

“Then cease prattling and _stop_ me, Savior.”  Nuckelavee matched actions to words, and suddenly a wave of dark magic sailed towards her.  Emma blocked the first bit easily, but almost missed the second component, which suddenly snaked up from the street and wrapped around her, its fiery-red tendrils burning into her red leather jacket.

For a moment, Emma froze, wanting nothing more than to scream from the sudden, magic-induced pain.  But then she got a hold of herself, focused on her _own_ power, and tore the spell on her apart.  Her destruction of Nuckelavee’s work wasn’t full of finesse by any means, but if there was one thing Emma had learned from Regina, it was that she didn’t need to be subtle.  She just needed to understand the magic flying around her, and then do with it what she was most comfortable with.  Emma would never be some quiet and indirect soul; her first instinct was to punch jerks in the face.

So she did, using a fistful of light magic designed to burn someone as dark as Nuckelavee.  If he wanted to revel in dark magic, fine—Emma would use that.  She didn’t actually touch him, of course, but her attack snapped his head back so hard his neck cracked.

Unfortunately, it didn’t break.  And Nuckelavee grinned hungrily.

“Well, _that’s_ more like it.”  

* * *

 

Bae had a bad feeling about this.  A really, _really_ bad feeling.

“This is way too easy.”  The words came from his right, but they might has well have come from inside his head.  Bae turned to stare at Robin, his throat trying to close off with tension.

“You think so, too?”

The outlaw shrugged, but Bae could see how tight his grip on his bow was.  “I’ve broken in and out of a lot of places.  When it goes this well—particularly with this much at stake—you know something’s about to go wrong.”

“Tell me about it.”  Bae let out a breath, trying not to sound like a nervous ninny.  “I’m hardly the level of master thief you are, but…”

“Yeah.”  Robin’s eyes flicked right, and then back towards the front of their group, where Regina and David were leading the way.  “I’ll bet my bow that this is about to get really ugly.”

Bae shifted his grip on his sword slightly, half-wishing that Mordred’s forgery crew had managed to make some silver bullets.  The enchanted silver edges on his sword would do the job, but he was starting to really wish for a ranged weapon.  _I should have asked to borrow Doc’s crossbow,_ he thought petulantly.  But it wouldn’t have mattered.  Doc was with Midas and their secondary group, waiting to be called in when Lamorak and the others made a fight out of this.  They’d expected that moment to come in the tunnels, or perhaps when they closed in on the Camelot settlement to root Lamorak and company out. 

Unfortunately, Lamorak’s knights attacked the moment they emerged from the tunnels, when their group was strung out and unprepared for an assault.  Suddenly, the twenty of them (the eight who had come down there plus twelve prisoners) were surrounded by at least twice their number—and Bae caught sight of a fae flinging magic at Robin out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch out!”  Matching actions to words, he shoved Robin aside, only to find himself hit by the fringes of the spell.  It made him cold and hot all at the same time; his right arm tingled madly and felt a little numb, making him almost drop his sword.

“What the—” Cutting off, Robin notched an arrow to his bow and let it fly, narrowly missing the fae when she teleported away.  She laughed as Robin grumbled out a swear word Bae was sure he would never want Roland to hear, and then made the second arrow explode in mid-air.  “Regina!  We’ve got a problem over here!”

“I’m kind of busy!”

Sneaking a glance left, Bae could see Regina dueling with yet another fae, but then his attention was stolen by Tad rushing forward towards the fae. 

“I will take care of her!” Tad was a dragon almost before the last word came out, and then suddenly everything around them was _warmer_ as a great gout of flame filled the air.  The fae dodged, of course, but Bae didn’t have time to see where she went.

He was too busy with the burly knight who almost barreled right into him, swinging a giant ball and chain.  _Really?_   The guy looked like something right out of a cartoon, but given the world they’d once lived in, Bae supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Camelot had its share of caricatures, too.  Still, the knight being a ridiculous cliché didn’t make his weapon less dangerous, and Bae had to jump back and duck the second swing of the flail.  He wasn’t stupid enough to try to parry that great big spiked ball with his sword, either; dodging it was easier.

“Fight me like a man, peasant,” the knight growled.

Bae snorted.  “Is that supposed to be an insult?  I _was_ a peasant, thanks.  And I liked it.  Though apparently I fit in the hidden-peasant-with-royal-blood trope, come to think of it.”

“Trope?”  The word seemed to confuse the armored monstrosity for long enough to let Bae try to stab him, but the metal mountain blocked that with the handle of his flail, making the sword vibrate in Bae’s hands.  “Using newfangled words will not distract me!”

“Looked like it was working pretty well before—ack!” Bae had to duck again, too quickly for his tastes.  The spiked ball whizzed past the top of his head, almost whistling as it sliced through the air.   “Do you _seriously_ think using a weapon like that is a good idea, man?  It’s bound to hit someone you don’t want it to hit, and then where will you be?”

“I do not _miss_.”  The knight’s scowl was fearsome, but Bae felt like laughing as his opponent drew his flail back, clearly aiming to smash it right into Bae—only for it to hit another knight right in the back of the head, sending him sprawling.

“Nope, but you’re really good at collateral damage.” 

He grinned, and then jumped out of the way of the wild and angry swing that came next.  Springing forward, Bae jumped inside the flail’s arc, bringing his sword up as quickly as he could.  He didn’t bother with stabbing, just smashed the hilt of his sword into the knight’s unprotected face.  The knight sputtered and collapsed, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth.  Bae contemplated hitting him again, but when the flail toppled from obviously nerveless fingers, he decided it wasn’t worth the effort.  This knight wasn’t going to be a problem anytime soon.

“You also really suck at understanding how your ranged weapon can work against you,” he told his unconscious opponent judiciously.

But there were a lot of enemies left to fight, so Bae jumped straight into the fray.

* * *

 

“Lily!”

Killian’s scream made Belle’s head snap around, just in time to see a black dragon plummet from the sky.  Lily bounced off of the clock tower, her wing ripping a ragged hole right underneath the clock itself, and then crashed into the street about twenty feet away from Belle.  Killian ran to her immediately, but he couldn’t do anything to arrest her fall; all he could do was try to drag her away from the fae who was still casting spells at her.  One of them caught Killian full in the chest, blasting him backwards and making him cry out—and then Belle was there.

She knew that most of the fae wouldn’t attack her, and Belle had been focused on the great shield she’d constructed to protect the others.  But keeping Lily safe was more important right now, because Lily couldn’t defend herself.  So, Belle raised her hands and threw a bright white shield between the fae—she thought it was Arachne—and Lily’s prone form.

Annoyed, Arachne hissed.  “Our Lady would not appreciate your actions.”

“Ask me if I care,” Belle shot back as Killian staggered to his feet.

“What—what are you doing?” he stuttered, looking a little singed but still functional.

“Watching your back.”  Belle managed to give him a tight smile, focusing on stopping Arachne’s attempts to get around her shield and kill Lily.  She untangled one bright red spell, and then deflected the black-gray one that came afterwards, letting that crash into the street between them.  Immediately, the asphalt started burning and crackling, popping like it was trying to boil, but that gave Belle time to nudge Lily with magic.  The younger woman groaned, but did not stir.  _That’s not enough.  What did they hit her with to knock her out of the sky?_

“Not that I’m arguing, but— _watch out!_ ”  Killian’s shout made Belle spin, and suddenly she saw Burber trying to sneak around behind them. 

Desperately, Belle tried to intercept the green and red curse that Burber shot at Lily, but Arachne threw another one just as Belle blocked that one, and she quickly found herself unable to defend against two foes who were spread so widely apart.  Killian lept towards Burber, looking like he wanted to tackle him, but Burber just laughed and waved his hand.  A burst of magic slammed Killian into the ground at Lily’s side, but before Burber could celebrate, a loud roar filled the air, and suddenly, Maleficent was there, swooping down to protect her daughter.

Arachne managed to teleport away from the giant jet of flame that sought to engulf her, but Burber wasn’t so fast.  Belle nailed him with a trap as he tried to put the flames out, wrapping him tightly in conjured wires.  He managed to snake free, but not before Arachne’s voice rang out viciously:

“Take that, you traitorous bitch,” the fae hissed, just as a spell hit Maleficent.

This one was burning ice, and Belle could feel it eating into Maleficent even as she blocked another pair of spells from hitting Lily and Killian, who was trying to drag her out of the way as she twitched her way towards wakefulness.  But it was Maleficent who suddenly had Belle concerned; her right wing seemed to have quit working, and she was spiraling drunkenly towards the ground as Arachne fired more spells at her.  Belle intercepted two more, but then Burber was free and he targeted Killian again.  Belle couldn’t stop those attacks in time—but then she didn’t have to.

Transforming in midair, Maleficent teleported right into the midst of the fray, firing spells left and right, hitting both Arachne and Burber with her first attacks.  What she was using was dirty, _dark_ magic, but Belle couldn’t blame her, even if her own tastes ran elsewhere.  Then Maleficent’s burning gray eyes turned on her.

“Help them!  I’ll deal with these fools.”

Belle didn’t need to be told twice; she hurried to Killian and Lily’s sides.  Killian was crouching over Lily now that Maleficent was shielding both, and Belle joined him, her practiced eye picking out the strands of magic working over Lily.  Some of her injuries were from hitting the ground so hard, but there was also magic on her that prevented healing.

_I can’t get all these spells off her in time,_ Belle knew.  She could see Jhudora and one of the previously burned fae—not Burber, but one of the others that Maleficent had gotten in the beginning of the fight—closing in.  Maleficent was trying to hold them all off, but Lily and Killian were just targets right now, particularly with Lily’s right arm bleeding so badly and sitting at such an awkward and painful angle.

“Please tell me you can help her.”  Killian’s whisper was startlingly quiet, and made Belle grit her teeth stubbornly.

“I’ll do what I can.”  Quickly, Belle held her hands over Lily’s mangled right arm, _willing_ the bones to knit back together and for skin to heal.  The sudden influx of magic made Lily moan, her eyes flicking open dizzily.

“What—what are you—”

“Belle’s helping you, love,” Killian cut in quickly.  “Stay still.”

Lily scowled woozily.  “Don’t need help.”

“Aye, and I didn’t need saving from the fae, either.  Shut up and let her help, Lily.”

That earned Killian a death glare, but Belle hardly noticed.  Instead, she watched Lily’s arm knit together.  It was a messy job, one that would have to be fixed later, but it would let Lily move.  _Though I doubt she can fly._

But the other magic was still working over Lily, dark and nasty and far too—

Purple light sizzled into the open space between Belle and Lily, barely missing them both and hitting the street with a loud _crunch_.  Hot pavement splattered on both of them, making Belle cry out.  Maleficent, however, was down to one knee, still firing off spells but suddenly outnumbered three to one.   Arachne and Burber had been joined by Jhudora, and the trio was busy trying to hammer Maleficent into the ground.  Maleficent’s quick glance over her shoulder at Belle only left her more vulnerable, and Belle could see her left arm hanging uselessly.

“Get them out of here!”

“Mom, no!” That seemed to wake Lily up, even as Killian pulled her to her feet.

“Go!”  Another spell hit Maleficent, and Belle quickly threw up a shield to help her.  But Jhudora’s spells burned right through the shield like it was nothing, hitting Maleficent right in the midsection.

If they didn’t run now, they’d never make it.  Belle looked at Killian, nodding as firmly as she could.

“Get her to Granny’s.  I’ll cover you.  The fairies can help her get back in the fight.”

“Are you—”

“Go!”

Killian bolted, dragging a staggering and protesting Lily along as Belle paced them to provide defense against spells Lily was in no shape to block.

Then Maleficent fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen—“I am Not Great”, in which Rumplestiltskin proves that he doesn’t fight like a hero, Morgan takes a stupid risk, Danns’ realizes that the hat she’s using isn’t the real deal, Will Scarlet has a very bad day, Regina contemplates Shakespeare, and someone hurts Belle.
> 
> Also, thank you all SO much for the kudos and comments. This last week has been terrible, and your kind words have been a light in the darkness.


	117. I am Not Great

Her granddaughter had meant what she said, but Danns’ did not have time to give the impetuous girl another lecture.  Belle’s husband was a handful enough, demonstrating a far greater depth to his knowledge of magic than she had expected.  Oh, she had seen him close the wild portal, and had watched him carefully ever since, but she had not expected _this_.  Even if she should have, particularly given the battle she’d fought with him at the entrance to the fae lands.

_I knew he was an atypical Dark One when I contemplated controlling him, and he_ was _the one to finally dismantle the darkness I worked so diligently to see harnessed._ Danns’ pushed back the urge to sigh; she was too busy for such things.  Rumplestiltskin was crafty and prone to disguising one spell as another; even as she glanced Belle’s way, he tried to push her back from the hat with a creative tornado of power which had first appeared to be a simple attempt to cut her legs off at the knees.  Danns’ dismantled that and threw a stream of fire his way, mainly to watch him struggle to dismantle _that_ without allowing it to burn one of his allies.  The rebellious fairy whom Nuckelavee was so fond of was close by, dueling with Ealdun, and if Rumplestiltskin hadn’t taken the time to eliminate the fire, it would have caught ‘Tinker Bell’ in its throes.

Not that Danns’ would have minded; even Reul’s more adventurous followers were annoying.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t let the fairy burn, which told Danns’ all she needed to know.  He was _protecting_ the fools who fought with him, and that was an advantage she could use.  Morgan had been with Tinker Bell, but there was no knowing where she had gone, and she’d left the young fairy to face off with Ankou and Makemnoit as well.  Mordred was trying to close in with the fairy and help her, but he had his hands full with Yara and two others, which left Tink the perfect target now that the dragons were out of the sky.

So, Danns’ fired off three quick spells at Rumplestiltskin, watching them sizzle through the air and come so close that he had to teleport away from the third.  He landed easily, nailing Makemnoit when the fool got too close to him, but Makemnoit managed to pick himself up as Danns’ took advantage of Rumplestiltskin’s distraction.  A wave of one hand sent Tinker Bell sailing _into_ the fae, whom Danns’ knew would rip her to pieces.

Rumplestiltskin, ever so predictably, teleported himself again, landing right in between Ankou and Makemnoit.  _He acts the part of the hero, even if it does not serve him well at all,_ Danns’ thought behind a smile, and then returned her attention to the hat Nuckelavee had thoughtfully stolen for her, pouring magic of her own in to join Zelena’s essence, looking for a way to split the barriers between the worlds apart.

But the hat did not respond.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin _was_ no hero and had no intention of acting like one.  He’d noticed his mother teleporting away from the fight, and it wasn’t a coincidence that Morgan had done so the moment Maleficent went down.  That left Tink uncovered, and despite Rumplestiltskin’s innate hatred of fairies, he couldn’t let her die.  _She’s Bae’s friend._ Even in his mind, the words sounded like an excuse, so he took his disgruntlement out on Makemnoit.  The idiot actually lunged _towards_ him instead of away, and Rumplestiltskin met him halfway, his right hand snaking out and plunging into the fae’s chest.

Emma and David would probably disapprove, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  They were outnumbered and the battle was going badly—he could tell that Danns’ had learned the hat wasn’t complete, and he knew he had little time to act.  There wasn’t time to play _nice_ , so he turned to the partially burned fae with a cold smirk.

“Give that back!” Makemnoit’s howl was that of a man—or, really, a fae—who was not used to any human having the upper hand.  _Too bad._

Rumplestiltskin just squeezed the heart slightly for emphasis.  “Attack Jhudora,” he commanded.  He didn’t know many of the fae’s names, and he could tell that Jhudora was up to no good.  “Kill her.”

Makemnoit teleported away with nothing more than a scowl, leaving Rumplestiltskin to turn his attention to the other two.  He couldn’t remember which one was which, but that didn’t really matter.  The one on the left was trying to trap Tink in a glowing cage, so Rumplestiltskin swept the street out from under him, wrapping him in newly melted asphalt and listening to him howl.  Tink nailed the other one with a spell that split her face right open, and then turned to Rumplestiltskin with a grin.

“Nice move.  That’ll keep a two of them busy for awhile.”

Rumplestiltskin upped his estimation of Tinker Bell a few notches.  “Indeed it will.”

“I’ve got this.”  Tink nodded, her wand suddenly out.  She’d been using human magic before, but now seemed to be creating a strangely dangerous combination of human and fairy magic.  “You get back to _her_.”

He didn’t argue and just teleported himself as close to Danns’ a’Bhàis as he dared.

* * *

 

The world went white as Jhudora’s spell hit her; Maleficent tried to twist away, but Burber’s attack had made her dodge right into the path of the shower of black sparks Jhudora had sent her way, and it hit hard.  For a moment, Mal felt as if the marrow of her bones was actually boiling, that the bones themselves were going to burst through her skin in a bubbling black mess.  She landed hard on one knee despite her best efforts to stay on her feet, and Mal thought she felt something _crack_ when her kneecap hit the pavement.  Immediately, her legs went to jelly, and even though she knew she had to get up or die, she couldn’t make them work.

Then a black swirl of smoke surrounded her, and suddenly _Morgan_ was there.  From her hands came a burst of darkness, a black cloud of sharp edges and teeth, which zoomed in on Jhudora, Burber, and the third fae with unerring accuracy.  Jhudora managed to dodge, only to find a fourth fae closing in on her and in the way.  Burber fell, screaming as the black cloud ate at the skin on his face, and hands reached down to help Mal to her feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mal couldn’t help the growl; Morgan’s unexpected appearance left her winded and feeling too much.  Even letting magic rip through her body and shoddily repair the damage could not banish the butterflies she suddenly felt in her stomach.

“Saving you, of course.”  Morgan’s look was cold, but Mal thought she could see a smile lurking in her eyes.  “You did not possibly think I would let you die, did you?”

Snarling, Mal shot a spell at Burber, knocking him down just as he managed to get up, using magic to force her pain onto him.  His face was bleeding, so she added fire to the mix, and he collapsed in a screeching heap as his skin started bubbling anew.  “I never know what to think with you.”

“Quite so.”  Morgan exchanged spells with Jhudora for a moment, until the aforementioned fourth fae—Mal thought it was Makemnoit, but she’d always had a hard time telling him apart from Ealdun, given their dark, angular looks—suddenly stumbled right into the middle. 

“Is he trying to rip out _Jhudora’s_ heart?” Mal gaped.

“Ah.  My creative son strikes again.”  Morgan’s grin was fleeting as she gestured at Burber and the idiot who Mal had burned earlier.  “I trust you can deal with what remains of this pair, yes?”

“Gladly.” 

She wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that Morgan—her lover of convenience!—had saved her, and Mal was glad they didn’t have to discuss it now.  A glance over her shoulder told her that Lily was safe inside the diner, presumably with Killian.  Belle was headed back their way, striding purposefully towards Tinker Bell, who was struggling to hold off three fae on her own.  But Mal really didn’t want to have that conversation with Morgan, so she took the easiest way out she could think of, transforming into a dragon and leaping for the burned fae.

One crunch of her jaws broke him in half, and then Mal took the skies again, swooping around and aiming for Burber.   _Try to steal my daughter’s boyfriend, will you?  I’ll make you pay for that._

* * *

 

Lily felt like crap. 

Her head was spinning, her back ached, and having been saved by some ridiculously good woman was absolutely humiliating.  Belle was nice, sure—Lily had only really run into her once, but Killian seemed to like her well enough—but that was the problem.  Lily _wasn’t_ nice; she was sharp and unforgiving, bitchy and angry.  She was fine with being like that, too, but people like her weren’t supposed to need saving.

But dragons weren’t supposed to fall out of the sky, either, so she supposed today was just a miserable day.

“Ouch!”  She poured all of her anger into glaring at Sister Astrid, who was the idiot who had volunteered to heal her.  “Watch where you put that spell.”

“If you’d stay still, I wouldn’t have to keep changing my aim.”  The young fairy glared back at her without so much as flinching. 

_Being on the ‘good guy’ side really doesn’t do anything for a fearful reputation.  I need to remember that._   Lily scowled.  “If you were any good at your job, you’d be _done_ already.”

Her mother was out there fighting,and Lily needed to get back into the fight.  But her right arm was mangled and useless, and her legs weren’t much better off.  Her back was some sort of pulled muscle mess, too; Astrid had tsked over it worriedly when Killian helped her through the door.  Crashing into the ground hadn’t done her any favors, but Lily didn’t care.  She was crap at healing—she’d been stupidly confident that she wouldn’t need those skills so she’d refused to learn them—but she was needed outside.

“Stop trying to look at Killian.  Blue will heal him up nicely.”  Astrid sounded reassuring, but that didn’t stop Lily from craning her neck to check on Killian.  He was almost as beat up as she was, and he didn’t have magic to rely on.

“All done.”  Blue said the magic words even as Killian jumped out of the booth he’d been sitting in.  Lily was, unfortunately, flat on her stomach on top of one of the diner’s tables, and Lily would be damned if that wasn’t undignified a position she could imagine.

“And I’m fine, love.”  Killian came closer, and Lily felt a smile tugging on her lips. “Thanks to you.”

She tried to shrug, only for Astrid to catch her arm.  “Stop that!”

Glaring at the younger fairy would be useless, so Lily returned her attention to Killian, trying not to blush.  Then the next words blurted out, and she hated how defensive they sounded.  “I’m not sorry.”

“Did I ask you to apologize?”  He took her good hand, and Lily tried to smile back.

She was so bad at this.  Even without the double dose of darkness, Lily sucked at being _good_.  Or even nice.  Fortunately, Killian seemed to understand her crooked smile.  “Sorry.”

“Aye, now you should be.”  But his smile made it plain that the words were a jest.

“Keep gloating like that and I’ll make _you_ sorry.” 

Killian’s grin only grew.  “I’ll be looking forward to—”

The jingling of the bell at the door made them both turn—and Astrid hiss at Lily to stay still, of course.  But she was starting to feel better (her right arm almost felt like it would work again sometime in the next century), so Lily ignored her.  Much to her surprise, an older, dark skinned woman had come through Granny’s door, accompanied by a few others who Lily was certain were from Camelot.

“Elaine!”  Blue sounded shocked, moving towards the old woman with surprising speed.  “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d help.”  Elaine gave Blue a dark look that Lily _definitely_ agreed with, making it clear from her glare that she thought Blue should be doing more than hiding in here.  “I may have chosen to sit out the last war, but I’ll be damned if I allow Danns’ a’Bhàis to win again without a fight.”

Blue looked shocked, and it was Astrid who spoke up after a moment.

“Are you from Camelot, then?”

“Yes, child.  I’m from Camelot.”  Elaine smiled sadly.  “I may be no great healer like this original fairy here, but I can do my part.”

“Great!”  Astrid’s smile looked forced, but she carried on bravely when Blue said nothing.  “Let’s put you over here, then.  I’m sure more wounded will show up soon.”

“Just get me out of here before you two start talking shop, will you?” Lily growled before Elaine could answer.  “I need to get back into the fight.”

“ _We_ need to,” Killian put in, but he made no effort to leave her side.

* * *

 

They must have substituted a half-finished hat in for the one she had wanted.  That was the only explanation, and the knowledge that Rumplestiltskin had outsmarted her made Danns’ _seethe_.  Taking two strides away from the still-spinning hat, she met the Sorcerer as he teleported to her, stepping in so close that they were almost touching.  Then Danns’ dug into her own vast well of dark magic and _pulled_.  The spell dragged him forward, and Danns’ watched with satisfaction as a glimmer of panic filled Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.

Then golden light flashed and he was free, having unraveled the spell she used to pull him in.  His empty hand whipped up, but Danns’ was ready, and she deflected his attempt to knock her unconscious.  She almost didn’t stop his follow-on attack in time, but Danns’ brushed that one aside, too.  She was certainly _not_ going to allow this too-clever human to overcome her, so Danns’ twisted three spells together and blasted him with it.  Rumplestiltskin only caught the fringes of the spells before he teleported away, but at least that gave her space to focus on the damned hat.

When he reappeared, Danns’ turned a sharp smile on her foe.  “You substituted a lesser hat in.”

“Glad you finally noticed, dearie.”  His smile was no less sharp than hers, and Danns’ could feel Rumplestiltskin building spells left and right.  “You plan won’t work with that hat.  Give it up now, before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”  Danns’ shook her head, half amused at the fool Sorcerer’s optimism and half sad.  _For Belle’s sake only._   She, too, had been gathering magic—but not to fell Rumplestiltskin.  “You know that as well as I.”

“On the contrary, I know that no one is beyond redemption.”

She laughed outright.  “You speak of redemption?  I do not need _redemption_ , Rumplestiltskin.  I am as I should be, and will do what I must.”

Her spell was nearly ready.  She simply needed to keep him talking for a moment longer—never a problem, if she knew her granddaughter’s husband.  He preferred to win his wars with words over strength, anyway.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “There’s no requirement for you to destroy worlds, unless your ego is really that insurmountable.”

“Hardly.”  It was sad that such an intelligent human could not grasp the scope of what Danns’ wanted to achieve, but she supposed Rumplestiltskin had been too corrupted by Merlin.  Much though she had loved him, _he_ had never understood, either.  Perhaps humans were simply too afraid.

“You can’t actually think—”

Danns’ interrupted his words by slamming a dark wave of magic into the Sorcerer and then teleporting away—straight to the hat.  Even as Rumplestiltskin staggered, she held her hands out flat, palms pointing down at Jefferson’s partially finished hat.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nuckelavee fire a trio of spells at Rumplestiltskin; he understood what was happening, of course.  A shout from him brought Odelia closer, too, and she engaged the Sorcerer to buy Danns’ the time she needed.  Although Danns’ knew that this hat did not reach to _all_ the realms she wanted, but it hardly had to, did it?  The connections were unfinished, but they were already possible.  All she needed was enough power to open those doorways, and then she could merge the realms together.

So Danns’ summoned up the depths of her power, and began to expand the portal.

* * *

 

Everything had to go bloody south on Anastasia’s birthday, didn’t it?

It freaking well figured.  Will had been planning this celebration for _weeks_!  It had taken him more than a month after getting back to Wonderland to crawl his way back into Ana’s good graces; she’d had every right to be angry with him for being such a prat, and she’d damned well made him earn his place in her heart.  But Will had, and they’d been happy these past few months, putting their relationship back together and ruling Wonderland.  Truth be told, Ana did most of the ruling while Will pretty much caused and prevented trouble.  He tried to do the latter more than the former, but it didn’t always work out.  Will Scarlet knew he was trouble down to his bones, plain and simple, so he generally tried to cause trouble for the bad sorts who still liked to call Wonderland home.

Not that he and Ana tried to drive those sorts out.  It was better to have the skeevy folks on your side than not, after all, and that kept the _really_ bad types from moving in.  No little evil fish wanted a great big shark to wander into their pond, after all, which meant the small fry in the Underland generally ratted if someone worse than them came around.  Will was fine with that, and so was Ana.  Using the skeevy bastards as allies actually meant things in Wonderland had calmed down quite a bit, which allowed Will to plan a birthday celebration for Ana behind her back.

Until the entire bloody world started shaking, anyway.

“What the hell did you do?” Leave it to Ana to wheel on him just when he’d brought her into the nicely decorated ballroom, where all their friends—including Alice and Cyrus!—were waiting.

“Why is it always _my_ fault?” Will asked plaintively. 

His wife rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips as she turned to face him.  “Because experience indicates it probably will be.”

“This one isn’t me, I swear.”  His vow was interrupted by a particularly hard _rumble_ , and Will had to struggle for balance.  “I’ve been good, Ana, I promise.  The last time I was even _around_ any particularly powerful sorcerers was in Storybrooke, and you _know_ this has to be magic.”

“Oh, I know.”  Her growl turned into a yelp as Ana almost fell right into him, and Will caught her.  “I _can_ feel it, you know.  I’m not exactly without magic myself.”

“Well, I never can keep straight what odds and ends Cora taught you and which ones she didn’t.”  He shrugged, glad that Ana was happy to lean on him, at least.  That meant she wasn’t too irate, at least. 

It didn’t mean that they didn’t have a whopper of a problem to deal with, though, because the damned floor was still shaking like mad. 

_Crash._

Will turned to the sound of plaster smashing into the floor, only to see a giant statue of some past king of Wonderland shatter into a thousand pieces on the polished floor.  “Great.  I liked that stupid statue.” 

“I didn’t.”  Ana’s face screwed up in concentration.  “Whatever magic this is, it’s dangerous, Will.  I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“But I have.”  They both whirled around at the sound of the White Rabbit’s voice.  Their old friend pushed his glasses up with a shrug.  “This is portal magic.  Although why it is here, no one can tell.”

“Can you stop it?” Will asked before he could shut his fool mouth.

“Me?  Oh, no.  This is power far beyond my small contribution to the magical world.  This is deeper magic than mine by a frightening margin.”  The Rabbit grimaced.  “And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

* * *

 

Regina was starting to think that they’d been idiots to go in with so few people.  Granted, they were a little better off now that they had the rescued prisoners along, but the fact that they’d had at least three dozen of Lamorak’s goons descend upon them didn’t make the odds very good.  _And my odds are even worse._   She’d been fighting this pair of fae for what felt like forever.  It had probably only been a few minutes, but Regina couldn’t remember ever having felt this bone tired, not even when she’d poured everything she had into reversing the Dark Curse before Pan’s own curse could overtake Storybrooke.

“What the hell is your name, anyway?” She dodged a blue fireball launched at her by the female fae, scowling.  Regina didn’t know what was in that too-sparkly blue magic, but she knew it was dangerous.  That didn’t stop her curiosity, though.  She’d heard Lamorak call the male Khanty, but this one looked like she was straight out of a Shakespearean play.  Not that Regina had a secret love for Shakespeare or anything.  That wasn’t the point.

“Does the little human want to know the name of the one who will kill her?”  The female fae laughed sharply, and the grating sound of her voice made Regina regret asking the question.

Regina rolled her eyes.  “No, but I don’t like hurting people without knowing who they are.”

“Titania.”  The word was another giggle, and the fae gave Regina a small, sarcastic curtsey.  “Titania is my name.”

“Oh, that’s just great.  I get Shakespeare’s creation.”  Regina couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “But why not?  Apparently every other person out of literature and legend is real.  Why leave Shakespeare out?”

“What is this…. Shakespeare?”

“No one that you’d know.” 

Before Regina could say more, Khanty fired a spell at her that would have broken Regina in half if she hadn’t blocked it, and suddenly Titania seemed to realize that she should fight instead of talking, too.  Khanty took the lead, snarling nastiness at Regina in some weird language, but it was his spells that almost tore her apart.  Regina blocked one, and then another, and then had to stop midway through her attempt to retaliate to dodge another pair of blue fireballs that Titania launched at her.  Then one of Lamorak’s knights tried to skewer her, and although Regina sent him flying into another pair of Camelot bullies, that took valuable time.

Khanty’s next attack ripped Regina right off her feet, twisting her into the air like a cyclone and slamming her back down so hard that she saw stars.  Had Regina not managed to cushion herself with  magic just a little, she would have been knocked out like a light, but she managed just enough to avoid breaking anything, including her head.  But that didn’t stop the rain of magic that came down on her, and three spells hit before Regina managed to teleport herself to safety.  She landed right behind Khanty, sending the biggest, meanest wall of fire she could manage, only for him to brush it aside with contemptuous ease.

Regina tried to dodge Titania’s next attack, and found herself swaying drunkenly as she did.  Maybe her wall hadn’t been so powerful.  She was really having a hard time seeing straight, and—

A sudden roar split the air, and a dragon came down right between Titania and Khanty.  Tad’s tail swept Khanty right off his feet as Titania dodged _his_ wall of fire.  Yet Titania didn’t manage to dodge the silver-tipped arrow that suddenly sliced through the air at her, and she cried out as it slammed into her right shoulder.

Then the battlefield went suddenly silent, and it took a long moment for the reason why to get through Regina’s aching head.

The fae and the Camelotonians were _gone._

Blinking, Regina climbed to her feet.  One ragged breath sent magic rushing through her, giving her energy when she just felt like crawling into bed.  Another wave of her strongest magic reinforced the protections she’d already put around the child she carried, and much to Regina’s surprise, she felt a small pulse of warmth answering.  _I’m here, little one,_ she thought towards her daughter.  _And I always will be.  No matter what today brings._

“What the hell was that?”  August glared at Regina like it was her fault.

Tad transformed back into a human, sniffing the air before Regina could answer.  His smile was dark.  “That was the fae teleporting all of our newfound friends away.”

“Maybe your friends.”  August grimaced.  “Not mine.”

“Nor anyone’s who was locked in there,” Mulan added darkly.

“Pardon me.  I was being facetious.”  Tad looked taken aback, but Regina was just glad to see that she wasn’t their target for once.  Was it wrong of her to enjoy seeing someone else discomfited?  Probably.  Did she care?  Not really.

Then a gentle hand touched her arm from someone Regina really _did_ care about.  “Are you all right?” Robin asked softly.

“Yeah.”  Regina felt her grimace soften by a small smile.  “We both are.”

“Good.”  He smiled in return.  “I’m glad.  That fall looked nasty.”

_It was_.  But Regina only shrugged, not wanting to give voice to that thought around others.  Robin knew her inside out, knew her strengths, her weaknesses, and even her darker side that the generally tried to keep in check these days, but the others didn’t need to hear that.

“So, where the hell did they go?”  Typically, Leroy spoke up, and he was looking right at Regina, who tried very hard not to bristle.

“How should I know?  I’m not an all-seeing map.” 

“Can you take us where they went?”  David was frowning, wearing his damned Hero Face, that told Regina he wouldn’t rest until someone stopped Lamorak and his followers. 

She sighed.  “Sure, but there’s no telling what kind of trap we’ll land in.”

“Can’t you use magic to tell where they went?” Now it was Galavant, and Regina just wanted to wipe that earnestly _good_ expression off of his face.  “We can’t just let them run rampant all over town, pillaging, plundering, and whatever else bad guys from your realm get up to.”

“Actually, those goons are from another realm entirely,” Ruby pointed out, but Galavant waved an airy hand.

“Semantics.  Point stands.”

“Tracking people isn’t as easy as just waving my hand.”  Regina did her best to answer patiently, but she was pretty sure she’d failed.  “Usually, you need something that belonged to them to make a tracking spell.  I _could_ take everyone to wherever they went, but I won’t know where it is until we’re there.”

“Great, then let’s go.”  David stepped forward, and much to Regina’s horror, others were nodding, too.  “We can’t let them get away.  We have to stop them.  Now.”

Not groaning took everything Regina had.  “Have it your way,” she sighed.  “Just don’t blame me for whatever mess we wind up in.”

This was probably the worst idea Regina had _ever_ had, but she gestured everyone in close and pulled magic to herself.

* * *

 

Belle jumped back into the fight just in time to see Jhudora kill Makemnoit.  Immediately, her husband discarded the now-dead fae’s heart, twisting to face Jhudora as she started flinging spells his way.  Hobyah had already been fighting Rumplestiltskin, and Belle could see her grandmother focusing entirely too much on Jefferson’s spare hat.  _We can’t let her expand it,_ she knew.  Belle had spent some time talking to Jefferson while Mordred had been impersonating him, learning about portal jumper magic and exactly what Danns’ could do with even a half-finished hat.  Jefferson had been depressingly clear on that point: _any_ hat he created could be used to make a portal, even if he hadn’t finished it.  Danns’ only had to use enough power to re-energize it, which her grandmother was clearly doing at the moment.

So, Belle teleported herself straight to Rumple’s side, throwing a shield up between Jhudora and him.

“Finally you show some _talent_.”  Jhudora actually looked pleased, though the teeth-bared grin she offered was anything but friendly.  “It’s a pity that you oppose us, Princess.”

“I’m not your princess.”  Belle glared, but she used her irritation to fuel more magic, throwing up a wall that forced Hobyah back several paces.  He bounced off it like a spring, and Belle heard her husband snort in amusement.

A roar from Maleficent drowned out Jhudora’s reply, and a sudden wall of fire forced her back as Mal dove into the fray, skimming only feet above the ground as fae dodged her.  Even Danns’ had to duck, and Belle saw fury fill her grandmother’s eyes as her spell was interrupted.  _We need to do worse than that, though._   She turned to Rumplestiltskin.

“I’ve got your back.”  Belle gave him a grin when her husband arched an eyebrow.  “Someone has to stop my grandmother, and you’re the only one who can.”

That made him grimace.  “I suppose that I am.”  One hand came up to touch her shoulder as Rumplestiltskin fired off a spell with the other, sending Jhudora flying towards Morgan—just as Morgan decapitated Burber with a light pole while he was busy trying to avoid Maleficent’s jaws.  “Be careful, sweetheart.”

“Always.”

“Ha!”

But Rumple did turn away, teleporting closer to her grandmother and firing off magic aimed at the hat itself.  Briefly, Belle felt her throat close off with worry, but she pushed it aside.  Rumplestiltskin would be all right—she’d make sure of that.  And her grandmother had made her own choices.  Belle could not save her from that.  All Belle could do was fight for her friends and her family, fight for what was _right_ , and do what she had to do to save the people depending on them.  She was lucky enough to be the one ‘safe’ person in this battle; none of the fae would attack her.  Even Jhudora turned away to throw a potshot towards Rumplestiltskin’s back, which Belle blocked with a shimmering shield.  Jhudora snarled and threw more and more powerful magic at it, but Belle kept the shield in place even when her hands started shaking under the strain.

Her original shield, the one she’d put over everyone, had buckled while she was getting Lily and Killian to safety.  But it had bought them time and safety.  The odds were nearly even, now.  Even as Rumplestiltskin hit her grandmother with a spell that tore her right off of her feet, Emma did the same to Nuckelavee, knocking him into a fae-shaped crater in the street.  Immediately, Jhudora turned to attack Emma, but Belle blocked that, too, pouring all of her power into defense, since she didn’t need—

Something slammed into her from the side, and Belle crumbled to the ground with a cry.

* * *

 

For a moment, Emma actually thought she’d won.  She’d finally harnessed her own power effectively, and after weathering more than her fair share of blows from Nuckelavee, she’d managed to smash him into a newly made crater in the street.  As Sheriff, Emma probably should have cared about the destruction of public property (aka, the street), but she really didn’t give a damn at the moment.  If she could get the bastard down for the count, she could—

A swirl of gray smoke filled the air, and them magic reared up from her right and knocked Emma to her knees.  Snarling, she threw up the best shield she could muster, throwing her power between herself and the newly up Nuckelavee.  He was laughing, of course, sounding like this was the best of all fun games, and Emma spun to face him with fire in her eyes.

“It was a nice hit.”  His grin made her feel homicidal.  “But you’ll have to do better.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.” 

Cracking her fingers, Emma dug for the most dangerous spell she could remember from her time as the Dark One, one that she thought had been created by Nimue herself.  Even at her worst, she hadn’t really been tempted to boil someone’s blood from the inside out, but now the idea was a really good one.  So, she flung the spell at Nuckelavee, careful to hide it behind a metaphorical fist of straight power.  _He thinks I’m not subtle.  I’ve got to do what he doesn’t expect._

Nuckelavee dodged the first spell, but the blood boiling one got through.  Before Emma could whoop in delight, however, he shook it off and waved his hands—sending Doc’s Miata right at her.

Throwing herself right, Emma managed not to get hit by the most unlucky car in Storybrooke.  But the movement put her right in the path of the mailbox that Nuckelavee had ripped out of the ground, and it smashed right into Emma’s head.

Everything went black before she even hit the ground.

* * *

 

They were inside the castle when the ground started shaking.

Henry had spent the first while exploring, poking around his grandparents’ castle and trying to distract himself from the very real battle raging back home.  Grace kept asking him questions, probably to help keep him distracted, but he didn’t mind.  Being in Snow White and Prince Charming’s castle _was_ really cool, and he could see things that had been left behind during the first curse.  He’d already found a miniature painting of Snow that he knew David would appreciate having, and Henry was on the hunt for more things he could bring back.  Finding little things that his family would value was the least he could do.

Then _everything_ started shaking, and had to grab Grace’s arm to keep from toppling into the four poster bed where he was pretty sure his mom and his uncle had both been conceived.  _Ewww.  I don’t want to think about that!_

Grace turned to him with wide eyes.  “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I bet your dad does.” 

Gritting his teeth, Henry grabbed her hand and bolted for the stairs.  They got lost twice on the way to the great hall, taking two wrong turns before they finally found the others.  Jefferson was standing next to Aurora with Neal in his arms, and Henry’s young uncle was crying.

“Papa! What’s happening?” They skidded to a stop in front of Jefferson, who was paler than Henry could ever remember seeing him before.

Acting on instinct, Henry reached out and took Baby Neal away from Jefferson, who looked likely to drop a wiggling and crying toddler.  “It’s the worlds coming together, isn’t it?” he asked grimly.  “Even though you said it wouldn’t happen here.”

“It shouldn’t.”  Jefferson swallowed hard.  “Unless she managed to expand the hat’s reach, it _can’t._ ”

“I hate to disappoint you, bud, but it is.”  Whale looked almost as grim as Henry felt.  “And now we’re right in the focus of it.”

“Do we go back?”  Part of Henry wanted to.  He’d rather be in Storybrooke and fighting than be here and be a potential victim to the cataclysm of the worlds smashing together.  “Can we?”

“No!”  Jefferson and Grace answered the question together, and Henry’s friend was shaking her head madly.  Jefferson, however, gulped and continued first:  “If we do, we might as well put the real hat in _her_ hands.  We can’t risk it.”

“Yeah, no way we’re opening ourselves up to that mess,” Whale agreed.  “That crazy ass fairy _might_ manage to make things worse, but there are a lot of people trying to kill her right now.  I vote for staying out of the crossfire.”

Henry couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.  “No one asked you.”

“Henry!” Grace gave him a dirty look, and he sighed.

“Sorry.”  He wasn’t, but if it made Grace happy, he’d apologize to Whale.  Because at least Whale was nice to her, even if he was a jerk to everyone else.  Except Jefferson, of course.   Henry swallowed hard, just as the castle started creaking and moaning and the ground trembled harder.  “But what can we do?”

“Nothing.”  Jefferson’s eyes were shadowed.  “All we can do is wait and hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen—“The Final Weapon”, in which Danns’ and Rumplestiltskin both react to Belle being hurt, Mordred finds himself facing Nuckelavee, David and company find where Lamorak and his followers have gone, Anna asks Grand Pabbie for advice, Baelfire gets hit by a curse, and Morgan makes a terrible mistake.
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who spots the literary reference at the end of this chapter! (Hint: all human wisdom is contained in these words).


	118. The Final Weapon

Belle’s cry split the air.

Danns’ gestured quickly at the hat, stalling her spell.  It was already reaching out, the tendrils of her power combined with the hat connecting Arendelle, Wonderland, the Enchanted Forest, and the Land Without Color with Storybrooke, and this was a terrible time to stop—but she did, anyway.  That cry had been full of pain, which meant some idiot human had hit her granddaughter with a mis-aimed spell, or one of Danns’ fae had disobeyed her orders.  Spinning, she followed the arc of the magic leading outwards from Belle…straight into Jhudora’s hands.  But even as Danns’ called a spell to her own palms, throwing a shield up between Belle and _anyone_ who could endanger her, magic slammed into Jhudora and tore her straight into the air.  The spell spun her around, twisting her like a top as Jhudora screamed in rage.  Instead of slamming her down, however, the magic didn’t smash her down into the street as Danns’ would have expected; instead, it stabbed _inwards_.

Jhudora’s scream turned from rage to pain, and Danns’ watched in fascination as a thousand threads of magic turned to shards, shards sharpened by an original power’s strength.  Jhudora was too powerful to die from such an attack, but it was a near thing.  By the time Jhudora crashed to the ground, she was weakened and limp, breathing raggedly.  She struggled to sit upright, only for Rumplestiltskin’s magic to hit her again, snapping her neck like a twig.  Jhudora’s body crumbled like dead leaves, leaving Danns’ to stare.

 _This_ she had not expected, and it made her turn to her enemy with respect.  “Impressive.”

Rumplestiltskin only snorted, his dark eyes dangerous.  “Is this where you say something ridiculously threatening because I killed your loyal follower?”

“Oh, no.  Jhudora harmed Belle.  This is the one matter upon which you and I will never stand apart.”  Danns’ cocked an eyebrow.  “Although, I must admit that I am surprised that you did not allow me to deal with Jhudora and strike while I was distracted.”

“What _do_ you take me for?”  He took a step towards her, radiating power and fury.  “My love for Belle is not a tool to be used, and if you don’t understand that, you will never understand anything about us.”

Danns’ blinked.  She was honestly surprised.  Rumplestiltskin was Morgan’s son, and—unlike Mordred—he had inherited her cold-bloodedness in full.  If anyone would have been willing to take advantage of such a situation, she would have expected it to be Rumplestiltskin.  How much he loved Belle didn’t matter; Jhudora still would have been incapacitated, and he would have had an opportunity to win their battle.  Yet he had chosen Belle over victory…and a part of Danns’, a very small part, felt _glad_ to see that.  Yet she pushed the flicker of feeling aside, pushed aside the fact that her granddaughter had found a kind of love Danns’ a’Bhàis would never understand. 

In the end, that didn’t matter.  Before she formed a response, Rumplestiltskin spun on his heels and hurried to Belle’s side.  Danns’ stared for a long moment, an island of stillness as  the chaos of battle raged around her.

* * *

 

Mordred had always been a little overconfident, and he was used to being able to transform into a dragon to change the odds in a fight.  He’d held his own against Yara and Odelia well enough, but when Ealdun knocked Tink off her feet, he couldn’t leave the young fairy on her own.  So, Mordred stepped into the middle of that fight, trying to hold off all three fae at once—only to find Nuckelavee suddenly free of Emma and magic hammering into his spine.

He never saw the pavement coming until it hit him in the face, but even as he cried out, Mordred didn’t really get a chance to react.  Nuckelavee’s next spell launched him into some large car—he thought Baelfire had called these ugly things ‘minivans’, once—and Mordred saw stars.  Something cracked, and he thought it was his right leg, because when he crumbled to the ground, it bent under him at a dangerous angle and made him scream.  Quickly, Mordred tried to use magic to mitigate the pain, maybe even to messily knit the bones back together, but suddenly Nuckelavee was standing over him.  The fae was laughing, of course.  _Is he ever not_?

“This is an ignoble end for you, isn’t it?”  Nuckelavee gestured at the battle, his smile triumphant.  “For all of you, I think.” 

Mordred followed his gaze, watching Rumplestiltskin ignoring everyone to crouch over Belle, Tink struggling to face the three fae Mordred _had_ been dealing with, and Morgan’s hands full with Arachne and was firing potshots at Danns’, who was—of course—pouring magic into Jefferson’s spare hat again.  Emma was nowhere to be found.  Even as Mordred watched dizzily.  Maleficent made the mistake of trying to burn Danns’, which meant a geyser of magic kicked the dragon high into the air, higher than was safe.  Even Mordred’s pain-befuddled mind could hear Maleficent’s distressed roar; her wings couldn’t keep up with the magical tornado that enveloped her, and such a spell could send even a dragon crashing down to death.

But he didn’t have time to watch; Nuckelavee shot another spell at him, one Mordred barely blocked.  His leg was knitting stubbornly slow, and Nuckelavee was trying to break the other one, wasn’t he?  _Don’t act surprised, you fool.  You’ve known this rat bastard for years._

“It looks to me like you’re losing allies faster than we are.”  Mordred teleported himself to his feet, knowing that he couldn’t get up on his own, flinging a trio of spells at Nuckelavee as he did so.  None hit, but at least they kept the fae distracted.

Nuckelavee shrugged.  “They’re no great loss.”

“Aren’t you loyal to your—”

Mordred never got the taunt out; a wall of magic slammed into him, and next he knew, he was _inside_ the minivan, sprawled painfully between the second and third row of seats with his broken leg twisted and mangled.  Head spinning, he tried to throw a fireball at his opponent, only to completely miss.  Then his attempt to teleport out was blocked, and then suddenly the car around him was on fire.  Mordred had little fear of fire, having started plenty of them in his time, but this fire was different.  This fire was blue and white, flickering in and out of existence for several seconds before roaring to life.  This was _fae_ fire, and any sorcerer knew that it burned fast and incandescently hot.  The moment Mordred tried to push himself out of the crushed vehicle, Nuckelavee slammed him back down.  The fire already surrounded him, and—

Suddenly, a white burst of light slammed into Nuckelavee, sending the fae flying. Then the last person Mordred expected to help him braved the fire and offered him a hand, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet.  Blinking and coughing—and using magic to force his right leg to behave itself—Mordred stared at Emma Swan in shock.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the assistance, but I would have expected you to enjoy watching me burn.”

Emma glared.  “I’m not the Dark One any more.  That’s not what I do.”

“I still tried to kill your son.”  Mordred didn’t take it personally; he’d been an arrogant fool for going after Henry, and he fully expected to pay the price for that.  “That kind of thing tends to cause a grudge.”

“I can punch you in the face again after this jerk goes down.”

“Fair enough.” 

They turned together to face Nuckelavee, but before Mordred could get neck deep into that battle, Tink went flying into the crowd gathering in front of the diner, and he instead teleported over to fight the three fae who had targeted the young fairy.

* * *

 

David had never enjoyed being teleported.  In fact, even when Rumplestiltskin had sent him to and fro in the Enchanted Forest, being teleported had always left him feeling rather queasy, which in turn made him cranky.  Most times, David fought the feeling off, but today he actually realized it might be useful.

Particularly since he landed six inches from Lamorak’s face.

“They’re here!” Camelot’s so-called king shouted, but David didn’t give him a chance to say more before he attacked.  Lamorak was a talented swordsman, but David was better.  Yet beating this idiot pretender wasn’t going to win them the war, and David knew it.

In fact, it might even be better if they had someone who they could actually put on trial for the kidnappings and the atrocities at the end, so David contemplated trying to knock Lamorak out instead of killing him.  But there were too many enemies to do something so stupid, so David parried a high attack and then went in for the kill.  Lamorak, however, had other ideas, and promptly dodged, shoving a young Camelotonian into David’s path.  David barely managed not to kill the young girl—who looked to be only a year or two older than Henry—and by the time he whirled back towards Lamorak, the knight was gone.

“Damn him!” David snarled the words under his breath, only to spin around when a sound came from behind him, sword raised and ready to fight.

“Easy there!” Midas’ smile was strained.  “I’m on your side.”

“Sorry about that.”  Parrying a sudden attack from another knight kept David’s attention for a few moments, but at least Midas took out the other armored fool who came at them.  Armor was well and good—they both wore breastplates, because this was an old-fashioned fight from the old world—but wearing full armor only slowed you down in a melee like this.

“No need to apologize.”  Midas gestured at their opponents, who looked to be the same group Regina had tracked from the tunnels.  “Looks like you brought the fight to us, anyway.  I was starting to wonder when you’d call us in.”

“Well, this was the last place I wanted to fight this battle, but I think it’s what we’ve got.”  David’s opponent collapsed, affording him a moment to look around…and he didn’t like what he saw.

They’d landed right in front of Granny’s, just down the street from where the magical battle was raging.  The air itself seemed thick with magic and colors; it was almost like lightning was striking the ground over and over again, filling the morning with electricity that no one dared touch.  Regina was still battling with the two fae who had been in the tunnels, but Tad had taken to the sky, with Robin on his back.  The former outlaw was shooting arrows at the enemy from this new vantage point, somehow staying on board while Tad swooped low to target individuals. 

Then several people yelped, and suddenly Tink crashed right into Richard and Roberta, taking both right off of their feet.  Galavant jumped in to shield them while they struggled upright, and Baelfire dragged Tink off to the side.  Deciding he could do better work as a general than as a footsoldier, David jogged over to join them.

“Is she all right?”

Bae shook his head.  “I can’t tell.  She’s out cold.”

“Better get her to safety, then.”  Now David was actually grateful that they’d landed in front of Granny’s; he knew it was where the fairies had set up shop as healers.

“We’ll take her, mate.”  The unexpected sound of Killian’s voice made him turn, only to find Killian and Lily had just emerged from the diner.  Lily looked bruised and angry, but they were both intact.

“ _You’ll_ take her, you mean.”  Lily glared.  “I need to get in the air.”

“Love—” Killian looked like swallowing his objections was hard.  “Just be careful.”

“Same to you.  At least I’ll be above the worst of it.”  She blew him a kiss, leaping forward, and the unexpected downdraft almost knocked David straight into the ground.  But when he looked up, there were _three_ dragons in the air, and the biggest of them all roared in delight as Maleficent spotted Lily.

“I’ll help,” Bae volunteered, grabbing Tink’s feet as Killian got her arms.  They jogged towards Granny’s together, and David turned back to make sense of the non-magical battle raging in the street.

* * *

 

“Grand Pabbie, do you know what’s happening?” Anna spoke up before Elsa or Kristoff could get a word in edgewise…not that Elsa was surprised.  She loved her sister’s enthusiasm, although she sometimes wished that Anna would let her handle the problem solving.

She _was_ queen, after all, and it was her job.  But Anna was always so cheerfully overbearing that Elsa usually just let her do the talking, at least until things got dire.  _Besides, Grand Pabbie is basically her father-in-law.  I suppose that counts for a lot._

“Alas, yes, I do.”  Grand Pabbie’s face screwed up in a frown that made Elsa’s heart try to freeze.  She could feel it, too, could sense how bad things were getting.  The obvious shaking of the ground had stopped, but that didn’t mean deeper magic wasn’t at play.

“Then what is it?” Kristoff asked, sounding worried.

“It started as portal jumper magic, but now it’s spread to many realms.”  A grimace, and then he suddenly looked her way.  “You can feel it, too, can’t you, Your Majesty?”

Numb, Elsa nodded.  “Yes.  It’s like the world is…shrinking.”

“That’s because it is.”  Grand Pabbie glanced over at his fellows, all of whom looked as spooked as Elsa had ever seen any rock troll.  “All the worlds are shrinking.  They’re coming together, with the walls between them collapsing.  If no one stops it, soon all the worlds will be one.”

“But that sounds terrible!”  Anna had already gone pale; enthusiastic though she might be, Elsa’s baby sister had never been stupid.  “Where will all the people go if the worlds _shrink_?”

“They’ll die.”  Elsa had never really felt cold in her life, but now she shivered.  “Won’t they?”

Grand Pabbie just nodded.

“We have to help!  What can we do?  Can Elsa use her magic to slow it somehow?  Can you?” Anna asked immediately.  “Can we go back to Storybrooke and warn people?  Maybe we can get Emma or Belle’s husband to help.  We have to _tell_ people what’s happening, have to stop this before it’s too late—”

Elsa cut her off with a shake of her head.  “If I can feel it, Anna, they can, too.  And I wouldn’t even know how to get there from here.  Unless Grand Pabbie can help.”  She shot the rock troll a hopeful look, but he just shook his head.

“Memories I am good at, but travel between realms is beyond my power.  As is slowing this slide.  I am afraid we can do nothing from here.”

Anna argued, but Elsa had already known it was true.  She didn’t like standing by and doing nothing—and she hated the idea of letting someone else decide her fate—but this problem was not something she could fight.  _But I_ can _make sure my people are safe,_ she decided.  If the world was going to shrink, she could bring her people into the castle and make sure they didn’t shrink with it.  So, she turned to Grand Pabbie, interrupted Anna, and got to work.

* * *

 

The battle faded to nothingness as Rumplestiltskin threw himself to his knees at Belle’s side.  She was conscious and breathing; he’d made sure of that even as he went after Jhudora.  But Belle was _hurt_ , which meant Rumplestiltskin cared about nothing else.  He could be reasonably certain that Danns’ would stop anyone from attacking him while he healed Belle—as she had said, this was the one matter in which they would never stand apart.  So, Rumplestiltskin ignored the world while he bent over Belle, his eyes and his magic sweeping over her as fast as he could process the information.

Jhudora’s spell had knocked her to the ground hard, and Belle had hit her head on the way down.  She was bleeding somewhat heavily from the back of the skull, but that was a wound that Rumplestiltskin could heal with a wave of one hand.  He did—carefully—watching the magical threads wrapping around Belle.  Jhudora hadn’t done a lot of damage; even she was not so foolish.  Clearly, she’d only wanted to court her mistress’ anger far enough to knock Belle out of the fight, but Belle wasn’t the only one Rumplestiltskin needed to worry for.

An infusion of warm and light magic, magic absolutely different than he’d used on Jhudora just moments earlier, healed the bruises and cuts Belle had suffered when she hit the pavement.  Then he turned his attention to their daughter, still cocooned safely in Belle’s womb.  Gabrielle seemed safe; she’d been jarred slightly by the impact, but Rumplestiltskin could fix that, too. 

 _She’s all right.  They’re both all right._   Only once he allowed that thought to solidify did he notice how his hands were shaking, and Rumplestiltskin let out a ragged breath.

I can’t lose them.  Nothing is worth that.  The voice inside him was the old spinner’s voice, the voice of a man who had been gladly branded a coward to go home to his son.  A shiver ran through Rumplestiltskin.  No battle, no victory, is worth losing my family.

Belle moaned softly, and Rumplestiltskin gathered her into his arms, pulling her close.  He loved her so much that it hurt, worried so much for their unborn daughter that he could work himself into a panic attack here and now.  So much of him— _all_ of the man he had been, spinner and Dark One both—wanted to run away from this battle, too, wanted to drop everything and make a peace or just _leave_.  He was terrified of losing his family, and yet…running away was not the answer.  Rumplestiltskin had learned that, finally.

He could run away and save his family, but what kind of world would that mean leaving to his daughter?  To his son?  His children and grandchildren had to live in this world, and a world where Danns’ reigned supreme might be safe for Belle and Gabrielle, but _safety_ wasn’t as important as freedom, was it?  He could run, but if he did, his allies would lose.  Being the lynchpin of such a battle wasn’t a feeling Rumplestiltskin enjoyed.  In fact, he hated the responsibility.  But it was his.   And Belle would not have been fighting if she didn’t believe in this, either.

“Rumple…?”

“Hey.”  He helped her sit up, and watched Belle blink dizzily.  A foolish fae sent a spell his way, but Rumplestiltskin raised a hand and blocked it without thought, flinging back towards the idiot who had cast it.  Ealdun cried out, and then went back to tormenting Tinker Bell.  “How do you feel?”

She frowned, still blinking.  “What happened?”

“Jhudora decided she no longer wanted to play by your grandmother’s rules.”  Rumplestiltskin managed to say the words without gritting his teeth, but only barely.  And then he couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice as he added: “She won’t make that choice again.”

Or any others.

“You healed me.”

“Of course I did.”  Rumplestiltskin thought that should be self evident; there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Belle, and of course he would heal her if she was hurt and unable to heal herself.  “You’re both fine.”

“But the fight—”

“Let me send you home and I’ll get right back to it.”  Rumplestiltskin knew that Belle wanted to help, but surely this was enough.  Jhudora had been foolish enough to attack Belle, and who was to say that another fae wouldn’t do the same?

“No.”  Belle shook her head, climbing to her feet with a steely look in her eye.  “I’m here to help.  I’ll just have to be more careful, that’s all.  I shouldn’t have neglected my own defenses, even if I thought they wouldn’t attack me.”

Rumplestiltskin scrambled upright.  “Belle—”

“I’m here to the end, Rumple.”  She squeezed his arm.  “Some things are worth fighting for.”

He could hardly argue with words that so neatly echoed his recent thoughts, so Rumplestiltskin nodded reluctantly.  “So they are.”

Belle came up on her tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek.  “I love you.”

“And I you.”  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand, but that was all there was time for.  Danns’ had already turned back to her spell with the hat, and he could feel it stretching out to other realms.

There was no time to waste, so he raised his hands and sent magic sailing towards the Black Fairy.

* * *

 

Morgan had been watching for her chance, and had been about to take it when Jhudora was stupid enough to go after Belle.  That distracted both Danns’ and Rumplestiltskin, and while Morgan would have happily exploited the former, she was not prepared to do so while her son rushed to his wife’s side.  She was glad to see Jhudora dead, though, and used the opportunity to teleport herself away from where Maleficent—and now Lily—were circling Arachne.  They didn’t need her help, not when Mal could return to human form and battle Arachne while Lily stayed in the air.  Mordred, however, was now at the wrong end of three-to-one odds, fighting Yara, Odelia, and Hobyah.  The former pair were an unfortunately good team, too; they’d managed to take advantage of the damage Nuckelavee had done and had knocked Mordred to the ground.

Until Morgan appeared right behind Odelia and cut her in half with Galatine, anyway.  Then she blasted Yara aside with a ball of dark purple magic.  Hobyah dodged away, landing at Yara’s side, which gave Morgan the time to help Mordred to his feet.  He scowled.

“Needing saving by one’s mother is terribly embarrassing, Mother.”

She rolled her eyes.  “My heart bleeds for you.”

“Of course it does.”  His obvious irritation fed Mordred’s magic, though, and he threw a spiral of darkness at Hobyah that caught the fae up in a nasty little tornado.  A wave of Mordred’s hand sent Hobyah sailing right into Ealdun, who had looked like he wanted to join the battle in front of Granny’s.  The pair went down with a cry, and the tornado expanded to hold Ealdun, too.

“Nicely done.”  Morgan couldn’t help nodding approval; that was one of the neater spells she’d ever seen Mordred use.  Her eldest son could be plenty subtle when he put his mind to it, as well as smart and tricky, although Mordred’s impatience sometimes got the better of him, particularly in the heat of the moment.

He smirked briefly.  “Perhaps not quite as impressive as cutting Odelia in half, but I do aim to please.”

“As well you should.”  Morgan quirked a smile and then fired two spells at Hobyah, who was proving far trickier than the others.  But her spells made him dodge left, just as she’d meant to—

And Lily promptly bathed the fae in a stream of fire, forcing Hobyah to teleport himself out of the fight to put the flames out.  He’d be gone for some time, which meant Morgan and Mordred _both_ had several free moments.  Ealdun and Yara were still caught in Mordred’s little tornado, fighting one another as much as they fought the magic trapping them.  Belle was heading in that direction, anyway, strengthening the tornado in her own non-lethal but surprisingly potent manner.  Regina was still dealing with her two fae, and Mal was now dueling with Arachne as Lily continued to chase Hobyah.  Tad seemed to have joined Lily, and Nuckelavee had just been knocked head-over-heels by Emma Swan.  There were only seven fae left in the fight, not counting their queen.  _It’s now or never,_ Morgan told herself, turning to where her youngest son continued to duel with Danns’ a’Bhàis. 

“With me.”  Her short words said enough to Mordred; he moved forward at her side and immediately threw another one of those black tornadoes at Danns’.  Danns’ batted it aside, of course, but that gave Morgan time to try to yank the hat itself away.  Danns’ stopped her, and suddenly a wall of asphalt rose out of the street, trying to bury her and Mordred both.

Morgan dodged left; Mordred went right, and Rumplestiltskin nailed Danns’ with a freezing spell the moment she took her attention off of him.  Morgan heard the Black Fairy snarl, but she didn’t stop to admire her son’s handiwork.  Instead, she dug into all the darkness she had, into everything that had awoken in her when Emma’s original darkness had nearly killed her.  Channeling that pure destruction, Morgan aimed it straight for the hat, seeking to rip it to pieces.  She was going to end this _now_ , win the centuries of war and keep the worlds from ever being merged.  The jet of black light left her hands, burning outwards towards the hat—

“Mother, no!”

But Rumplestiltskin’s cry came too late.  The hat exploded as Morgan’s spell hit, sending a tidal wave of darkness crashing outwards.

* * *

 

Jefferson collapsed.

Henry almost didn’t notice; he’d been holding his young uncle, and Neal had picked just that moment to start crying.  _Loudly_ , too.  But Jefferson’s sudden scream—and Whale’s cry of his name—cut through even that, and Henry’s head whipped around just in time to see Jefferson hit the floor.

The rumble stilled for a moment, though, which Henry found weird.  The floor had been shaking and trembling, until there was a long moment of nothing.  For a moment, he’d dared to hope that they’d won, and maybe the destruction of the hat had made Jefferson fall. However, the way Jefferson was shaking his head as Whale helped him sit up made Henry’s heart plummet.

“What happened, Papa?” Grace asked, her quiet voice very loud in the sudden stillness.

“It’s starting.” Jefferson’s voice was a strained rasp.  His eyes were suddenly bloodshot and huge, and Henry felt himself shiver.  Even Neal stopped crying, seeming to understand that everything had gone _wrong_.  “The worlds are moving.”

“But I thought that the hat only linked two realms,” Henry objected before he could stop himself.

“It did.  But the magic’s been released from the hat, and there’s no telling what it will do, now.”  Jefferson grimaced.  “It all depends on who gets control of it first.”

The floor beneath Henry’s feet started _sliding_ , no longer shaking but seemingly drawn towards another place by a powerfully magnetic force.  Stumbling, Henry barely managed not to drop Neal.  The only silver lining was that his uncle seemed too frightened to even cry.

Jefferson’s expression was a dark and strained pantomime of a smile.  “Here we go.”

* * *

 

Just when Will thought the shaking couldn’t get worse, something else did.  Everything was sliding together, and he didn’t have to know jack about magic to know how bad this was.  “I’ve _got_ to stop doing that,” he muttered, and then jumped when Anastasia put a hand on his arm.

“Stop doing what?  Talking to yourself?”  Her smile was joking, but he could see the worry in her eyes.

“Thinking things can’t get worse.  They always do.”

“Oh.”  She swallowed.  “Well, that does seem to be the story of our lives, doesn’t it?”

Will tried to smile, but it felt forced. “It’s not always bad, is it?  I mean, love’s messy, an’ we fight all the time, but we make up pretty well, don’t we?”

“That we do.”  Ana leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder, and Will felt like his heart was going to burst.  “I love you, Will.”

“An’ I love you.  Even when I’m an idiot.  I’m sorry, too.  For screwin’ everything up, before.  I was wrong.”  He’d said it before, but Will felt like he needed to say it again.  He’d been scared and stupid, certain that Ana was turning back towards dark magic.  He’d been _wrong_ , too, and hadn’t let her get a word in edgewise before he’d stormed back off to Storybrooke.  Being there, of course, had just reminded him of everything he’d lost, and Will knew that coming back home had been the best choice he’d ever made.

Even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that _home_ wouldn’t last much longer if this kept up.

* * *

 

People fell like dominos.  Emma had _finally_ gotten the upper hand on Nuckelavee a few moments earlier, but now it didn’t matter.  She’d gone flying, too, just like everyone else.  It was like a giant fist had slammed down on the center of Main Street when Morgan had cast that stupid spell, and the resulting shock wave had knocked them all down.  Several long moments passed before Emma could focus past the ringing in her ears, but every instinct she had screamed at her to _get up_ and this was _so_ damned wrong.  So, Emma pushed herself up, staggering dizzily, only to find that she was the just the second person who’d managed to do it.

Danns’ had beat her, of course, and she was _laughing._

“Thank you for your assistance, Morgan.”  The rainbow-colored vortex that had been contained by the hat was now deep into the street, digging into the pavement and leading to nothing good.  “It turned out that Zelena’s magic was not _quite_ enough of a catalyst, but you provided everything it lacked.”

“This isn’t over.”  Morgan looked stunned, though, and she was having a hard time getting up.  Then again, she’d been a lot closer to the blast than Emma had.  Rumplestiltskin had been closer still, and he looked like he’d been hit hardest of all.  He still wasn’t up, even though Belle bent over him and was trying to help him stand.

Even Tad had been knocked out of the sky, and although Emma didn’t really know jack about dragons, he looked unconscious.  Lily had dropped to the ground to hover over her father, but she looked shaken, too.  Hell, _everyone_ looked shaken.  Emma still felt like her limbs were made of jelly; that explosion hadn’t been good.  In fact, she was starting to think it had unbalanced the nature of magic, though Emma wasn’t exactly studied enough to guess how.  But she could still feel the way the street underneath her feet wanted to slide outwards from where the hat had been.

And then Danns’ hands rose again, glowing with silver and black power.  She had been right on top of the hat when it exploded, yet she seemed almost unaffected.  Had she anticipated what Morgan would try?  There was no way to know, but Emma did know that someone had to stop her.  Someone had to try to contain that for as long as possible.  _Dark magic made it worse; maybe light magic can make it better,_ Emma reasoned.  Despite her recent lessons from Regina, Emma knew that she’d always be more of a power user than a font of magical knowledge, yet as the Savior, she had plenty of power at her disposal.

So Emma’s hands whipped up, and she threw every bit of light, love, and determination at that vortex as she could handle.  The resulting impact didn’t cause an explosion so much as an _implosion_ , and her bright white magic sucked _into_ the vortex, slowing its rapid twist.  That wasn’t enough, and Emma could feel it, so she doubled her efforts, picturing Henry’s face in her mind and pouring more and more magic into it.

To her left, Nuckelavee was up and moving, but if Emma could only hold for a few more moments, she knew she could slow the slide.  But her vision was already starting to white out, and then Danns’ spun on her and magic raced at Emma—

Only to be deflected by Belle, who was suddenly between her and Danns’.  Emma thought she heard the Black Fairy saying something angry, but she couldn’t quite hear right.  Magic was pounding in her ears, consuming everything she was, but Emma knew she had to do _something._ She hadn’t been supposed to deal with the portal, but she was the damned Savior, and Emma wasn’t going to stand around and do nothing while the world fell apart.  Still, she was starting to flag, ready to collapse, until power unexpectedly joined hers, and the pressure lessened.  Golden light mixed with white, braiding together in a brilliant weave that even Danns’ could not stop.  Moments ticked by, and then Emma’s vision cleared enough to see the vortex _stop_.

The slide paused.

“Well done, Miss Swan.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice actually sounded impressed, if tired, and Emma was pretty sure that had never happened before.  _At least not when I’m doing magic, anyway!_

She shot him a glare.  Formality when she was dating his son was stupid.  “I thought I told you to call me Emma.”

“So you did.”  He shrugged, and then spun to engage Danns’ once more.  Emma thought about jumping in on that front, but the sound of Nuckelavee’s irritated voice made her turn.

“Get out of the way, girl.”  He was glaring at Belle, for once not seductive and gloating, but actually annoyed.

“No.”  Belle didn’t even twitch; she’d blocked whatever spell Nuckelavee had thrown at Emma and looked ready to do it again.

But Emma knew who Nuckelavee really was targeting, and she could manage this fine on her own, particularly if it freed Belle to work on other things.  “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  Go help your husband kill that portal once and for all.”  Emma turned her gaze on Nuckelavee as Belle stepped aside.  “You want to end this?”

“I want to end _you_.”  He seemed back on balance with Belle out of the way, back to his usual creepy tricks.

Emma just shrugged.  “Well, then come do your best.”

* * *

 

Tink was in good hands, so Bae and Killian headed back into the fight.  They stepped outside of Granny’s front courtyard just in time to see _everyone_ fighting cascade to the ground, like a giant wave had rolled over them and knocked them flat.  They were far enough out of the blast radius that neither got hit—or maybe they’d just come outside a fraction of a second too late to get smacked.  Either way, Bae was glad to have dodged that bullet.  Quickly, he looked at his cousin.

“C’mon.  Let’s get back in there before everyone gets up.”

“Aye.  Let’s find David and see if we can make some sense of this chaos.” 

Together, they jogged forward, pausing only so that Killian could pick up a sword that someone had dropped.  It was one of the silver-tipped ones, nearly identical to the one Bae himself had, and it would kill a fae if either of them could get close enough.  Regina still seemed to be dealing with both of the ones that they’d chased here, though one of them had just teleported off to who-knew-where.  Regina knocked the other one on his ass just as Bae ducked a wild swing from a knight who had just managed to get up, and then Killian ran the guy through before the knight could catch his balance.

“Nice one.”  Bae grinned.  He didn’t like killing on principle, but this was a battle, and if they were going to keep control of Storybrooke, they really didn’t have much of a choice.

Besides, fighting _with_ Killian was a lot better than fighting against him, like they’d ended up doing too many times in Neverland.  That thought made him glance at his cousin again, and then movement caught Bae’s eye as the female fae teleported back into the fight just a few feet away from where they were.  She was looking right at Killian, and she something purple and pink glowed in her hands.  It zoomed forward, and without thinking, Bae lunged forward.

“Look out!”

Killian yelped, but Bae’s shoulder had already hit him hard enough to knock Killian aside.  Then the purplish-pink spark  hit him square in the chest.

Everything went blank, and Bae rocked back on his heels, blinking in confusion.  He had a sword in his hand.  Why did he have a sword in his hand?  And why was he in the middle of a bunch of people who were _fighting_ with swords?  This had to be a nightmare.  There was no other possible explanation, except for the fact that most of his melee fight nightmares took place in Neverland, and there was a distinctive lack of jungle going on around him.

“Bae?  You all right?” 

The voice was familiar, and Bae turned to stare at the speaker.  It took him a long moment to recognize Captain Hook, but at least _he_ fit in with the nightmare.  Except for the fact that he didn’t have a hook, and he knocked some armor-wearing guy out while Bae watched stupidly.  There were a lot of people wearing armor around them, and that didn’t happen in Neverland.  Not to mention the fact that everyone was an adult, and he was wearing some sort of breastplate over modern clothes, too.  A quick look around showed him that he was on some sort of street, with a library to the right and a diner behind him.  _Definitely not Neverland._   And maybe not a nightmare, either.

“Get down!” Suddenly, Hook dragged him right off his feet, and magic—damned magic!—sailed over both of them as they hit the pavement.  _Hard._

Yeah, not a nightmare.  Nightmares didn’t hurt so much when you hit the ground.

“Where the hell am I?  And where did your hook go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continued support for this behemoth of a story! For those who are curious, I’ve finally finished off the battle, and it’ll sew up in Chapter 120. Then, of course, we do have some aftermath to get through.
> 
> Next up, Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen—“…Is the Brain”, in which Neal’s condition becomes clear, Belle makes a choice, Regina saves a friend, Emma plays with a fire hydrant, David is challenged to a duel, and Rumplestiltskin proves himself to be a chess master one last time.


	119. …Is the Brain

The last thing he remembered, Neal was in a bar in Manhattan, arguing with Emma.  She’d brought his father to New York, he remembered.  He couldn’t blame Emma, not after how he’d hurt her, but he couldn’t believe that she’d found him for his father, either.  Neal had spent centuries running from his father, and had figured that the Land Without Magic was the one place where he could successfully hide.  After all, if the Dark One had been willing to give up magic to come with him in the first place, he’d have done it back when Neal was a teenager.  That demon who had consumed his father certainly wasn’t interested in coming to this world, which meant he was supposed to be _safe_.

Except the strange tang of magic was in his mouth for the first time in years, and he definitely wasn’t in that bar any more.  He wasn’t in Neverland, either, despite the fact that he’d been convinced he was stuck in a nightmare.  No, this was still the same place he’d made his home for the past decade and a half, or at least the same world.   This was clearly the modern world.  The diner he was right in front of was straight out of the twentieth century; it was a little old-fashioned, but nothing in the old world had a neon sign.  The street Hook had tackled him to was asphalt, and there were cars down the road.  Yeah, it was the modern world, that was for sure.

It definitely wasn’t New York City, though.

Hook’s voice made Neal turn.  “Bae, what’s happened to you?  One moment we were fighting side by side, and the next—”

“Fighting?”  Blinking, Neal looked around.  Yeah, there was a battle.  He’d realized that earlier; his head was just too damned fuzzy to make sense of it.  Why were people in armor fighting in the modern world?  Why did he have a sword in his hand?

How the hell had he gotten _here_?  Just minutes ago, he’d been sitting in a bar with the love of his life, realizing that she still hated him with every fiber of her being.  Emma’s hatred was justified, of course, but that didn’t make it easier to bear.  The last Neal remembered, he’d been stuck in the lowest point of his life, feeling more isolated and alone than he had since his father had dropped him through that portal.  Sitting in that bar had been the one of the worst moments in a generally unpleasant life, and while Neal wasn’t exactly sad to have gotten out of it, he was aware of a great big blank filling the space between then and now.

“Aye, fighting.  Did you hit your head on the way down and forget the bloody battle raging around us?”  Grabbing his shoulder roughly, Hook hauled him clear of the fighting, knocking out a knight in the back of the head on the way by.

_I hope that dude was an enemy,_ he thought dimly, still dazed by the battle.  And that funny taste was still sharp in his mouth.

“I think a spell hit me.”  Centuries in Neverland made that the only possible explanation.  He’d been hit by several memory spells over the years, but never one that screwed with his mind quite this much.  “Something’s messing with my memory.”

“I kind of figured that out, yes.”  Hook looked him up and down, like he was searching for something that Neal didn’t understand.  And Neal really didn’t like the look, not at all.  It made him glare.

“ _What_?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?  You asked where my former…accessory went, so you don’t remember _that_ change.  Did your memory go back to when you came out of the Vault?”

Neal blinked.  “Vault?  What vault?”

“Bloody—” Hook cut off, looking annoyed.  “What’s the last thing you remember, lad?”

Being called that made him scowl.  “Sitting in a bar with Emma.  Her being mad at me, and with good reason.  Not that you know who she is.”

“Aye, I know who she is.”  Hook looked uneasy for a moment.  “But that’s a complicated tale.  What bar?  How long ago?”

“How the hell should I know?”  Something exploded off to the left, making Neal’s head snap around.  There was a second fight going on, right in the middle of the intersection, and damn _everything_ to hell, that one seemed to include magic.

_What the hell did you think was going on, you moron?  You got hit by a spell, so this ‘Land Without Magic’ isn’t all it cracked up to be._ Part of him wanted to scream and swear, though; every time he thought he had life straightened out, magic came around to screw everything up.  He’d thought that wouldn’t happen in this world, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“Right.  Sorry.”  Hook grimaced.  “Of course you wouldn’t.  Right, then, let’s cover the important bits.  This is Storybrooke.  We’re fighting to stop the Black Fairy from merging all the worlds into one via a portal jumper’s hat, killing thousands in the process.”

“Since when do you care about thousands of people dying?” He couldn’t help the question; Hook hadn’t been as bad as Pan, but he’d hardly been some hero, either.

Hook shrugged.  “A lot has changed since you came back to Storybrooke.”

“Storybrooke.”  The word tasted strange on his tongue, even though Neal remembered getting a postcard from August when the curse was broken.  _Greetings from Storybrooke,_ it had said.  Now here he was.

“Aye.  It’s a strange town, but it’s home.”

Neal opened his mouth to reply, but movement caught his eye.  That was _Emma_ facing off with some white-haired dude, blasting magic at the guy.  Magic?  _Emma has_ magic?  Neal felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his skull as the guy threw something dark and nasty at Emma, only for her to slam it back in his face.  Some other chick who didn’t look quite human took a potshot at Emma, but she dodged and then an older woman knocked the inhuman chick down with yet another spell of some sort.  _How many sorcerers are in this damn town?_   The thought made him shiver—right up until an explosion of silver and gold light suddenly filled the street.

Neal froze.  That was his _father_ standing face to face with a woman who _definitely_ wasn’t human; she was tall and red haired, with pale skin that contrasted frighteningly against the black and silver dress she wore.  One glance was enough to mark her as dangerous, as dark and deadly, and she absolutely had to be the ‘Black Fairy’ Hook had mentioned.  But then why was his _father_ facing off with her?  Surely, the Dark One would be the first to jump on that destructive Black Fairy bus.  Smashing realms together sounded like a logical upgrade from the crap his dad had been doing back in the Enchanted Forest before he dropped his son into a portal.

He had to get out of this town.

Didn’t he?

Part of him wanted to run.  Neal wanted to run so hard and so fast that no one could ever catch him, wanted to steal some car and never look back.  Yet he’d obviously come here at some point in time or another, had chosen to fight this fight.  Had he come for Emma?  He could believe that, even if she hated him.  He’d screwed up her life, after all, but if she’d come here to a town full of fairytale characters, that meant she’d found her family.  _She broke the curse.  August sent me the postcard, and I was going to try to help her._   So maybe that was why he was here.

The rest could wait.  He didn’t want to have to deal with his father, but Emma deserved help, so Neal would do what he could.  If he was lucky—which he never was, so hoping was really kind of stupid—past him would have already dealt with his dad, and he wouldn’t have to say or do anything.

* * *

 

They had stopped the reaction, but even Belle could tell that was only temporary.  The battle had started going in circles; they gained and then they lost, and the fate of all the realms teetered in the balance.  Fae had died, people on their side had been hurt, and the non-magical battle raged behind them, but none of that really mattered, did it?  They had to do _something_ to break this stalemate, and they had to do it fast.

Belle had wanted to remain on the defensive for this battle.  She had thought that she could, too; she knew that her grandmother would not let the fae hurt her.  But Jhudora’s actions had changed everything, even if Nuckelavee seemed to respect those commands.  Belle had tried to only defend her allies, and yet even she could see that ability slipping through her fingers.  Belle always wanted to see the best in everyone, and she _didn’t_ want to have to hurt anyone…but she knew that battles were ugly things.  And perhaps she had been married to a planner and a manipulator for too long, but she could see where this was going.  This battle could go on and on, with Rumplestiltskin and her grandmother evenly matched, hammering at one another until there was no one else left.

And Belle knew that _she_ could change that.  No one else could; the others were all engaged in trying to eliminate the rest of the fae.  Emma had been right.  Rumplestiltskin might be holding his own against Danns’, but he couldn’t fight Belle’s grandmother and dismantle the portal at the same time.

So, Belle squared her shoulders and stepped up to her husband’s side.  “I’ll defend you while you take the portal apart.”

“Are you certain, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin parried a particularly nasty spell her grandmother flung at him, and then his dark eyes flicked to her.  “This isn’t going to get any less ugly.”

“I’m sure.”  Belle nodded firmly.  She had made her choices, and she was willing to fight for them.

Even if it meant going against her own grandmother.

“Step aside, Belle.” Danns’ spoke up almost as if on cue.  “I do not want to see you hurt.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have started this at all.”  Digging deep into her magic, focusing on her love for Rumplestiltskin, Belle visualized the best shield she could summon between her husband and her grandmother.  _True Love is the most powerful magic of all._ Belle knew that, and more importantly, she knew that focusing on the True Love they shared—the True Love she and Rumplestiltskin had fought for, fought over, and damned near lost so many times—would give her power beyond her own natural abilities.

“I will not stop now.”  Her grandmother spoke sternly, as if she would to a child.  Danns’ green eyes were dark and Belle could feel the power around her building and building.

“Then we will make you stop.”

In one smooth motion, Belle brought the shield up, watching it shimmer and grow, glowing in the air between Rumplestiltskin and Danns’.  It was far stronger than the generalized defense she’d built earlier; this one just focused on the man she loved and whom she would do anything to protect.  Several moments passed while Danns’ hesitated, and for a moment, Belle thought her grandmother might actually _stop_.  She had said repeatedly that she didn’t want to attack Belle; would she hold to that now?

Then black and silver power erupted from Danns’ hands, and Belle had her answer.

* * *

 

David seemed to have things organized, now, or at least people weren’t just running around like idiots with death wishes.  Hook had dragged Rumple’s idiot child off to the side for some reason or another, but Regina didn’t really care about what was going on there.  Tad was down for the count and no longer any help, and it looked like several other people had suffered broken limbs when that explosion of magic had come from the hat.  Despite that, their side was finally organized, with David shouting orders and Midas gathering up any fools who tried to play hero.  Robin was still off to the side, picking off the enemy with his bow, but Regina couldn’t spare the attention to make sure that he wasn’t hurt at all.

She had her hands too full with the pair of fae who were trying to kill anyone and everyone they could.  Khanty targeted Midas even as Regina hit Titania in the face with a fireball, and she barely managed to teleport over in time to stop that.  But then Khanty teleported away before Regina could even send a counterattack his way, leaving her looking around wildly, trying to figure out where he’d gone.  Regina’s heart was pounding in her ears; she could see Titania trying to heal herself, but Khanty was the threat at the moment, and she _had_ to find him.

Suddenly, movement caught the corner of her right eye, and Regina twisted just in time to see Khanty appear a few scant feet behind David, his magic racing out to kill the man who was clearly in command of their fighters.  Quickly, Regina teleported into the way, but Khanty sidestepped her and lunged straight for David’s back, silvery ice magic reaching for David.  Regina threw herself in the way, deflecting the magic at such close range that a cold shock ran up her arms.  Her wrists tried to lock up immediately, but Regina didn’t have time to magic them into submission, so she ignored it.

There wasn’t time to do anything fancy, so Regina met Khanty halfway, slamming magic into his face with her left hand as she grabbed for his heart with her right.  She couldn’t let him kill David, couldn’t let them—

Her hand bounced off his chest.

“Didn’t you think we’d know about that old trick of yours?” Khanty laughed.  “I protected myself the moment I saw you.”

“Well, I’m glad my reputation precedes me.”  Regina smiled her nastiest smile, and then lunged in close, grabbing Khanty by the hair as he yelped, and then physically hauling him around.  “ _Robin_!”

Regina turned on blind trust.  She didn’t have a quick way to kill Khanty without being able to crush his heart, but Robin had silver-tipped arrows in his quiver.  If she could just hold Khanty still long enough, and if Robin’s reflexes were fast enough, they had a chance.  Khanty certainly hadn’t been expecting a physical assault—after all, magical battles were neater than that—and it took him a moment to start fighting her.  Even when he did, Khanty was slender and willowy, and Regina was determined to hold him still.  She figured she could hold him for several moments, at least.  But then she didn’t have to.

The arrow slammed into Khanty’s chest within seconds of Regina’s shout, and the fae made a tiny whimpering sound before he went limp.

“I guess that works.”  Regina dropped Khanty with a shrug, only to find David staring at her.

“Thanks.”  Her stepson-in-law’s smile was crooked.  “Never thought I’d have you saving my life like that, you know.”

“Thank Robin.  He shot the guy.”  Regina shrugged self-consciously.  She’d come to think of the Charmings as family, but that didn’t mean she really knew what to do with being thanked.

And it did _not_ make her feel warm inside, either, thank you very much.

“Oh, I will.”  David chuckled.  “But I did notice how you saved me first, so I’m thanking you, too.”

Regina opened her mouth to object, but a sudden cry split the air, and they turned in time to see August hit the ground in two distinctive pieces.

Titania turned to Regina with a smile, stepping over August’s dead body as if it was nothing.  “Now you can deal with me.”

Rage ripped through Regina; she’d never really liked the puppet-turned-writer, but he deserved better than being killed as a bid for attention.  “Fine.”  The words tore out of her in a snarl, and Regina brought her hands up, full of deadly fire.  “Bring it.”

* * *

 

His family was full of fools, but Mordred supposed he was no exception.  The blast from his mother’s ill-advised attempt to destroy the hat had hit them all hard, Morgan most of all.  It made sense that his mother’s magic would reverberate on her the strongest, but it had damn near knocked Mordred out, too.  He knew that Rumplestiltskin had taken a huge hit, too, even though his brother was up and now working to dismantle the connections between the worlds as Belle kept Danns’ off his back.

Mordred wanted to help with that, but first he needed to make sure his own corner of the battle was sewn up.  He and his mother had been thrown together by the blast, and with Tink and Tad both out of the fray, they were facing Yara, Hobyah, and Ealdun between them.  Never before had Mordred so missed his ability to turn into a dragon; dragonfire had once been his most potent weapon, and being without it left him feeling naked.

“Take these two,” Morgan snapped, gesturing at Hobyah and Ealdun. 

“Gladly.”  Mordred didn’t hesitate; he stepped forward and twisted up the spell that Hobyah had thrown at his mother, redirecting it towards Ealdun.  It hit Ealdun hard, wrapping him in a tornado of black and purple magic and tearing him off of the ground.

Meanwhile, Morgan strode forward, exchanging spells with Yara with her left hand as she held Galatine in her right.  But the way she’d cut Odelia in half with the sword had clearly left Yara on her guard, and the fae teleported away before Morgan could get into range.  Yara wasn’t an idiot—unfortunately—and she clearly wanted nothing to do with Galatine.  Morgan, however, hissed in annoyance.

Mordred chuckled, flinging another spell at Hobyah and watching the fae barely dodge in time.  “You can’t expect that trick to work twice, Mother.”

“I damn well can.”

“I understand that this world says that the definition of insanity is—” Mordred cut off as Yara reappeared behind his mother.  Hobyah immediately turned his attention on Morgan, trying to distract her, and Ealdun wormed his way free of the nasty little tornado just in time to help.  Morgan blasted Ealdun back immediately, but Hobyah dodged, and Mordred acted.

A quick teleportation landed him right behind Yara, and Mordred summoned blazing hot fire to his palm.  He might not be able to _breathe_ fire these days, but he was still more immune to it than most, so he brought his searing spell down directly on the back of Yara’s neck.  His spell sizzled right through skin and bones, tearing her head half off within a second or so.

“—doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results,” he finished, watching Yara’s body drop at his feet.

Morgan shot him a glare. “Help your brother.  I’ll finish these two.”

* * *

 

Belle’s shield had almost cracked by the time Mordred appeared at her side, and Rumplestiltskin felt more than saw the way his brother reinforced the magic keeping Danns’ spells away from him.  Rumplestiltskin disliked hiding—coward though he’d often been, the man he’d become disliked letting someone else take risks that should have been his.  Or maybe he just hated having to depend on someone else’s magic.  He’d been relentlessly self-reliant for so long that it burned to need protection…but he trusted Belle.  And, oddly enough, he trusted Mordred, too.

Pushing aside the effects of the earlier blast, Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to mentally curse his mother yet again.  Morgan _should_ have known better, but she’d gotten impatient—as had they all.  The battle had been raging for at least two hours, and the sun was now high enough in the sky to mean they’d been at this entirely too long.  The worst part was that the battle couldn’t end until _he_ dismantled the damned portal, either; even killing Danns’ wouldn’t do that trick.  Yet the portal had to go, first, particularly now that his mother had destroyed the blasted hat.  _If she hadn’t done that, we could have stopped the reaction with the hat, but now…_

There was no use crying over it, though.  No use at all.

So, Rumplestiltskin dropped still deeper into his magic, cutting loose the ties that had kept him from falling in too deeply and drowning.  Danns’ spellwork was too tight for him to keep doing what he’d been doing; this magic needed to be dismantled _now_.  Yet doing this was terrifying.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure where the bottom of his magic was, or even if there was one.  He had no way of knowing how he’d come out in the end, or even if he could, but he knew that he had to do this.  Untangling the threads was taking too damned long.  He couldn’t just be the clever dealmaker who always found a loophole.  Today, he had to be the Sorcerer.

“You need not do this, Rumplestiltskin.”  Danns’ voice rang out, but it was not a plea—it was a threat.

He meet her eyes, feeling the old fury pull at him.  But for once, his fury was not for his plans being obstructed; no, it was at this so-called queen of the fae, who sought to ruin all the realms in the name of her ambition.  “Nor need _you_.”

“I will do as I must, but you need not oppose me.  You can have all you wish in a world where—”

“Do you say this because you fear you will lose, or because you need allies so badly?” Rumplestiltskin cut her off with a snort, gesturing at the dwindling number of fae still fighting his allies.  Even as he did so, Emma trapped Nuckelavee in a tornado of both water and fire, and the fae screamed in rage.  “Or do you simply fear that I will _stop you now?_ ”

Danns’ magic rose to intercede, but it was already too late.  Rumplestiltskin matched actions to words, and as he spoke, he poured this deeper magic into the areas between the worlds, forcing them back apart.  A rainbow of colors flashed before his eyes, sparks igniting in his mind, and Rumplestiltskin felt his knees go weak.  But he didn’t fall, and even as he pressed and _pressed_ , he felt the cracks widening and walls reforming.  He could feel realms realigning, could feel everything moving back to where it should be as he reversed the power flow.

“I will not permit this!” Danns’ words were almost a howl, and he could feel her magic fighting his, but she had poured too much into creating the reaction.  She didn’t have enough left to stop him.

The magic around them whirled faster and faster, gold, silver, and black tendrils dancing through the air.  Belle stopped a desperate attack from Danns’, staggering as the spell almost knocked her to her knees, but she held fast.  Someone else shouted something—was that Mordred?—but he had no attention to spare.  _Almost there._ Rumplestiltskin forced his vision to clear, forced himself to focus, dug still deeper, and gave one final _push_. 

Then the portal imploded in a giant flash of gold light.

{**********}

It was anticlimactic, but Regina didn’t care.  Now that Khanty was gone, she only had to deal with one opponent, and the golden flash of light distracted Titania completely.  The fae turned to face Danns’, her expression a mixture of shock and utter disbelief, and Regina didn’t hesitate.  Quickly, she teleported herself right in front of Titania, clapping her right hand down on Titania’s left wrist as she did so.

The magic-blocking cuff snapped into place just as Titania’s hands came up, flashing with power.  But her spell sputtered and died, leaving the fae wearing a comically confused look.

“What the—?”

“Welcome to Storybrooke.”  Regina gave Titania her nastiest smile, and then smacked her right in the face with a spell of her own.  Titania fell like the proverbial ton of bricks, and Regina turned back to the rest of the fight.

* * *

 

Emma had his measure, now.  Nuckelavee was distracted by the portal breaking down, so Emma hammered him with everything she had.  She remembered how Rumplestiltskin had penned Nuckelavee in with water, so she turned to the nearby fire hydrant and forced water to jet out of it.  The blast hit Nuckelavee square in the chest, wrapping around him as Emma clenched her right hand into a fist.  But she wasn’t done, and Emma remembered Regina’s words as she formed a fireball in her left hand. 

_We’re a little hero and a little villain_ , Regina had said.  And here they were, with Regina fighting the fae at David’s side, with Hook guarding Bae’s back, and with Rumplestiltskin working magic like Emma had never even dreamt of.  And here she was, fighting alongside _Mordred_ , a man who had nearly killed her son and who had tried to trap Emma in the Vault of the Dark One forever.  Even Emma herself had been a villain.  She had killed Granny, had killed others, and she had delved so deeply into darkness that she would never stop feeling the shame. 

Regina had been right.  They were both.

“You’re still nothing but a has-been,” Nuckelavee snarled as he turned to her, trapped in the waterspout she’d constructed.  He was fighting it, though, and Emma knew the spell wouldn’t hold him for long—yet the bastard still had to mock her, didn’t he?  “You fail as the Savior, you were a ridiculously weak Dark One, and—”

“Oh, shut up.”  Flicking her left hand, Emma fed fire into the spinning waterspout.  Immediately, the water started boiling, and Nuckelavee howled in pain.

“I’ll kill you!  I’ll _own_ you!  You’ll suffer for eternity for this, Swan!”

His magic lashed out wildly, but Emma just closed her fists and tightened the waterspout around him.  Should she feel guilty for the way it was hurting Nuckelavee?  Maybe.  Or maybe there was just enough darkness in Emma that she didn’t give a damn.  Nuckelavee had to die, because there was no way in hell that he was going to stop fighting.  Trapping him hadn’t worked for very long, and Emma didn’t know of another way to kill him, anyway.  Water worked against him, and that was that.  She’d use the tools she had handy.

But Emma wasn’t a psychopath, and she didn’t like hurting people.  So, she _pushed_ as hard as she could, boiling the water faster and faster.  Nuckelavee might have deserved to suffer, but that didn’t mean Emma was going to torture him.  Steam was starting to rise off of his trapped form, but Emma could see the tendrils of magic tightening and twisting. 

Then the waterspout _exploded_ , and Nuckelavee was no more.

“What was that you were saying?”  Just to be sure he was gone, Emma stepped up to the puddle, studying it for a moment.  There was a burn on the street, a little crater that dug about six inches into the pavement.  But nothing else.  Emma shook her head.  “Yeah, I don’t think you’ll be doing any of that to me today, asshole.”

Yeah, Nuckelavee was gone, and good riddance.  Now Emma needed to see who else needed to help so that they could end this battle once and for all.

* * *

 

“I challenge you to a duel!” Lamorak’s voice rang out, making David turn away from the strangeness of Killian trying to explain Storybrooke to Baelfire.  Lamorak was standing in the midst of his own men, striking a heroic pose with his sword out and chin up.

Back when David had been a boy, he would have admired a knight for doing so.  Maybe.  Now he just found it ludicrous. 

“How stupid do you think I am?”  Now that David had his people organized, they outnumbered the knights from Camelot by a decent margin.  Defending against their attacks had gotten easier once they stopped trying to fight a haphazard melee, and more and more of the Camelotonians had thrown down their weapons or simply melted away as the fight went on.

“I think you’re a coward!  Fight me and decide this battle once and for all!”

There had been a time when David would have taken offense at that, but he wasn’t that stupid.  “We’re _winning._ Why would I risk that in a fight?”

“You _are_ a coward.”  Lamorak spun on him.  “And I will strike you down like the dog you are—”

Magic slammed Lamorak back, and he crashed into a lightpole, falling to the ground without a further sound.  Turning, David arched an eyebrow at Regina.  “I could have taken him, you know.”

“Sure, but that would have let him keep talking.”  She shrugged.  “And he was giving me a headache.”

“Oh, well we can’t have _that._ ”  David snorted.  Some things about Regina would never change, but he supposed that they all liked her the way she was.  Regina was an acquired taste, but that was all right with him.  And besides, he didn’t need to prove his courage in anything like a duel, and he sure as hell had nothing to prove to Storybrooke.  Not after this battle.

“Damn right we can’t.”  Tossing her head, Regina threw him a smile.  “Now let’s finish this, shall we?”

“What happened to the fae you were fighting?”

“She’s a bit tied up.”  Regina gestured, and sure enough, there was Titania, bound and lying lifelessly in the street.  She wore that old magic-blocking cuff, though David wasn’t sure where Regina had gotten it.  “She won’t be bothering anyone.”

“Right, then.”  David turned back to the battle.  “Let’s finish this.”

With Regina’s magic, ending the rest of the battle was easy—or at least ending _their_ part of the battle was easy.  David could see that the magical half of the confrontation was still ongoing in the intersection, although the number of fae seemed to be dwindling there, too.  The hat-caused-portal seemed to be gone, too, and David couldn’t even begin to describe how relieved that made him feel.  _The world is safe,_ he thought, feeling a little weak.  _Now we just have to finish making sure that the Black Fairy can’t try this all over again._

* * *

 

It was time.

Morgan had always known this moment would come.  She had half hoped it would not, but she was a practical woman.  More importantly, she was a mother, and her first priority would always be the survival of her children and grandchildren.  The fight was nearly over; Mal had chased Arachne right into Lily’s metaphorical arms (given that dragons did not, strictly speaking, have arms), and the younger dragon had roasted the fae neatly.  Those two were now bent over Tad Cooper’s still form, a sight that made Morgan resolutely ignore the twisted feeling of jealousy in her gut.  It didn’t matter.  She knew what she meant to Mal, and her personal feelings didn’t matter anymore.  Not on that front.

 A quick blast of magic sent Hobyah sailing straight into Emma Swan, and much to Morgan’s pleasure, the Savior quickly dispatched of the fae, knocking him unconscious.  For Ealdun, she revived Mordred’s dark little tornado, whipping it around him tighter and tighter until it tore him into literal pieces.  She had to pour more darkness into that than she’d wanted to, more power than strictly necessary, but that really didn’t matter, either.  Morgan only had one focus, and before her magic had finished ripping Ealdun apart, she spun to face where Danns’ was facing off with her sons and her daughter-in-law.

Before Morgan could act, Danns’ nailed Mordred with a magical blow that sent Mordred flying straight into Belle.  The two went down in a tangle, but Rumplestiltskin reacted with lightning quickness, igniting the pavement at Danns’ feet and then transforming it into molten lava.  That forced Danns’ to teleport away, and she landed right in the path of an ice storm Rumplestiltskin had conjured up.  Then he sent a whirlwind of power at Danns’, one so deep and so frightening that even Morgan felt the need to hesitate, but Danns’ parried it with one of her own.

“If you think you’ll finish me here, _Rumplestiltskin_ , you are sorely mistaken.”  Danns’ words were strong, yet there was something off in her voice.  She was tiring!

But so was Rumplestiltskin.  Morgan knew her son well enough by now to hear it in his voice as he replied: “And if you think that any of us are just going to let you walk, _dearie_ , you have another thing coming.”

“Have you become the defender of justice and good, then?” Danns’ laughed.

“Hardly.”

They exchanged further spells, deeper and deeper magic filling the air.  But Morgan paid no mind to that.  Instead, she drew Galatine and started circling her way around to behind Danns’.

* * *

 

The fighting had stopped, which gave Neal a chance to look around.  Hook was helping round prisoners up, but no one seemed to know what to do with Neal.  These people knew him, and he supposedly knew them, but no matter how hard he searched his memories, nothing came up.  The last thing he really, honestly, remembered was Emma walking out of that bar, furious with him and rightly so.  He’d never felt lower than he had in that moment, seeing the woman he had loved so much walk out because of _his_ betrayal.  Abandoning Emma had been the worst thing he’d ever done, and Neal had hated himself for it ever since.  But seeing her again just reminded him of how strong Emma was…and of how badly he’d hurt her.

He’d been selfish enough that he wanted to forget that, but now here he was, in a town where _Emma_ was fighting magical battles and defeating whoever the hell those bad guys were.  He’d seen her kill someone, and while he was sure the bastard had to deserve it, that wasn’t the kind of mental image you shook in a hurry.  _It’s been twelve years,_ he told himself, wondering if that was even right.  Maybe it had been even longer?  August had told him that Emma was the Savior, that she was here in ‘Storybrooke’ to break this ultimately terrible curse and defeat some Evil Queen.  Had she done that already, or was that what was happening over there?

Maybe that tall redhead was the Evil Queen, but that didn’t explain why she was fighting with Neal’s _father_.  Rumplestiltskin had become the sort to back an Evil Queen more than the sort to fight one, which meant what Neal was hearing made no sense at all.

“Have you become the defender of justice and good, then?” The woman laughed, throwing her head back with a mocking smile.

His father snorted, looking like the idea was ludicrous.  “Hardly.”

Where was his ugly scaly skin and scary giggle?  There was obviously magic here, which meant that his father should be the creepy, nasty Dark One.  But he wasn’t, and nothing made sense.  _I guess it doesn’t matter.  I just need to stay the hell away from him._ Neal could do that, couldn’t he?  The town looked big enough, and his father was still in the midst of some magical battle, anyway.  _Probably over who gets to be the bigger Big Bad in this town._   That thought made him snort quietly to himself.

“Everything all right, Bae?” A man he’d never met before walked up, and Neal did a double take.  This blonde dude had a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back.  _Swords, bows, and arrows.  What the hell kind of place is this town?_

“Um, yes, of course.”  Hearing a second person call him by his almost forgotten name weirded Neal out.  Hook was one thing, but this person hadn’t known him back when he was Baelfire.  “I’m sorry.  Do I, uh, know you?”

“What?”  The other man blinked in confusion.  “Did you hit your head or something, mate?”

“Or something, yeah.”  He grimaced, and then decided to tell the truth, such as it was.  What did he have to lose?  “Got hit by some spell.  I don’t remember jack.”

“That’s rough.”  A sympathetic smile.  “If I can help, let me know.  Name’s Robin.  Robin of Locksley.”

That name sounded familiar enough that Neal racked his mind until he remembered why.  Then he couldn’t help gaping.  “You’re Robin Hood?  Like, from Sherwood Forest and all that?”

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

“Not really, no.”  He smiled crookedly, but Neal hated feeling so out of place.  Could he trust this guy? Was this guy even a friend, or what?  Sure, Robin Hood was supposed to be a good guy in all the stories, but _Pan_ was supposed to be a nice kid, too, and Neal knew how that had worked out.

Suddenly, magic split the air, cracking like thunder, and his father went _flying_.  Robin spun to look, and even Neal had to turn to see what was happening.  He didn’t want anything to do with his dad, but the way everyone around him—even Hook, who last Neal knew had sworn to kill Rumplestiltskin—was watching meant this was important.

And that tiny kernel of worry he felt had nothing to do with his father.  Of course it didn’t.

* * *

 

She had lost.

Danns’ was still trying to wrap her mind around that fact, around the fact that so many of her fae were dead.  Nuckelavee and Jhudora were gone; her two most loyal followers would never serve her again.  The others who she had painstakingly returned from the Fae Lands were also either dead or unconscious, and Danns’ was now alone.  She had fought against worse odds, of course, but never with the Sorcerer opposing her.  Never with another original power on the other side—or with her sister lurking inside that damned diner.  She could feel Reul’s presence, and knew that her sister was prepared to find a way to exile her again.

There was no choice to be made.  She would have to retreat, much though her wounded pride detested that idea.  Yet Danns’ could not bring herself to do so without causing _some_ damage; she had hoped to kill Mordred, but Belle had stepped up to prevent that as soon as they’d untangled one another.  She’d sent Rumplestiltskin flying out of the fight, yet she knew that was only a momentary advantage.  The old coward had proven infuriatingly resilient, and clever, too.  Killing him would take more power than Danns’ currently had at hand, and the others would undoubtedly help him if she tried.  Danns’ would have to make quick work of whomever she killed, which meant—

Movement came from behind her, and Danns’ whirled around, sensing her chance.  Morgan stood not ten feet away from her, with Galatine in hand.  That sword could kill an original power, of course, but Morgan was a fool, and she was not close enough.

“Do you really think I’d let _you_ kill _me_?” Danns’ laughed, ignoring the way tiredness pulled at her.  Energizing the hat had taken a great deal of power, more than Danns’ had planned for.  Her magic was growing sluggish, but she had more than enough to finish Morgan off. 

“You’re mistaken if you think I’m giving you a choice in the matter.”  Morgan’s voice was a growl, but Danns’ only waved a hand.

Morgan dodged the spell that would have frozen her in place, lunging forward quickly enough that Danns’ actually had to step aside.  The sword’s point came uncomfortably close, however, and Danns’ realized that she could not waste time playing with this.  Now both of her hands came up, and the spell hit Morgan hard, immobilizing her. 

“What was that you were saying?”  Danns’ asked, cocking her head.  She could kill Morgan at her leisure, although she had not much time to spare.  It was a pity that she could not take the sword, but only a descendant of Viviane could wield Galatine.

Morgan snarled in fury, but she was held too tightly to even speak coherent words.  Danns’ smiled, savoring the moment—

And then red hot pain shot through her, originating somewhere near her kidney and making her back feel like it was on fire.  Danns’ staggered, staring at Morgan in confusion, until a voice spoke in her ear.

“She was saying that you have no choice in the matter, dear.”

Rumplestiltskin twisted the kris dagger in Danns’ back, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter One Hundred and Twenty—" If Ancient Prophecies Have Erred Not", in which Danns' power must be dealt with, Belle makes a promise, Maleficent gets in a spat, and Neal gets the shock of a lifetime.
> 
> Also, it's TEA time! The Espenson Awards have started over on tumblr, so if you have a tumblr account and are so inclined, please stop by my tumblr ( toseehowthestoryends) and check out what stories I have in the running.


	120. If Ancient Prophecies Have Erred Not

It had stopped. 

Jefferson felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of his entire body, like the world had just _lightened._ One moment, he’d been drowning in the transition, struggling for air amidst the feeling of the walls between the worlds collapsing.  It made him physically sick; he’d thrown up more than once and still felt like he might again.  But now the feeling was gone.  Not receding, not slowing, but _gone_.  He could breathe again for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Jeff, you okay?” 

That was Victor’s hand on his shoulder as Jefferson’s vision cleared.  Or at least it had better be.  If anyone else had called him ‘Jeff’, he’d have found a way to leave them behind in the Enchanted Forest, rules of the hat or not.

“Yeah.”  He licked his lips, finding them horribly dry.  “Better now.  It’s stopped.”

“All of it?”

Nodding, Jefferson blinked and looked around, only now realizing that he was sitting on the floor.  _Maybe that’s why I’m so sore.  I probably collapsed._ Stupid of him.  “I think it’s over.  The whole battle, probably.  Either way, the realms have stopped moving.”

“You can really feel that?” Leave it to Henry to be the one to ask.  Grace was too busy sitting down next to him and taking his hand.

“Unfortunately.”  He grimaced.  “It’s like being stuck in the middle of a whirlpool and knowing that all the layers of water are going to come crashing down on you.  Not fun.”

“Ouch.”

“But everything’s okay now, Papa?” Grace’s eyes were wide and worried, so Jefferson just reached out to pull her close and kiss her on the forehead.

“Everything’s okay, Angel.”  He couldn’t know that for certain, but it was logical.  If Danns’ had won, the realms would all be a giant pancake, not separate worlds on the end of the wheel’s spokes. 

“Can we go back, then?” Henry looked worried, too, but Jefferson knew that was for another reason.

He weighed his options for a long moment, thinking back on the conversations he’d had with Belle and Rumplestiltskin.  The Enchanted Forest was safe, probably the safest place since no one else could get here while the hat was holding the portal firm, but he did understand why Henry wanted to get back as soon as possible.  Henry’s family was fighting.  Under other circumstances, Jefferson would consider himself a pretty selfish guy and say that he didn’t care about someone else’s family, that same family _had_ saved him from Danns’.  _After Victor bullied them into it, but it’s the end result that counts.  I guess._

“Sure.”  Climbing to his feet made him sway a little, but Victor and Grace both caught him, making Jefferson give them both a grateful smile.  “Though I think I’m going to have to walk pretty slowly.”

Henry was obviously trying not to look too disappointed.  “Slow is better than nothing,” the kid agreed, and Jefferson gestured them towards the castle’s exit

He probably _could_ walk fast, but why tell the kids that?  Jefferson really didn’t want to come through that portal with the battle still raging, so he was going to damned well take his time.

* * *

 

Their mother was predictably irate, but much to his own surprise, Mordred wasn’t.  He had spent most of his life convinced that he had to end the Black Fairy, yet seeing Danns’ collapse at Rumplestiltskin’s feet left him feeling nothing but relief.  Morgan, on the other hand, spun on Rumplestiltskin with her eyes afire.

“What were you _thinking_?” their mother demanded furiously.  “You could have been killed!”

“So might you have.”  His brother’s expression wasn’t gloating; it was just matter-of-fact.  “And none of us were going to let that happen.”

Morgan’s glare was a thing of beauty, and it almost made Mordred laugh out loud.  He loved his mother more than anything, but sometimes she wore blinders that made his own obsessions look mild.  “Damn you!”

“We don’t have time for this, Mother.”  Mordred stepped forward with Belle at his side, approaching where Danns’ lay on the ground, breathing shallowly.  Morgan turned her glare on him, but he only gestured at the dying faery.  “Not now.”

“You’re right, of course.”  Her voice was a growl, but Rumplestiltskin’s was cool as he turned to Belle.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”  Belle looked pale but determined, yet after a moment, she shook her head.  “But let me try another way, first.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked hard.  “Belle—”

“…Belle?” Danns’ weak voice cut him off, and they all turned to look at her.  Her eyes were open, but just barely.  She was clearly dying, at long last.

Part of Mordred wanted to gloat—most of him did, really.  He’d waited _so_ long to see this, had thought he’d been born for it.  _We always knew that a descendent of Arthur’s would defeat her…I just always thought it would be me._ The fact that Belle might finally remove the threat Danns’ was had never really entered his mind.  Belle was so kind, so _good_.  She was everything Danns’ wasn’t, and maybe, everything that her mother, Mordred’s half-sister, had been.  He’d never given Colette a chance, had never even bothered to know her, but her daughter was truly extraordinary.

“You’re dying.”  Belle’s voice was surprisingly gentle as she knelt by her grandmother’s side.  “You don’t have long; the wound was fatal.  But you do have time to decide what you want to do with your legacy.”

“You want me to…pass my power to you.”  Danns’ voice was rough and fading out every few words, but she’d never been stupid.

“No.”  Belle’s smile was crooked.  “I really don’t want it.  I don’t want to be like you.”  Her eyes flicked to her husband.  “Like Rumple.  But you are my grandmother.”

“And would you finish my work?”

“No.”  Belle did, however, take Danns’ hand in her own.  “But I will keep your memory alive.  For better or worse.”

Danns’ snort was strained.  “You would not become as I am.  You would be like Fionna.”

“I would be like me.” 

“Yes.  Yes, I believe you would.”  The fact that Danns’ didn’t sound angry made Mordred’s head spin more than a little, as did her next request.  “Will…will you protect my people?”

That made Belle hesitate, but she never even looked at anyone else for guidance.  “I will if they’ll let me.  If they’ll stop victimizing others.”

A shadow passed over Danns’ green eyes.  “Good luck,” she whispered.  She didn’t apologize, though, Mordred noticed.  But she did seem to squeeze Belle’s hand.  “Take what you will.  I give…I give it freely.”

Mordred had always wondered what it would be like to watch and original power die.  He had expected a light show to rival that which had filled the air earlier, yet it turned out to be ridiculously anticlimactic.  A soft mist filled the air, silver in color and hovering over Danns’ prone form.  As Belle looked up, the mist separated, part pearly white and part a shimmering blackness.  Silver danced between the two, seemingly waiting while Belle took a deep breath.

_Crack._

Lightning flashed, and suddenly the mist vanished—or most of it did.  The silver and white parts of it were simply gone, with the blackness still hovering over Danns’.  Mordred could _feel_ that power, could feel its darkness and its hunger.  That power was looking for a host, he knew, looking to turn someone into the worst of what Danns’ had been.  His mother had anticipated this, yet would her choice for a new Black Fairy be willing now that the malevolence could be felt?  It filled the air, taunting them and beckoning to each in turn.  Mordred could feel a very primal part of his own soul reaching to answer it, could feel the worst of his ambition and his ill deeds _wanting_ that darkness.  It would make him powerful, he knew.  When added to his own power, to his own fae and fairy heritage, it would almost make him an original power.

Even as recently as a year ago, he would have jumped at the chance.  He would have assumed that he could overcome the inherent darkness and make it his own.  Maybe he could have, but Mordred didn’t _need_ to.  For the first time in his life, he was truly happy with who he was and the family he had.  He didn’t need that power.

“Maleficent.”  His brother beckoned the dragoness forward, and she stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and wary.

“This is what you wish me to be?” Her tone was dry as the desert, but Mordred saw her exchange a glance with her daughter.

“No.”  That was Belle, rising and somehow looking more serene than Mordred had ever seen her.  She was different, yet entirely the same, but looking at her made Mordred shiver a little.  “Like me, you will have to make that magic your own.”

Maleficent laughed.  “With a bit less goodness and light, I trust.”

“None of us would know you if you aimed for _that_.”  Rumplestiltskin matched her dryness easily, but it was their mother who stepped forward, looking a little uncertain.

“If you have second thoughts—”

“Oh, do be quiet, Morgan.  I do not have second thoughts.  I am merely being cautious.”  Maleficent rolled her eyes, but the fondness in her expression made Mordred grimace.

_There goes the hope that their relationship was only for show,_ he thought grumpily.  _Is it too much to ask for that my mother act like the grandmother and_ great _grandmother that she is?_

Given the look his mother had just exchanged with Maleficent, it apparently was.

“Are you sure about this, Gold?”  Emma Swan stepped forward before anyone could say more—and thankfully before his mother and Maleficent could act on that emotion-laden look they’d shared.  What _was_ it about magic that made people horny?  Mordred had never had that problem himself, or at least not really.

“Would you care to take it on instead?”

“Of course not!  Do I look crazy?”

Rumplestiltskin looked like he was trying not to laugh.  “Then I suggest we leave it to someone who is both used to managing darkness and content to live with it.”

“That wasn’t always the best combination with you, you know.”  Emma gave him a hard look, but relented a little when Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow.  “But yeah, I get your point.”

“Belle?” Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem eager to take the argument further, and he just turned to his wife, who ndded.

This time, Belle directed the magic towards Maleficent, who took a deep breath and inhaled.  There was no crack of lightning now, however, no creation of an original power.  Maleficent simply absorbed the power, and if her eyes darkened ever so slightly, it was very hard to notice.  Her expression never even wavered, and she didn’t even stagger.

“Mom?” Lily’s voice broke the silence after several long moments.  “Are you okay?”

Maleficent’s smile was cool, but Mordred didn’t know her well enough to tell if that was any different.  Yet she softened as she looked at Lily.  “I do believe I am, yes.”

“Good.”  Lily smiled.  “I don’t mind you dark, but I do want you to be _you_.”

“That I will always be.”  Suddenly, Maleficent’s eyes twinkled.  “Although I do think that I may feel the need to cause mischief from time to time.”

“Oh, that’s just great.”  Apparently Regina had walked up while Mordred had been focused elsewhere.  She turned to glare at Rumplestiltskin.  “I’m blaming you for anything she does.”

Mordred’s brother only laughed.

* * *

 

“You want to clue me in on what the hell is happening here?” Neal hated asking Hook that question, but at least he _knew_ Hook.  Asking Robin Hood for details was like sticking your hand in a dog’s open mouth.  It could be friendly, or it might bite your fingers off.  He just didn’t know the guy.

“Well, it looks like we won, mate.”  Hook’s smile was surprisingly relaxed.  “Although we’re going to have to repair your lack of memories.  Perhaps your father can do something on that front.”

“Wait a minute, did I just hear you refer to my father without promises of everlasting vengeance?” Neal couldn’t help staring.  “Did I land in some sort of parallel universe or something?”

“We, uh, may have buried the hatchet on that front.” 

“Everything I remember about my father says he’d be more likely to bury it in your _skull_ , dude.  What happened?”

Hook shrugged, looking more than a little at a loss for words.  “Should I begin with the fact that you and I are cousins, or should I save that for later?”

“ _Cousins_?”  Now he knew that he was in some weird circle of hell.  Maybe he _was_ in Neverland, and this was all some sort of delusion.  Or maybe he’d just hit his head chasing Emma out of the bar and this was a weird fever dream.  Did people have dreams in comas?  That sounded more likely than anything Hook was saying.

“Aye.  It turns out that my father was the son of Morgan le Fae—you can see her over there, with the giant sword in hand.”  Hook pointed, and Neal followed his gesture with the sick fascination of a man watching a train wreck.  “She turns out to be _your_ father’s mother, as well.  And Mordred’s, of course.  He’s the dark haired bloke staring at Maleficent like she’s grown a second head.”

“That’s way too many people with names starting with ‘M’.”  Neal was trying to process all of that information with little success.  There was no way in hell that Morgan le Fae was his grandmother, and Hook sure as hell wasn’t his cousin.  “You slept with my _mother,_ man.”

That earned him a glare.  “Well, in my defense, I hardly knew that she was my aunt at the time.”

“That does _not_ make things better!”

* * *

 

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Belle felt Rumplestiltskin’s hand land lightly on her back, and although she’d heard him approach, his touch still made her jump.  It felt like _fire_.  Like beautiful and electric fire of a sort she had never felt before.

And oh, goodness, it made her want him terribly.  _Bad timing, Belle!_   Telling herself that didn’t help, although the thought of the family and friends surrounding them, watching _her,_ did help cool Belle’s ardor a little.  Still, she turned to him with a smile.

“I am.”  A deep breath.  “I feel different, but…all right.  It’s like everything is _brighter_ , like the world is in color when before it was in black and white.”  Belle frowned thoughtfully.  “No, that isn’t right.  Before, everything was in color, just not as many colors.  It’s just so much more real, now.”

“I know.”  His smile was slight as he slipped an arm around her.  “I remember.”

“I am what you are now, aren’t I?”  Belle leaned into Rumplestiltskin, so very glad that she didn’t have to uncover all of this on her own.  She’d learned a lot about Rumplestiltskin’s power—now akin to her own power, she supposed—when he’d first become the Sorcerer, and as frightening as becoming an original power was, at least she knew what to expect.  Mostly.

“Yeah.  It takes some getting used to.”

Belle had expected that, but there was one thing she wanted to know right away.  “Does it always feel like this—for you—when we touch?  Like there’s a burning fire, something so light and so _huge_ that there aren’t words to describe it?”

“That’s True Love.  I did tell you that it’s the most powerful magic of all.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes crinkled slightly and his tone was teasing, so Belle didn’t slap his arm very hard.

“Are you avoiding answering, or do you just like being difficult?”

“Oh, it’s certainly the latter.”  He grinned briefly before nodding.  “Yes, to answer your question.  I felt a shadow of that when I was the Dark One, and the darkness _hated_ it.  But ever since becoming the Sorcerer, I’ve felt it in full.”

“It’s amazing.”  Among other things, but they were still surrounded by other people, so Belle didn’t want to get into _that_.  Particularly not standing just a few feet away from her grandmother’s dead body. 

Belle wished that she could mourn Danns’ properly, but all she really felt was relief.  And guilt, of course, for _not_ feeling worse.  Her grandmother, her last blood link with her mother, was dead and gone, and Belle could only think of how no one else would get hurt in Danns’ mad desire to rule over all the realms as one.  She’d wanted so badly to love Danns’, had wanted to be loved by her for _who_ she was and not just what she was, but that would now never be.  _But Storybrooke—along with all the realms—is safe.  That’s more important than anything else._

“I would say that you’re the amazing one, sweetheart.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile brought her back to earth, and Belle tried to smile in return, only to find the expression crooked and a little strained.

“I’m not amazing.  I’m terrified of this,” she whispered.  “What if I do turn out like her, despite what she said?  I can feel the power trying to change me, to…to make me into something new.”

“Power can’t change who you are, Belle.  It took me a long time to realize that, to accept that I had to be better as a _person_ if I wanted to use my power for better things.  Pure power only highlights who you really are.”  Rumplestiltskin’s arm around her shoulders squeezed.  “This power you’ve inherited isn’t light or dark by nature—it will be what you want it to be.  It will be what _you_ are.”

“But the darkness that went to Maleficent—”

“Was stained by a thousand years of your grandmother embracing that darkness.  Do you think that Maleficent is going to do the same things your grandmother did?”

Belle didn’t have to know Maleficent terribly well to know that answer.  “Probably not.”

“Then why do you worry that you will be?”

“Because I worry.”  Belle sighed.  Maybe her concerns weren’t entirely logical, but at least she could tell Rumple about why she was worried and he would help her through it.  They had come a long way since the days in which the darkness had been trying to take him over, and Belle couldn’t regret the depths their relationship had found since then.  She trusted him, and she knew he would be there to help her as she became whatever she had to become.

Just as she’d helped him.

* * *

 

Maleficent didn’t actually feel any different, which was, well, _strange_.  She had expected a rush beyond the initial absorption of the power, had expected something akin to being the Dark One (yet perhaps less toxic, she’d hoped) to come over her.  But it hadn’t.  No, she was still herself, still capable of making her own choices, simply with more power at her disposal.  She supposed that didn’t say much good about her own predisposition towards darkness, but Maleficent would take what she was given.  At the very least, any fool who tried to harm her daughter now would suffer greatly for it, and Mal did not regret that _one_ bit.

“Can you heal Dad, Mom?” Lily asked quietly from her side, bringing Mal back to earth.  “Or are you too dark for that, now?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”  She took a breath.  Healing had never been her strongest suit, at least not for those she didn’t love.  Mal was fond of Tad Cooper, and she would always be grateful that he’d given her Lily, but she wasn’t ever going to love him.

They were both all right with that, though, and it certainly didn’t mean that Mal wanted to deprive her daughter of her father.

“I can help with that, if you want.”  Much to her surprise, it was Regina who volunteered, looking a little uncertain—and not at all unlike the young, desperate queen who had once come to Maleficent for guidance. 

She couldn’t help arching an eyebrow.  “You?”

“Yes, me.”  Regina bristled, but only a little.  “I do know how, you know.”

“And you’re far lighter than I am these days.”  Smiling, Mal weighed her options.  Yes, of all the people here, she was more willing to trust Regina than any of the others.  _Save Morgan, but her own darkness makes healing as difficult as mine does,_ she thought sadly.  Weren’t they a pair?

“Well, I didn’t just suck in what made the Black Fairy _black_ , so it’s not very hard,” her old friend said dryly.

Mal laughed.  “No, you didn’t.  Come, then, and heal my onetime lover.  Perhaps he will serenade you for doing so.”

“Oh, please no.”  But Regina laughed, too, and they headed towards where Tad’s dragon form still lay in the parking lot in front of the Marine Garage.  Unfortunately, someone met them halfway, staring at Maleficent like she was an abomination.

“What have you _done_?”

Blue’s wand was out and her eyes were wide—and was that a hint of murder that Mal could detect?  Either way, she was not about to go toe-to-toe with the ‘light’ fairy here in town; she figured she’d end up squaring off with Blue at some point, but Mal preferred to do that on a day when she was less tired herself.  Blue had hidden in the diner healing people while Maleficent had been fighting for the fate of every damned world, so she could bugger off as far as Mal was concerned.

“Rumplestiltskin, do come and deal with your fairy counterpart, will you?”  Mal was not up to this headache today, and she saw no reason to force it upon herself.

“I am certainly not going to assume responsibility for _her_ , dearie.”  Her old frenemy’s voice rang out disgustedly, but he did approach with Belle on his arm.

That was quite good enough for Mal.  “Better you than me.”  She smiled sweetly.  “Original powers are _not_ my problem.”

“What have you done?” Blue repeated the words, looking—if possible—even more aghast.  Did she practice that expression in the mirror?

“What we had to.”  Rumplestiltskin clearly didn’t feel like pandering to the blue bug, either; Maleficent had never liked him better.

“My grandmother’s power is safe,” Belle put in, her eyes steely.  This powerful woman was a far cry from the girl whose kidnapping Mal had once orchestrated, but she still didn’t have any back down in her.  “That’s what matters.”

“You put some of it in _her_?” Blue gestured angrily at Maleficent, glaring at Rumplestiltskin once more.

He really was a convenient scapegoat, wasn’t he?  Mal still bristled, though; she didn’t like being thought of as anyone’s pawn, even if Rumplestiltskin _was_ the master manipulator who was probably responsible for this.  Morgan, however, stepped up before Mal could answer.

“Actually, it was my idea.”  Mal’s lover shrugged innocently.  “Seems to have worked out pretty well so far.”

Blue pursed her lips angrily.  “And what guarantee do you have that _Maleficent_ will not do far worse to the world than has been done before?”

“Your sister set the bar fairly low in that respect.”  Mal purred the words, gesturing at the intersection behind them, which still bore the marks of the nasty magical battle they’d raged.  “I think my worst will still be better than she managed.  I’m certainly less inclined to free all the fae from exile, for example.”  She put on her sweetest smile.  “I don’t like the competition.”

For a moment, she actually thought that Blue’s eyes might bug straight out of her head.  _Wouldn’t that be a sight?_ Alas, Mal’s hopes of seeing that were dashed when the senior fairy seemed to get ahold of herself through sheer force of will, glaring at all of them as if they had personally ended the world.  _No, that was your sister trying to do that, darling,_ Mal didn’t say.  But she was tempted to.  Blue didn’t exactly have the moral high ground here.  If she’d wanted to stop her sister from being killed, she should have bothered to show up for the battle.

“What was done was necessary to protect humanity,” Morgan echoed Mal’s thoughts as Blue continued to glower.  “You had many opportunities to do the same, yet you chose to favor fairies over humanity and do _nothing_.  What is done is done.”

“Not that you bothered to do much about it,” Lily muttered darkly, and Mal almost opened her mouth to castigate her daughter.  But she chose not to.

First of all, she was the Mistress of All Evil, which meant her daughter was entitled to get mouthy.  Secondly, Lily _was_ right.  Blue’s magic could have shifted the course of the battle easily, but the senior fairy had chosen to stay hidden in Granny’s and act as a healer instead.  Lily had been hurt—brutally!—in a battle that would have been easier to fight with Blue’s help, and that was enough to make Maleficent hold a grudge.

She hadn’t liked Reul Ghorm in the first place, anyway, so she just smiled at her daughter, and led Regina over to where Tad was finally groaning his way towards consciousness.  She’d let Belle smooth over any of the bug’s ruffled feathers.  That girl was part fairy, and _she_ was the new peacemaker amongst the original powers.  Mal didn’t envy Belle the role of keeping Rumplestiltskin and Blue civil with one another.  After all, she much preferred the opportunity to create mischief than the job of preventing it.

* * *

 

It felt like it took _hours_ to get back to the portal in the Enchanted Forest, even though Henry knew it really hadn’t been that long.  Fortunately, the trip back through the hat was pretty easy, and they appeared in the convent’s courtyard without anyone firing magic at them.  The convent was still intact, too, which Henry took as a good sign.

Roland tugged on his sleeve.  “Do you think Papa and Mama Gina are okay?”

“Let’s find out.”  Henry had been weirded out the first time his stepbrother had called his mom ‘Mama Gina’, but now he was used to it.  And he kind of liked it, secretly.  It meant they were all family, he really did like having a big family.  Particularly when it meant he could be the cool older brother.

Obedient to Roland’s wishes, Henry pulled his phone out.  For a moment, he contemplated calling Robin, who would probably have his hands less full than anyone else, but in the end, the choice wasn’t really a choice.  He called his mom.

“Henry?” Regina’s voice answered after a ring and a half, and Henry’s heart obediently dropped back out of his throat.  _One parent down.  Three to go._   Though he supposed Regina would sound a lot worse if Robin was hurt.  “Are you back?”

“Yeah.  We just came through the hat.  Jefferson says it’s over,” he said before Regina could start worrying.  “Is it?”

“Yeah, it’s over, though I’m trying to heal a cranky dragon right now.”  Henry heard shuffling, like his mom had put her hand over the phone, but she didn’t block it very well as she snapped: “If you don’t quit whining, I’m doing to make sure you _never_ change back into a human, so stay _still_ , you big moronic lug!”

Henry snickered.

“I can hear you over there, young man.” Regina was probably trying to sound stern, but Henry knew her better than that. 

“Is everyone okay?” He couldn’t stop the words from sounding worried, as much as Henry wanted to remain casual.

“Yeah.  We’re a bit banged up, but I don’t actually think that anyone from our messed-up family died.  The fairies are still working on Tink, and it sounds like your dad took a blow to the head, but he’s arguing with the pirate, so it can’t be that bad.”

His smile came on so fast that it hurt his face.  _Everyone’s okay!_ He could hardly believe it; they’d all been so ready for people to die that morning, and Henry had _hated_ not being there when everyone he loved was in danger.  _But they’re all okay._ Everyone _is okay._ “That sounds like Dad.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get me started on idiots today.”

“I’ll tell Jefferson everything is safe, then!”  Henry gestured for the portal jumper, who looked a lot better now than he had earlier—or at least less pale, and less likely to puke on someone.  “I’ll be there soon.”

“Henry—”

He knew she was going to tell him not to, so Henry quickly hung up before Regina could say anything else.  Then he silenced his phone, just so he couldn’t hear it ringing.  His mom might yell at him for it a bit later, but Henry figured that seeing his family was worth getting grounded.  

* * *

 

“It’s over.”  Elsa’s voice was a relieved sigh, but Anna jumped up almost right away.  She was chock full of energy that she didn’t know what to do with; staying quietly under the ice shield Elsa had put over Arendelle’s capital city had been boring, not to mention cold.

“Great!  Now we have to see if we can help.”

“What?” Elsa turned to look at her with a little confusion, but it was Kristoff who answered.

“She wants to go to Storybrooke.”  Kristoff sighed heavily, but Anna only beamed at him.  He knew her so well, and she loved him for it.  Even when he was a grouch.

“Of course I do.  Grand Pabbie _said_ that the worlds moving wasn’t only going to affect Arendelle, and that means that other people might be hurt.  Our friends in Storybrooke might be among them, too.  We should go find out.  I bet Grand Pabbie could make us a portal.”  It was a logical argument, one that even Elsa couldn’t really object to.

Besides, things had been so _quiet_ in Arendelle since they’d ousted Hans and his brothers that Anna was burning for an adventure.  And she really was worried for the friends they’d made in Storybrooke.   _And_ she wanted to see Storybrooke again, maybe this time when their crazy aunt wasn’t trying to kill everyone or she and Kristoff weren’t stuck in a chest on the bottom of the sea.  She’d barely gotten any time to spend with David, and even though Belle had visited, Anna wouldn’t mind seeing her again, either.

“Anna…” Elsa trailed off, looking more than a little defeated.  Then she shook her head.  “We have to make sure that everyone is safe here, first.”

“Not to mention taking down your giant ice dome.  I’m pretty good with ice, so if _I_ think it’s cold, you know that everyone else has to be shivering,” Kristoff put in.

Anna couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “Of _course_ we’ll take care of everyone here first. That’s our job.  But then we can go see if everything is all right in Storybrooke, can’t we?”

Elsa sighed again.  “You go ask Grand Pabbie.  I’ll work on taking the dome down.”

“Great!”  Anna didn’t wait for her sister to change her mind; she bounced off to talk to the head of Kristoff’s adopted family, grabbing her husband’s hand as she went.  They were going to have an adventure!

* * *

 

“Emma.”  David could hardly believe his eyes; aside from a few deaths—August notable amongst them—they’d all survived.  His entire _family_ had survived, and that made David want to jump on a rooftop and shout for joy.  He’d finished making sure that all his wounded had help and the fairies were healing them, but now he could go find his daughter.

“Hey, Dad.”  She turned to him with a tired smile, but let him hug her tightly.  “Are you okay?”

“Just fine.  Lamorak tried to challenge me to a duel, but I laughed at him.”  David didn’t need personal glory.  He’d commanded a successful battle, and the town was safe.  And his beautiful daughter had helped defeat the greatest threat the town had ever seen, a fact that left him bursting with pride.  “Are you all right?  I saw you facing off with Nuckelavee.”

“Yeah.  It was nasty— _he_ was nasty—but he’s not going to hurt anyone else ever again.”  Emma’s hazel eyes were hard, but her smile was easy.

There was still darkness in his daughter, David realized, a kind of darkness that once would have horrified him and Snow.  They’d done terrible things to try to guarantee Emma would become a hero, but in the end, she’d shown them that they were wrong to do that, hadn’t she?  Emma had overcome the darkness she’d been saddled with, and she’d become stronger because of it.  And he was so damned proud of her.

“Good.”  David smiled back, and felt the soft touch of Snow’s hand in his own.  “Have I mentioned to you how proud of you I am?  How proud we _both_ are?”

Emma understood the reference immediately, and her smile grew a little misty.  “Yeah.  You’ve said.”

“Well, I’ll say it again.  It’s a father’s prerogative, you know, embarrassing his children.” 

“Aren’t I a bit old for that?” Emma grumbled, but David grinned.

“Never.  In fact—”

“Hey, Emma.”  A new voice intruded, and it took David a moment to recognize it as Lily’s.  He hadn’t really talked to Maleficent’s daughter much, at least not since he and Snow had apologized for what they had done, but he’d seen her fighting on their side.  He also knew that she and Killian had gotten together, and he was happy that his friend had found someone.

“What’s wrong?” Emma seemed able to read Lily’s stony expression better than David could, and now she sounded concerned.

“Killian asked me to tell you that there’s something wrong with Baelfire.  Seems like his memories are all jacked up or something.”

“What?”

Lily shrugged.  “Killian says he doesn’t remember anything from the last couple of years.  Seems like that might be a problem.”

“He doesn’t?”  David didn’t think he’d ever seen Emma go so pale or her voice sound so small.  Then her expression grew horrified as she turned to look in the direction from whence David had come.  “Oh, no.”

Twisting around, David followed her gaze, just in time to see Henry walking towards his father.

* * *

 

This town was going to give him a headache.  Hook was _trying_ to explain things to him, but it didn’t really make much sense.  The fact that he’d tried to be subtle and tell some girl named Lily—who was clearly either his girlfriend or his arm candy; it was hard to tell with Hook—to go tell _Emma_ about his memory problems really didn’t help, either.

“I don’t think telling Emma about this is a good idea, man.”  Neal sucked in a breath, and tried really hard not to notice the good looking guy whose arms were wrapped around Emma.  _You gave up a chance to be happy with her when you sent her to jail, you bastard,_ he told himself. 

Hook looked confused.  “Why not?”

“She hates me.  Or at least she should.  I screwed her over.”  How did Hook not know that?  Just thinking about it made Neal feel guilty all over again, and it was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“Bae”—Hook cut off, sighing theatrically—“or Neal, if you prefer, how long do you think it’s been since you first reacquainted yourself with your old flame?”

“Dunno.  You haven’t exactly helped clue me in on that one.”

“Ah.  Right.  It’s been about two years since Emma found you in New York.”  Hook gestured like he was looking for words, and watching him do that with two hands was just weird.  “I, uh, may have played a small part in your hasty return, so I do remember how long it has been.”

“ _You’ve_ been to New York?”  The thought of Captain Hook in the Big Apple was enough to break his brain.

“Aye.  Twice, even, though the second time was a tad more successful than the first.”  Another creepy handwave with a hand that shouldn’t be there.  “It’s a long story.”

“I’m getting the impression that _everything_ is in this place.”  Two years.  How the hell did someone forget two years?

_Magic._   Of course it was magic.  Every sucky moment in his life could be blamed on magic.  He supposed he’d lost Tamara to magic in one way or another, too, because that just kind of figured.  Neal didn’t see a wedding band on his own hand, after all, and he’d always planned on getting one.  Oddly, that thought didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought it would—or not as much as the fact that Emma was joking with that other guy did.  _Forget it, man.  You lost your chance._   Emotions were hard to overcome, though.  Neal had thought he’d pushed his feelings for Emma aside until he saw her in that bar.

“You can say that again.”  Hook’s smile was wry, until all color suddenly drained out of his face.  “Bloody hell—”

“Hey, Dad!”

The sound of the youthful voice made Neal turn around, curious to see who would call _Hook_ ‘Dad’.  But the kid was brown haired and brown eyed, and was heading straight for him, looking at _him_ like he was supposed to answer.  Numbers whirled through Neal’s mind.  Hook said it had been two years since he’d come to Storybrooke, and before that it had been eleven years since he’d been with Emma… Yeah, the kid looked about thirteen, didn’t he?

The kid stopped cold.  “Dad?”

“Oh, hell, _no_.  This can’t be happening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has kept commenting! Stay tuned for Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One—“ Made My Tears Burn”, in which Neal realizes Henry is his kid and has to deal with everything that means, Rumplestiltskin nearly has a nervous breakdown, Anna plots and plans, and Emma makes a decision.


	121. Made My Tears Burn

“…This can’t be happening.”  The words escaped before Neal could stop them.  He was staring at the kid with wide eyes, too, because who the hell _wouldn’t_ stare when some teenager you’d never met called you ‘Dad’?

The kid looked confused.  “You okay?  Mom said you hit your head.”

“Mom?”  Neal echoed the word helplessly, finding that it tasted very strange on his tongue.  If he was the father of a kid this age, there was only one possible explanation for who the mother had to be, and that was—

“Neal!”  Emma’s shout reached him just on cue, and he turned to look at her as she rushed off, with the same good-looking guy on her heels.  _Great.  She brings the boyfriend with her_ , he thought with bitterness he couldn’t make himself not feel.  But hell, by this point, that guy might very well be his kid’s stepdad.  _But he calls_ me _Dad._

 That thought was surprisingly comforting.  Here he was, discovering he had a kid who hadn’t known about, but had apparently learned about sometime in the last two years or so.  He’d done exactly what his father had, and the fact that abandoning his own son had been inadvertent in his case didn’t make Neal feel any better.  After all, if he hadn’t sent Emma to jail, or even if he hadn’t been a damned coward and failed to look her up afterwards, he’d have known about his son.  _I wonder if I’ve made it up to him.  I wonder if I can._

He tried to smile, but even to Neal it felt forced.  “Hi, Emma.”

She stopped, looking uncertain.  “Lily said you got hit by something that erased your memories.”

“Yeah, that’s what Hook tells me.”

“Hook?” Emma frowned.

“Yeah.  Him.”  Neal gestured at where Killian was standing with the brunette again—Lily, he supposed.  “You have met the guy, right?”

“Of course.  Sorry.  I didn’t think you’d remember him as anything but Killian.”  Emma’s shrug was uncomfortable, and just made Neal feel more guilty.  “Then again, I’m not sure what the last thing you remember _is_.  You know me, right?”

“Yeah.  And apparently we have a kid together?  Not to put too fine of a point on it, but _that’s_ kind of a surprise.”  He shouldn’t sound so accusing.  Emma didn’t deserve that, and his own obnoxious tone made Neal grimace.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean that to sound so nasty.”

 “No, it’s okay.  I, um, didn’t do a real good job of telling you the first time around.”  Her smile grew crooked.  “You had to guess.  But, uh, this is Henry.”

“Hi.”  The kid had come around to stand with Emma and the other guy, looking worried.  “You don’t remember me at all?”

“Nope.  Last thing I remember is sitting in a bar with your mom in New York, trying to come up with ways to avoid my dad.”  He figured that Henry had to know who his grandfather was, and the kid probably knew about the issues Neal had with his own dad.  He liked to think he’d have explained them, anyway.

“Oh, crap.  That _was_ a long time ago.”  Henry glanced between the two of them.  “So, you think that Mom’s still mad at you, you’re still pissed at Grandpa, and you don’t know anything about the rest of our really big, really weird family?”

That didn’t sound good.  Except the part that implied Emma wasn’t mad at him, anyway.  “…No?”

“I’d better get my book.”  Henry glanced at Emma, who just sighed a long suffering sigh.  “What?  It’ll tell him most of the family history.”

“Yeah, including the ugliest parts.”  Another woman walked up, and this one couldn’t have been more different from Emma if she tried.  She had dark hair instead of light, and wore a well-tailored pantsuit that screamed power.  _She was the sorceress helping on this side earlier,_ Neal remembered.  “Can we skip that for now and just work on restoring his memories?  I think we’ve all had enough drama today.”

“It’s not all that ugly, Mom.” Henry’s objection made Neal do a double take.

“Mom?” he echoed.

“Right.” Henry heaved a teenager’s sigh.  “So, Emma’s my biological mom just like you’re my biological dad, but Emma gave me up for adoption when she was in prison.  I was adopted by my _other_ mom, Regina, and she raised me.  Except in the fake memories that Mom gave me after the first curse took everyone else back to the Enchanted Forest.  In those _Emma_ raised me.  But that doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that when I turned ten, I went to go find Emma in Boston, because she had to break the curse that mom cast.  She did, and—”

“That’s probably enough, Henry,” Regina cut in.  “You’re making his head spin already.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”  But Neal could put the pieces together pretty well.  If ‘Regina’ had been the one to cast the curse—and it didn’t take a genius to know that her name was Latin for ‘Queen’—that made her the Evil Queen August had told him about.  And that meant that the Evil Queen had adopted his son.

But no one around seemed to think that was a big deal, and she _had_ been helping them during the battle.  None of this made any sense at all.

“This is stupid.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “There’s no need to explain thirty years of history when we can just fix this mess.  Your father—”

“Oh, no way.  I’m not here to see him.”  Part of Neal wanted to run; he’d never wanted to see his father—or what was left of him under that demon—ever again.  As far as he was concerned, his papa had died when Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One, and what stuck around was just the Dark One wearing his father’s face.

Regina looked at him like he was an idiot.  “What?”

“Regina, I’ve got this.”  Emma stepped forward again, looking a lot more confident.  “Look, I know this is crazy.  This _place_ is crazy—you should have seen me when I first got here.  It was bad.”  Her smile went crooked.  “But a lot’s changed since you came back with us.  And, uh, you made up with your dad along the way.”

“I find that kind of hard to believe.”

“Redemption and forgiveness are kind of in the water here.”  She chuckled softly.  “Gold—Rumplestiltskin, I mean—isn’t even the Dark One any longer.  He’s actually, um, the Sorcerer now.  Kinda like Merlin.”

“Now I _know_ I’m smoking something.  Or this just one giant _insane_ hallucination.”  She had to be screwing with him.  Neal remembered enough about the Dark One to know the way that worked, and if his father was still breathing, he was still the freaking Dark One.  That’s how things _were_. 

“It’s actually really cool,” Henry piped up.  “Grandpa volunteered to take up Merlin’s power—it was kind of destroying the town and hurting people at the time—and everyone thought that Merlin was going to erase him, but it didn’t.  And he became the Sorcerer.”

Okay, Emma wouldn’t drag their kid into some cosmic, ill-chosen, joke, would she?  Not even if she wanted revenge on him for abandoning her.  Or at least Neal _hoped_ she wouldn’t.  Still, he couldn’t quite find words to respond to that.  There was no way in hell his father was some Merlin-like sorcerer.  That _definitely_ wasn’t true.  It couldn’t be.

“Look, you’ve broken his brain already.”  Regina stepped forward impatiently, leaving Neal frowning.  “If he doesn’t want Rumple to fix this, fine.  I’ll do it.”

“You?” Neal gave her a skeptical look.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing you were the Evil Queen.”

“ _Were_.  Yeah.  And now I’m the person who can fix you, unless you want your father or your stepmother—”

“Bae?” A familiar voice suddenly interjected.  “Is everything all right?”

Neal froze.  He hadn’t heard that voice outside his nightmares in centuries, hadn’t even _thought_ he might be near his father until Emma has mentioned his name in the street.  Neal had known right away that he didn’t want to see his father—but Emma had said that things weren’t that way anymore.  Could he trust her?  Once, Neal would have trusted her with everything and anything, but now he had no idea what had happened between them over the last two years.  Maybe Emma did hate him, despite that little smile she’d given him.  Maybe his son hated him, too, and this was all a lie.

But it didn’t feel like it.  This felt real enough, particularly with his damned father standing right there, waiting for an answer.  He _looked_ like the papa that Neal remembered, too, worried and loving.  He didn’t look crazy or power hungry, but Neal just _couldn’t_ take that at face value.  Not after everything that had happened.

“Bae?”  Rumplestiltskin took a hesitant step forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

Interestingly enough, the man who stood next to Emma stopped him with a hand on his arm.  “You might want to keep your distance.  He’s lost his memories of the last two years.”

“ _What?_ ”  He couldn’t be imagining the way his father’s voice shook.

“What happened?” The woman who was with his father spoke up, looking worried.

“A curse of some sort.”  Hook answered while Neal was still trying to figure out who the short brunette was.  She was cute, maybe even beautiful, and she was talking like she definitely knew him. 

Emma stepped forward.  “He doesn’t remember anything from before we got to New York.  From before he came to the apartment.”

“Oh.”  Rumplestiltskin looked stricken, and the brunette squeezed his arm.  “I…I see.  Bae, I know what you remember, but—”

“Don’t call me that!” The words burst out of him without his explicit permission, and Neal almost felt guilty for it.  “My name is Neal.”

“Actually, you’ve been going by Bae for a while now.”  Emma looked like she almost didn’t want to say it, wearing an awkward smile.  “It’s taken me forever to learn to call you that.  I’m still not very good at it.”

“You… _you_ call me Bae?”  He felt like the world was closing in on him, and Neal just didn’t know what else to say.  All he could do was stare at Emma, Emma who was older and wiser, but still just as beautiful and ten times as stubborn.  The fact that Emma, who had always been an orphan like him, called him by the name he’d been born with, was strangely touching.

“It’s your name, right?”

Now he really didn’t know what to say.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin wanted to go to pieces.  His son was standing before him, looking angry and full of hate.  _He hates me again._   _He hates me._   The words echoed over and over again in his head as he watched Emma reassuring Bae, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself trembling ever so slightly.  Maybe he was just tired from the battle; he had used an enormous amount of magic, as much as he’d used to close that wild portal when it opened.  But this wasn’t just tiredness.  He just didn’t know what to _do_.  So, he stood frozen, staring at his son and Emma, completely lost and so very afraid.

“Rumple, it’ll be all right.”  That was Belle, standing by his side and squeezing his arm gently.  “We can fix this, right?”

He swallowed, running through a list of memory curses in his mind.  Focusing on that seemed to help, which was probably exactly what Belle meant to do.  Memory curses were relatively easy to produce; they required little preparation and were easy to weaponized.  Whichever fae had hit Bae with the spell had clearly had it ready, and they might have been aiming at _anyone_.  Who didn’t really matter, because they’d managed to erase Bae’s memories.  Or two years or so of it, anyway.  And that was the salient point, wasn’t it?  What had hit Bae hadn’t erased all of his memories, or his memories of a certain person or event.  The curse had erased his memories back to a specific point.

But why _then_?  Rumplestiltskin Emma put a hand on his son’s arm, watched her give Bae a reassuring smile that was nothing like the way the two had interacted when he’d first seen them together in New York.  He knew that moment that the curse took Baelfire back to was the key.  It had to be.

“It’s an Isolation Curse.”  The realization hit him hard, rocking Rumplestiltskin back on  his heels.  “Not just a memory curse.”

He wanted to swear.  Memory curses were _simple_ ; they had counters.  True Love’s Kiss wasn’t the only way to break a memory curse, either; any memory curse simple enough to fling around in combat had one of a few cures that Rumplestiltskin could whip together in an hour or so.  Hell, Regina, Belle, or even Emma could manage that quickly enough.  But an _Isolation Curse_ …that was different.

 Belle frowned.  “I don’t recognize the name.” 

“It’s…old.  Old and dark.  Designed for the sake of pure cruelty and serving no actual _purpose_.  I believe it was a creation of the fae to begin with, actually.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to snarl—if he started acting furious and lashing out, Bae would undoubtedly think the worst of him.  _Just like he did when I was waiting in his apartment in New York,_ Rumplestiltskin remembered.  Not that he’d made it any better by offering to de-age his son.  That certainly hadn’t been his finest moment.

“What does it do?” Belle’s hand on his arm gave him the strength to face this.

“The Isolation Curse takes you back to when you feel most isolated and alone, to one of the worst moments of your life.  To a moment when you feel like you will _always_ be alone, and nothing will ever change that.”  Rumplestiltskin spoke the words softly, but Bae’s head still snapped around to look at him.

“Is that what this is?” his son’s voice was ragged, his eyes wide and lost.  Bae looked young and old at the same time, desperate and terrified.

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin tried not to betray how _relieved_ he was to have Bae turn to him, but it warmed the terrified parts of his heart.  He could tell himself a thousand times that Bae no longer hated him, that he’d earned his son’s forgiveness, but here he was facing Bae from before those days.  And this Bae was still so very angry at him that it made him want to cry.

“Can you get rid of it?” Bae’s voice was tight and unhappy; he clearly didn’t like asking his father for help.  Immediately after, he glanced at Emma and Regina.  “Or can you?”

The two women exchanged glances.  “I’ve never even heard of an Isolation Curse.”  Emma scowled.  “Regina?”

“Oh, I know what it is.  I thought about using it more than once, and then decided it wasn’t nasty enough.”  She shrugged when David gave her a half-dirty, half-exasperated look.  “What?  I was evil back then.  It’s not like I’d use it now.”

“But the fae would.”  David sighed heavily.  “Just when I thought we’d gotten rid of them.  Do you think one of the ones we captured might have a cure?”

Bae perked up, but Rumplestiltskin cut in before his son could start looking hopeful.  “They won’t.  There isn’t a cure.  Only True Love’s Kiss will work.”

“That’s easy enough, right?” Henry sounded a little less optimistic than usual, particularly when Bae gave him a doubtful look.  “I could do it, right?” 

David got in before Rumplestiltskin could stop him.  “It won’t work.”  The king grimaced, his hand drifting towards his heart.  “Both parties have to remember loving each other.  It didn’t work for Snow and I until she remembered me a little.”

“Oh.”  Henry’s face fell.  “But… you’re still the same person, right, Dad?”

“I…I don’t know.”  Bae looked lost again, and then looked back at Emma.  “How much did I change?”

“Um.”  She bit her lip, and then shrugged awkwardly.  “A lot happened.”

Rumplestiltskin was glad to see that—for once!—Emma’s customary bluntness had given way to being circumspect.  Now was hardly the time to tell Bae that he’d died and been resurrected, or, perhaps especially, that Emma had been the Dark One.  Along the way, his son had become a man whom any father would be proud of, but it was all so complicated.  _And more than a little terrifying, particularly if taken in all at once._ Bae was a brave man, but he was utterly out of his depth right now and he knew it.

“But you still love Mom, right?”  Henry spoke with the confidence of a teenager who _knew_ that everything would be all right, but Bae whipped around to stare at his son with wide eyes.  So, Henry backpedaled.  “Or Grandpa could help.  I mean, you’re angry at him, but when Killian poisoned him back in New York, you were still wanted to help him.”

“Poisoned?” Bae echoed the word with even more confusion.  For his part, Rumplestiltskin was almost ashamed by how relieved he was by the fact that Bae didn’t outright say he hated him.

There was no problem with him loving Bae, however.  The only question was if his son trusted him enough to let him try.  Unfortunately, Henry’s little history lesson only led to further distraction.

“Aye.”  Killian gestured vaguely.  “It’s a long story, one that hardly worked out well for yours truly.  Suffice it to say that I attempted revenge many a time before we buried the hatchet.”

“You’re really going to use that phrase _again_?” The way Emma laughed was vaguely familiar, but Rumplestiltskin pushed the thought out of his mind, even when the pirate laughed.

_There was a time I would have buried it in your skull,_ he thought but didn’t say towards his nephew.  Best not to scare Bae when he was hoping his father could help—or when Bae was giving him such a suspicious look.

“And you and me?  What happens there?”  His son’s voice was almost hostile, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop himself from flinching.  Only the way Belle squeezed his arm kept his voice from shaking too much.

“We…had our differences, particularly at first.  I never should have let you go, and you were understandably angry at me for that.  But after we went to—”

“I’m still angry at you for that,” Bae cut in, only to get his arm smacked by Emma.

“Quit it!”

Bae twisted to look at her in angry confusion.  “What?  I’m being honest.”

“You’re being _stupid._ ”  Emma glared.  “You got over that, okay? Why don’t you just listen to the explanation, already?”

“It’s hard, all right?  Last I remember of him, he was all ‘dearies’ and magic”—Bae twirled his hands mockingly—“and I don’t see any evidence that he’s dumped the latter!  You might think this is all ancient history, but it’s all new to me, okay?”

Rumplestiltskin sucked in a shaky breath.  “Bae, I know you’re angry, but if you’ll only listen for a moment—”

“Don’t _call me that!_   And don’t you patronize me, either.”  His son’s voice turned into a growl.  “I’m not sure if I should believe _any_ of this.  I wouldn’t put it past you to have set this all up in some twisted attempt to get me back.”

“I didn’t…I…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off, feeling like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Don’t bother.”  Emma cut in before he could find further words, overriding Belle’s outraged protest.  “He’s just determined to be stupid.”

“Hey!”

But Emma didn’t give Bae a further chance to protest, or Rumplestiltskin a chance to gather his rapidly fragmenting wits.  Instead, she grabbed Baelfire by the front of the shirt and dragged him in close, pressing her lips to his before he could say another word.  Magic flared; light and love and the purest power there was, and golden light suddenly filled the air.

_Whoosh._

* * *

 

The ice dome Elsa had created was finally down, but Anna wasn’t sure she was ever going to stop shivering.  Sure, she’d been in cold places before—it kind of came with the territory from having an ice queen as a sister—but this had been a bit much.  And a lot of the people of Arendelle definitely agreed with her, too.  She could hear some of them muttering about the cold, but at least most of them were more ticked off at whatever person had tried to pretty much destroy the world.  _Which is only fair, seeing as how this_ really _isn’t Elsa’s fault.  She just tried to save everyone._

It would have worked, too, or at least Anna thought so.  Grand Pabbie did, too, and she figured he was the closest thing to an expert that they had.  He was _also_ able to tell them that his magic could detect a still-existing portal between Misthaven and Storybrooke, which left Anna bouncing in excitement. 

“C’mon, Kristoff.  All we have to do is take a ship.”  She turned her most pleading look on her husband, who heaved a sigh.

He heaved a sigh.  “ _And_ convince your sister.  Let’s not forget that minor technicality.”

“Elsa’s not going to be a problem.”  Anna rolled her eyes.  “She already said we can go.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t say when.  And if I know Elsa, she’s going to drag her heels on this until she’s _sure_ it’s safe.”

“So we stow away!  There are still ships sailing from the port, and convincing a captain to go to Misthaven should be easy enough if we bribe him with enough gold.  We can sell that ugly necklace that I got for my last birthday, and—”

“And cause a diplomatic incident with the Southern Isles now that we’re finally done with that war?  C’mon.  That’s just stupid.”

“And you’re just mean!”  She glared, but Anna’s heart wasn’t in it.  The necklace _was_ ugly, but selling it would probably get out and then Elsa would be in trouble.  A diplomatic mess wasn’t anything her sister couldn’t deal with, but Anna wasn’t idiot.  She’d been the cause of the _first_ diplomatic mess with the Southern Isles, and Arendelle didn’t need a second problem like that.

Kristoff shrugged, clearly knowing she wasn’t serious.  “Just calling it like I see it.”

“It’s not _fair._ ”  Now it was Anna’s turn to sigh heavily.  “I just want to find out what happened.  Everything’s fine here, now.  Can’t we just go?”

“It’s been less than twelve hours since the whole world-ending thing stopped, you know.”  Her husband gave her that ‘reasonable’ look of his that drove Anna crazy.  “I’m sure that Elsa will let us go in a day or two.”

“But then it’ll take days more to get to Misthaven, and even _with_ Grand Pabbie’s help, finding that portal might take a while, too.”  Anna didn’t want to admit that she was restless, or that she was bored.  Standing around watching Elsa save people was well and good, but she wanted to find out if she could help in her own way.  Anna wanted to _do_ something, not just watch.

Was that so wrong?

“I know.”  Kristoff wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  “So, let’s be smart about this, okay?  We’ll get the cooks to make Elsa’s favorites for dinner, and then we’ll talk to her about it over dessert.  Your sister’s sweet tooth is _bound_ to work in our favor.”

“I knew I loved you.  You’re the best!”  Anna grinned, because she knew it would work.  Elsa was always more likely to give her what she wanted if they made sure that there was enough chocolate cream pie to go around. 

* * *

 

Emma wasn’t sure what made her kiss him, unless you counted pure annoyance.  Neal—Baelfire, really, even if he was Neal at the moment—had been being stupid, and she just wanted him to _shut up_.  Well, she really just wanted him to remember, but Emma knew that might be asking a bit too much.  Yet that thought was terrifying.  So very terrifying.

Emma didn’t like admitting that, even to herself, but it was true.  She’d just finally opened herself up to love again, _really_ opened herself up.  She’d thought that she and Bae were doing well, that they had found something of what they’d had when they were young and innocent, and that they were growing together towards something even better.  For the first time in a long time, Emma felt optimistic about her future and her love life.  And then suddenly, that future was _gone._   Bae was back to being Neal, back to being a defensive loner, back to being afraid of the world Emma had taken so long to accept herself.  She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to deal, but Rumplestiltskin had said the one thing that would work was True Love’s Kiss.  And it wasn’t ego to say that Neal had never stopped loving her; he’d told her as much more than once.  So, she braced herself and took the chance.

Golden light filled the air, _whooshing_ past them in a brilliant display of power.  Emma felt the surge down to her very bones, and it made her shiver like nothing else ever had before.  The kiss she’d given Henry to break the first curse hadn’t been like this—that had been pure love and parental devotion.  This thrill was something distinctly sexual, charged with both desire and love.

Bae jerked back, staring at her with wide eyes.  “What did you do?  What was that?”

“I kissed you.”  Emma let go of his shirt, feeling burned.  What if she was wrong?  Could something else cause that flash?  She thought she’d felt it, but the expression on his face made her heart plummet.  His next words only made things worse.

“Yeah, but for what?  I mean, not that it wasn’t nice, but we haven’t been together in a decade, and”—He cut off suddenly, shaking his head, even has her heart plummeted to somewhere below Main Street.  “I’m sorry, Emma, I can’t even say that as a joke.  I’m fine.  I remember everything.”

“You—you jerk!” Unable to think of what else to do, Emma smacked him in the arm.  Hard.  But she was starting to smile despite her annoyance.

“Yeah, I know.”  Bae’s smile went cheeky before he started to stutter.  “But you kissed me, and—and—and it worked.  That means—that means…”

“That means it’s True Love.”  Henry said the words neither of his parents could get out, the words Emma had barely dared think.

_True Love._ We’re _True Love?_   Emma had kissed him because she _hoped_ it might work, not because she’d believed she could wake him up.  Part of her had thought that maybe she could, but Emma had always known that Henry was her True Love.  _Can you have two True Loves like that?  Family and romantic._ For all the lessons she’d had in magic, this was something that she and Regina had never talked about.

When she met Bae’s eyes, she was actually glad to see that he looked as lost as she felt.  Emma’s voice came out in a whisper.  “Could we be?”

“You’re the one who made me remember.”  He reached out and took her hand.  “I think that’s pretty awesome, really.  And I’m kinda, um, floored.”

“You and me both.”  Her smile felt shy, and part of Emma was that seventeen-year-old girl again, the one who had been full of love and hope.

_That’s how you know you’ve really got a home.  When you leave it, there’s that feeling that you can’t shake. You just miss it._

“I love you, you know.”  Bae squeezed her hand, and Emma felt her smile grow wildly.  “I mean, that’s kind of obvious at the moment, but I figured I should say it.”

“I know.”  Emma snorted at herself, and then squeezed his hand back.  “I love you, too.  I always have.”

This time he kissed her, and although there was no golden flash of light, Emma could still feel the power rushing through her.  To her left, Henry whooped and someone else said something, but she wasn’t listening.  The battle was over, and she was _home._

* * *

 

They were kissing like idiots, but Regina couldn’t blame them.  Yeah, it was annoying, but True Love’s kiss was nothing to sneeze at.  Her own experiences in that regard were subtler; if Belle hadn’t pointed out months earlier that only a True Love could see their lover’s dreams via a kiss to the forehead, Regina might never have realized exactly how deep her own relationship with her husband was.  Had she not known that, Regina might have been jealous.  She wasn’t proud of that fact, but it was what it was.  She’d never be some shining light of goodness; Regina would always be sharp around the edges and a little angry at the world.  But she was all right with that.

“That was a gutsy move you pulled back there,” Robin said softly from her side.

Regina found her smile surprisingly free of bitterness.  “I knew you’d be there when I needed you.”

“I’m honored by the trust, ‘Gina, but you almost gave me a heart attack.”  Her husband gave her a lopsided smile, but Regina just grinned.

“Aren’t you the one who always says what a good shot you are?”

He gave her a hard look.  “Yes, but I generally like to shoot at people who aren’t _inches_ away from my beloved wife.”

“Semantics.”  She felt _good_.  She felt so very alive.  They’d won, and Regina had done her part.  She hadn’t been certain that she’d ever live to see a day like this, when Storybrooke had stood united against evil, and she had been on the side of the angels.  Yet here she was—here _they_ were.  She had a wonderful husband and two amazing children, along with another on the way.  Regina was happy, truly happy, and she was going to enjoy this moment for as long as it lasted.

“So long as you’re both all right.”  Robin glanced at her stomach, which Regina brought his hand over to touch gently.

“We are.  Thanks to you.”

“Well, next time you’re going to pull a stunt like that, warn me, all right?”  He bent to kiss her neck, and then gave her a roguish smile.  “I don’t generally object daring do, mind, but I do like knowing that it’s coming.”

“That’s because you’re a smart man.”  Turning, Regina kissed Robin gently. 

“I do try.”

* * *

 

His birth parents had shared True Love’s Kiss. 

_Finally._

It had taken them long enough to realize what Henry had figured out a while ago, but Emma had always been stubborner than stubborn, and Bae wasn’t much better when his hackles got up.  And man, had they gotten up!  Henry had been a bit taken aback by his father’s reaction to his existence, even though he’d tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t be offended.  Still, Neal had reacted better the first time around, and Henry was still reeling a bit from those words.  _Oh, hell, no_ , his dad had said. He didn’t really mean it—Henry knew that—but it still stung a bit.  Enough to make him stare at the ground for a moment while his parents kissed again, instead of celebrating wildly.

“You okay, Henry?”

Henry’s head jerked up.  His dad had noticed once they’d stopped kissing, and now Bae was coming his way.

“Yeah.  ‘Course I am.”  He smiled, and it wasn’t even forced, because Henry _was_ happy.  “You guys are True Love, and you remember.”  He swallowed without meaning to, hating the hesitation in his voice.   “Right?”

“Yeah, I do.  And I’m sorry for what I said.”  Bae pulled Henry into a one-armed hug, and Henry felt himself relax just a little.  “I didn’t mean to sound so _angry_ at the idea of having a kid, even at the time.  I was just in a really bad place.”

“Do you know why that curse hit you?” He had been curious about that, but there’d been no point in asking Neal Cassidy that question.  Not with how he felt about magic.

His dad snorted.  “I actually think that it was meant for Killian.  I shoved him out of the way, and it hit me.”  A shrug and a smile.  “I suppose that’s what I get for trying to act like a hero.”

“You _are_ a hero, Dad.”  As far as Henry was concerned, everyone who had fought in that battle was.  He was still a bit miffed to have been left out, but he was still determined to hear about everything that had happened—and to write it down like a proper Author.

“I’d rather just be a normal guy, thanks.”  Bae grinned, though, and the arm around Henry’s shoulders squeezed one more time.  “But I think I owe someone else an apology, on the note of being me.”

Henry nodded immediately.  “Yeah, you do.”

Unsurprisingly, his dad turned to his own father.  Henry had seen the stricken look on his grandfather’s face when Neal had snapped at him, and Rumplestiltskin still looked a tad uneasy.  Worrying about this was kind of silly of him, in Henry’s opinion, but he’d long since realized that his paternal grandfather wasn’t nearly as sturdy on the inside as he was on the outside.  Rumplestiltskin was pretty good at anxiety, and his nerves still showed on his taut face.

“I’m sorry, Papa.  I didn’t mean what I said.  I was just angry—and like Emma said—stupid.”  Bae took a tentative step forward, and Rumplestiltskin met him halfway, wrapping him in a tight hug.  Henry barely heard the next words, muffled as they were.  “I never really meant any of that.  I was just a little lost.”

“I know, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice sounded choked.  “And there’s nothing to forgive.”

“Easy for you to say.”  Bae snorted out a laugh.  “You weren’t the one being a jerk.”  He pulled back to smile.  “I noticed you got rid of the Black Fairy, by the way.  It’s about time.”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.  “I’m so glad you’re satisfied.”

“Mildly, anyway.”  Another grin faded into seriousness.  “I’m just glad it’s over, honestly.  Maybe now we can all get on with our lives.”

“A life I can see the two of you have much to discuss.”  Rumplestiltskin nodded at Henry’s birth parents, and Henry resisted the urge to whoop out loud.  He’d just known that his grandfather was on his side where they were concerned—actually, that _both_ of his grandfathers were.  David was smiling pretty big, too.

“Oh, don’t start.”  Bae was almost whining, and was it Henry’s imagination, or was Emma turning a little red?

“I don’t know, I think he might be right.”  David’s smile was just as broad as Henry’s felt.  “Clearly, you two have been holding out on us.”

“Dad!” Emma glared, but it was Bae who saved them from embarrassment.

“You know, I actually worried you might be Emma’s boyfriend a few minutes ago,” he told David, who blinked.  Hard.

“What?  _Me?_ ”

Bae shrugged.  “Well, it’s not like I was expecting Emma’s lost dad to look her age, y’know?  And you were standing there all protective like.”

Emma shook her head.  “That’s wrong in so many ways that I don’t have words to describe it.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly say it was sitting well with me, either.  But if I have to live with that thought in my head, so do you.”

“Gee, thanks.”  Emma rolled her eyes, but Henry couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I think our family tree is screwed up enough already, okay, Dad? Stop giving the universe ideas.”

Most of the adults laughed, but David looked a little offended.  “That one is _definitely_ never happening.”

“Damn straight it isn’t.”  Emma’s words were almost a growl. 

Henry just grinned.  “Then maybe you and Dad should go talk about things.”

“No matchmaking from you, kiddo.”  Bae gave him a hard look that made Henry laugh.

“I already did, thanks.” 

He grinned cheekily, and was glad when neither of his birth parents could find a way to argue with _that_ one.  

* * *

 

“So, what now?”  Lily wasn’t quite certain that she was welcome in that mess of a family over there, so she’d hung at the edges of the all-too-pleased crowd.  She was still a little achy, and still really cranky, but her dad was okay, and Killian had stuck by her instead of going to join the others. 

That last fact meant a lot.  In fact, it meant way more than Lily would ever admit.

“Well, now I take you on a proper date.”  Killian grinned at her, the bruise on his right temple only making him look more roguish.  “Assuming the lady is willing?”

She couldn’t help smiling.  “Yeah.  You can say that.”

“You saved my life, you know.”  His eyes turned serious, and Lily felt the hand in hers grasp her fingers a little more tightly.  “I…I can’t ever repay you for that.”

“I had help.”  Lily shrugged as casually as she could.  _And I wasn’t going to let you die, idiot,_ she didn’t say.  “And I don’t want repayment.  I—I just want to be with  you.”

Saying those last words was hard; Lily had been in failed relationship after failed relationship, always ending up on the wrong end of a bad breakup that was usually her fault.  She had almost grown afraid of caring for anyone, at least until Emma Swan had barged back into her life and reunited her with her mother.  Then she’d opened up to Maleficent, and then to Tad…and now to Killian.

She’d started trying to seduce him just so she could take him away from Emma, but Lily no longer cared about that.  She wasn’t sure why Emma had been stupid enough to let Killian go—though in fairness to Emma, that kiss she’d shared with Baelfire was probably a pretty good reason—but Lily wasn’t about to make the same mistake.  A large part of her would always be the screwup girl who was certain that her future would be anything but happy, but if today had taught her anything, it was that there _was_ hope.  So, she would face the future as bravely as she could, and love as best she was able.  And if she was a little broken and a little dark, well, so was Killian.  They understood one another.

“Aye.  I want that, too.”

“Good.”  Lily felt a shy smile cross her face. 

It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t have to be True Love, but for Lily, that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two—“The Fair Beginning of a Time”, in which no one really knows what to do with Storybrooke at peace, Belle grows used to her new powers, Henry continues to be a conniving matchmaker, and plans are made for the future.


	122. The Fair Beginning of a Time

No one really knew what to do in a Storybrooke that was at peace.  The first few days after the battle were strangely quiet; families picked themselves up and put themselves back together, lovers were reunited, and wounds were healed.  August was buried, and Archie moved in with Marco to help him cope with his grief.  Ruby re-opened the diner with Mulan by her side, and Mordred reluctantly started working with the Camelotonians—or were they Camulodians, now?—to sort their lives and government out.  Belle had wandered over there once or twice, but she mostly let her uncle/brother-in-law deal with that.  He’d been a good king in Camelot, and he wasn’t a constant reminder of Danns’ like she was.  Belle didn’t think that most of Camulodunum held her lineage against her, but she’d caught a few less-than-friendly glances coming her way.

Besides, she was rather caught up in becoming the White Faery.  Or something, anyway.  Belle wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to be; she wasn’t actually a fairy or faery, as far as she knew, but she wasn’t the same, either.  And the feeling was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.  By the end of the first week after the final battle, Belle still felt both more alive and _lighter_ than ever before, and she was still trying to get a handle on this new and amazing magic she had inherited.

She tried not to sigh.  “I still feel different.”

“You do?” Rumplestiltskin turned to look at her from where he was inventorying a bunch of jewelry one of the Camulodians had pawned the day before.  “Are you all right?”

“It’s not…bad, at least not really.”  Belle gestured helplessly, trying to find words.  “I’m just different.  And I know you said that it takes some getting used to, this feeling of power running through my bones, but I still feel weird.”  She looked at her husband, feeling stupid for complaining.  He’d done this, too, after all, and Rumplestiltskin had seemed to weather the transition so much better.  “And I feel even worse because I’m whining about it.”

“Oh, no.  Sweetheart, you aren’t whining.”  Abandoning the jewelry, Rumplestiltskin walked over to wrap his arms around her from behind.  Leaning back, Belle nestled her head against his chest, allowing his warmth to wrap around her.  Touching him no longer felt like being lit on fire, but the feeling was still amazing when their magic touched.  “You’ve become an original power, and that changes you—inside _and_ out.  You have every right to feel ‘weird’.”

“Did you?  You never said much about it, other than how the power was different.”

“I did feel strange, although probably not in the same way.”  He exhaled, his breath warm against the side of her face.  “My years as the Dark One meant my body was attuned to power already in ways yours wasn’t.  For me, it was more the different _type_ of magic that stood out, and the quantity of it.”

“I don’t feel like the magic is very different,” Belle admitted in a small voice.  Did that mean she was somehow doing this wrong?  Might the power escape and hurt people, the way Merlin’s had?

“Of course you don’t.  Your magic was firmly rooted in the light already, because you already _had_ inherited Fionna’s power.  Absorbing your grandmother’s power simply enhanced what you already are.”

“You really think so?” Belle twisted to face him, her heart still in her throat.  She wanted to believe Rumplestiltskin, but it sounded almost too easy to be true.

“Yes.”  He kissed her on the forehead.  “I can see what you are.  And I can see that you’re acclimating better than I ever did, because this is what you were born to be.”

She blinked.  “Of course I wasn’t.  I was just…normal.  No one, really.  Just the daughter of a landed knight with a castle.”

Rumplestiltskin’s chuckle was low, and vibrated through both of them.  “You are your mother’s daughter.  I never met her, but I think I begin to understand the kind of woman she was—and I certainly know the kind of daughter she raised.”

“I’m not that good.  I’m just—”

“You _are_ , Belle,” he cut her off gently.  “You always see the best in people, even when they’ve lost that in themselves.  You bring light to darkness, and restore hope where there is none.  You’ve _always_ been that way.  Now you simply have the power to match the light that was always within you.”

Belle swallowed hard.  She wanted to argue.  Part of her _desperately_ wanted to say he was wrong, and yet Rumplestiltskin’s words rang true.   For most of her life, Belle had wanted to be a hero, because it was the heroes in her books who helped people and righted wrongs.  But maybe she’d been aiming for the wrong target.  Her _goals_ had been good:  helping people and righting wrongs was always worth doing.  And yet Belle didn’t have to be some sword-swinging (or even book-reading) hero to do that.  She could do so with a gentle touch, guiding people in the right direction, healing them when they were hurt, and mending disputes when they arose.

As a girl, Belle would have argued that she should be more active than that, but Belle was slowly starting to realize that a true hero didn’t need recognition for their deeds.  A true hero did what needed to be done, helped those who needed help, and never asked for anything in return.  _And if I can help without anyone knowing I have helped, that counts, too._

“I love you,” she whispered.  “For everything.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “And I love you.”

They kissed, and Belle felt power racing through her very bones.

* * *

 

“So, are you going to move in now that you two are definitely True Love?” Henry asked over lunch that same afternoon.

“Henry!” Bae and Emma glared at him together, but their damned urchin just grinned at them. 

“What?”  He shrugged innocently.  “It’s not like half the town didn’t see that kiss.  And even Gramps is rooting for you.”

Bae didn’t have the heart to tell Henry that David was hardly the problem.  David might make old-fashioned noises about asking permission to court his daughter and all that, but David’s bark was _way_ worse than his bite in that regard.  No, the problem on that front was Emma, along with Bae’s own past actions.  Once, they’d blissfully assumed they’d have a future together.  They’d only had each other, and they’d both known that they could each become the family that the other lacked.  But his betrayal had ruined that, and then jail and the next ten years had turned Emma into a hardened woman who had a hard time opening herself up to love and trust.  Bae was a bit better in that regard, but only because he’d never been good at walling himself off, even if being open-hearted got him hurt in the progress. 

That didn’t matter, though.  He wasn’t going to push Emma, no matter what.  And he really wished their too-eager kid wasn’t so eager to encourage his mother in all the wrong ways.  The last thing they needed was for Emma to get her back up, because then—

“Well, I’m not moving to Tallahassee.”  Emma shrugged far more casually than Bae would have expected, but hearing the name of the city they’d chosen so long ago made his heart leap.  “But, um, if you wanted to…”

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Emma Swan?” He couldn’t resist asking, even when it made her glare at him.

But the way her glare softened into a smile made it all worthwhile.  “Yeah.  If you want to?”

“Are you kidding?  ‘Course I do.”  Bae reached out and grabbed her hand from across the table. “Beats me asking you to move in with me, anyway, since I’m still living with my dad.”

“I was living with my parents until I became the Dark One and got anti-social.”  Grief flickered across Emma’s face, and Bae could tell she was thinking about Snow, so he squeezed her hand gently.  After a moment, she brightened.  “But it’s a big house.  And even this nosy kid is only here part time.”

Henry straightened, his eyes glowing.  “It’ll make things a lot simpler if I only have to split my time between _two_ houses.”

“Don’t push it, kiddo, okay?  You’re already getting what you want.  No need to gloat.”  Bae gave his son a hard look, but Henry only frowned thoughtfully.

“You’re right.  I should ask Grandpa for lessons on  how better to manipulate people.  I’m being way too obvious.”

“Henry!”

* * *

 

“Are you all right, Gina?”

She’d thought she was hiding her discomfort, but leave it to Robin to notice how Regina was squirming after the town council meeting ended.  She’d managed not to do it _in_ the meeting—which had gone pretty well, thank you very much—but containing herself now that she was back in her office was hard.  So was not glaring at her husband.

“My feet are swollen.”

“Is that—I mean, isn’t there something you can do about that?”  Robin managed to change what he was saying just in time, because Regina _knew_ that she’d throttle him if he asked if that was ‘all’ her problem was.  “Magically, I mean?”

That made her scowl.  “Apparently it’s a bad idea.  Or at least so says Elaine.”

“Elaine?  That old woman who has taken to working with Whale in the hospital?”

“Yes.  Apparently the old bat has been a midwife, among other things, and it’s either going to her or the fairies.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “And I’m not asking the insects about having children.  They don’t know anything about it.”

She supposed that she could ask Morgan, but that was a little weird when Morgan was romancing Mal.  Besides, Morgan didn’t seem the type who’d ever had any problems with a pregnancy, and Regina was starting to find that the last three months of hers were downright infuriating.  _It’s a pity I can’t blame Zelena for that, but I’ve carried this baby longer than she ever did, so she’s_ my _daughter_.  Someday, Regina supposed she and Robin would have to explain their daughter’s complicated origins to her, but that day could wait at least a few years.

“Then if you can’t use magic, would an old-fashioned foot rub help?” His smile was infectious, but Regina had to give him an arch look.

“In the office?”

“I thought you knew by now that I don’t care what people think about me.”  He grinned.  “So what if someone sees?  My wife needs a foot rub, and I’m happy to oblige.”

A few weeks ago, Regina would have been certain that an emergency would arise, and good old Storybrooke style, they’d have to rush out and deal with that.  But it didn’t.  In fact, _nothing_ interrupted them except for Leroy coming to look at the plumbing in the outer office, and Regina started to think that she really could be happy with that kind of normal.

* * *

 

“I, um, think Bae and I are moving in together.”  Emma tried not to cringe as she told her father the news; she wasn’t a little girl, and she didn’t need his permission.  But she really did want his approval.  For a woman who hadn’t even known her parents a few years earlier, Emma figured that she really had come a long way, even if thinking about her mother’s death still burned.

_I avenged her, even if it wasn’t the way I would have wanted to do it_.  _But what’s important is the family we became, not how it ended,_ she told herself, remembering Mary Margaret’s smile when they’d talked about how Henry thought she was Emma’s mother.  Snow would always be with them, even if part of Emma still couldn’t believe she was gone.

David didn’t even blink.  “So?”

“So, I think this is where you’re supposed to have some sort of responsibility freak out or another.”  Emma glared at him, knowing that David would have _something_ to say.  He usually did.

“Well, I’d offer to teach him to cook, but I’m not very good at it.”  He smiled.  “And I could issue some bloodcurdling threats about what would happen if he slept with my little girl, but—”

“Dad!”

“But Henry’s existence already indicates that neither of you are going to listen to me.”  David overrode her objections easily, but he wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulders before she could get really worried about his reaction.  “Just try to get married first before you have another kid, all right?”

“I’m not—I mean, we’re not—it’s nowhere near time to have conversations like that!” Emma burst out, feeling her face go red.

“Okay.  I’m not pushing.  In fact, it’s probably a good thing that you’re not interested in adding to the family at the moment—two infants in the next few months are probably more than enough.”

“Tell me about it.”  Emma was glad that Henry was old enough not to be confused by the fact that he had an uncle who was over a decade younger than him and was about to have an aunt who was even younger.  And she didn’t envy Regina the task of explaining this _really_ screwed up family to her upcoming daughter, whose relations to everyone were even more twisted than Henry’s were.

“I am happy for you, Emma,” her father said in a softer voice.  The arm around her shoulders squeezed.  “For both of you—or should that be all three of you? I bet Henry’s ecstatic.”

She groaned.  “In the most overbearing way possible, yeah.”

David just laughed.  “He’s been pulling for you two to get together for a long time.”

“Don’t sound so innocent.  I know you were, too.”  She gave her father a side-eyed look, but David only shrugged.

“I never made a secret of it.  I like Killian well enough, but I never thought that he’d make you happy in the end.”

Sighing, Emma swallowed back an immediately defensive reply.  She’d made her decision as far as Killian was concerned, and she hoped they could remain friends, particularly since he and Bae were pretty close.  She _had_ loved him, desperately and deeply…but not at all healthily.  Emma could understand that, now that she was a few steps away from her emotions.  Killian had seemed to be all she had left, had been there when she’d needed someone desperately, and he’d refused to take no for an answer when she’d been afraid.  For a while, she’d thought that incredibly desirable, had felt like it was someone else taking the weight of decisions off of her shoulder.  Now, however, she could look at their relationship and realize what it really had been.

“Killian’s the kind of guy you take to Vegas for a good time.  He’s not really the ideal stepfather for a kid,” she said after a moment.  The words made her feel almost guilty, because Killian _had_ changed—but he still wasn’t for her.

Lily, on the other hand, seemed quite happy with her Vegas-style pirate, and Emma really did think they fit together very well.  _Lily’s the kind of girl you take to Vegas, and then hold her coat while she burns the place down, so maybe they’ll work just fine._   Emma was glad for them, anyway.  It was high time Lily found her place in the world, and Emma was just glad that it was in Storybrooke.

* * *

 

Weeks swept by without any horrible villains crawling out of the woodwork, and Henry started to get _bored_.  Even joining the self-defense class that Mulan put together didn’t really fill his time, though it was really cool that Grace had joined it, too.  She talked about dragging Victor to class one of these days, but even though _everyone_ thought it would be funny to see Storybrooke’s only doctor get beat up by Mulan, Victor never showed.  Jefferson came to a few classes, and Ruby was always there, but mostly it was just Storybrooke’s younger residents.

Well, that wasn’t quite true.  There were a lot more teens in town now that they had people coming from Musicbrooke and Camulodunum.  Sid hung out with Henry and Grace a lot, even though he was a handful of years older than them, and they gained a few other friends from the two new towns.  Going there was a lot easier when there wasn’t a war going on, and Henry really did enjoy the freedom.  Even if it was boring.

He actually hoped that Maleficent would do something dark and tricky, just so that they had an enemy to fight, but the new ‘darkest’ person around seemed content to sip tea on her porch and hang out with Henry’s great-grandmother. 

“It’s been so _boring_ ,” he said to Grace on their way to Granny’s after that Tuesday’s self-defense class.  They were both sweaty and dirty (Henry more than Grace, since she’d dumped him on his behind in the dirt of the park), but they felt pretty good.

His best friend snorted.  “You say that like boring is a bad thing.  I’ll take boring over crazy battles any day.”

“Yeah, but at least when everyone was fighting all the time, my Mom wasn’t complaining about her aching back and feet, _and_ she wasn’t suddenly obsessed with eating healthy and having no junk food in the house.”  Henry groaned.  “She won’t let me eat pop tarts!”

“I bet your other mom will.”

“Yeah.”  That thought made him grin.  “Emma’s pretty big on waffles, too, and Dad wouldn’t know health food if it bit him in the rear.  But Robin’s going crazy with the health kick, too, and you don’t _want_ to hear what Roland thinks about eating oatmeal.”

“Just when I think my life is crazy, you top me every time.”  Grace slipped her arm through his. “But it’s not all bad, right?  Even if it’s boring, everyone’s safe and alive.  That counts for a lot.”

“Yeah.”  Henry couldn’t argue with that, even if he found himself missing the days when big bad villains crawled out of the woodwork and made his family save the day.

“How’s the writing going, anyway?  Have you finished off the story of the final battle?”

“Almost.  Belle’s helping, which is pretty cool.”  Henry would have asked August if he hadn’t died in the battle—but Belle had a surprisingly good eye for what stories needed to be told and which ones didn’t.  Besides, she kind of _was_ the White Faery these days, and Henry thought it was a good idea to get his step-grandmother’s stamp of approval on this story.

After all, Blue had already indicated that she thought the entire role of the Author should be eliminated, so it didn’t hurt to get the two other original powers on his side.  _It probably doesn’t hurt that they’re my grandparents, too,_ he thought behind a smile.  Particularly since their twisted family had all _stayed_ on the same side, even once things quieted down.

Yeah, it was boring, but as far as life went, Henry figured it could be worse.  Besides, he had an archery lesson with Robin that afternoon, and at least that would be fun.

* * *

 

Not being hated—or even warily tolerated, the way he’d been for the last few months—was incredibly strange.  People even _smiled_ at Rumplestiltskin when he walked down the street, which was downright strange.  The weeks after Danns’ death had been quiet and calm, and although Rumplestiltskin had relished the peace and the time to spend with his family, he still wasn’t sure what to do with himself.  The last few months—just over five of them since he’d been freed from the darkness—had been surreally happy, and sometimes, Rumplestiltskin expected to wake up on the shop floor, still the Dark One and inches away from losing his soul to that darkness.

It would have made more sense than this: a happy ending (or middle) where his son was alive, he had reconciled with his wife, was awaiting a second child, and where he was a part of his grandson’s life.  He had a mother, too, and a half-brother with whom he was unexpectedly civil, along with a nephew whom he had grudgingly come to better terms with.  He had even stumbled his way into being accepted by the Charming-Mills side of the family, which had been something he hadn’t always wanted, yet secretly pleased him all the same.  For the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin was part of a large and loving family…and he cherished that.

Even if sometimes it proved ridiculously annoying.

“You have to help me convince her to stop this ridiculous pantomime of a relationship.”  His brother didn’t bother with a greeting; Mordred simply launched right into the point he wanted to make.  Idly, Rumplestiltskin wondered when they’d gotten so close to one another, but he supposed it was when they’d been busy fighting side by side and saving one another’s lives.

“I presume that by ‘her’, you mean our mother.”  He stopped with a sigh; Rumplestiltskin _had_ been heading to the toy store to start planning gifts for his daughter, but that could wait.  Gabrielle was still a bit over four months away, after all.  Belle was really starting to show, which made Rumplestiltskin go all warm and soft inside, but for now, he’d have to put that aside.

Mordred sighed theatrically.  “Of course I do.”

“And by ‘this ridiculous pantomime of a relationship’, you’re referring to the fact that she and Maleficent are still together.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t keep his eyebrows from rising, but Mordred didn’t seem to notice his entirely-too-patient tone.

“ _Obviously_.  Do keep up, brother dear.”  Mordred crossed his arms.  “We need to speak to her.  She’s only doing it to annoy me.”

“Has it…ever occurred to you that Mother might be rather, uh, fond of Maleficent?” Rumplestiltskin really felt awkward being the one to point this out to his brother, but Morgan _had_ risked everything to save Maleficent’s life in the final battle.  Given how their mother was not exactly given to frivolous displays of emotion, that had to mean a lot.

“She’s a dalliance, nothing more.  Mother has had plenty of those over the years.”

“And has she _ever_ stepped away from one of those because you asked her to?”

That earned him a scowl.  “Of course not.  Mother is—damn you.  You’re right.”

“I do have that habit from time to time.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Mordred snapped.  “Gloating is unbecoming of you.”

“Well, then, we’re lucky that I was never expected to be anything but.”  Rumplestiltskin grinned, but the expression wasn’t as nasty as it once would have been.  Perhaps he was losing his touch.

“Now you’re simply being crass because you can.  You’re the Sorcerer.  You’re _supposed_ to be dignified.”

Rumplestiltskin merely shrugged.  “You saw me as the Dark One.  I _could_ be dancing around you, waving my hands and giggling.”

“No, thank you.”  A shuddering breath.  “You don’t think she’d listen to _Belle_ , do you?  She rather likes her, and if Belle says something…” Mordred trailed off, looking hopeful, and it took all of Rumplestiltskin’s self-control not to laugh at him.

“No, I don’t think she will.  Why does this bother you so, anyway?”  He’d been a little unsettled by his mother’s relationship with Maleficent at first, but Rumplestiltskin had decided that it was none of his business.  After all, he was hardly one to be casting stones on that front.  _He_ was over three hundred years old, and even if one counted the twenty-eight years of the first curse, Belle was only about a sixth of his age.

“Because she’s our _mother_.”  Mordred looked at him like he was insane.  “And she’s—she’s… _dallying_ with Maleficent!”

“You mean she’s sleeping with her.”

Mordred looked ready to gag the word out.  “Yes!”

“So?”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t really want to _think_ about his mother having sex, mind, but so long as he didn’t allow any unwelcome imagery to form in his mind, and so long as Morgan was happy, he could live with the knowledge.

Besides, a happy Maleficent was less likely to do something they all regretted and stick with minor mischief.  And _that_ was something Rumplestiltskin could most assuredly live with.  _Along with the fact that if Maleficent does try anything_ too _creative, Mother will be close enough to see it._

“Doesn’t that bother you?”  Now Mordred’s voice was plaintive, and he looked so pathetic that Rumplestiltskin actually felt sorry for him.

“Not particularly, no.”  He shrugged again. “I suppose the difference is that she didn’t raise me.  I imagine if you ask Baelfire how he feels about Belle and I, um—well, you know—he’ll agree with you.”

“At least this won’t get me another sibling,” Mordred grumbled darkly, and then gave him an apologetic look.  “No offense.”

“None taken.”

* * *

 

“Can you, ah, help me with some knowledge of the modern world?” Killian asked over drinks that evening.  “Of places other than Storybrooke, that is.”

That made Bae look up from his truly horrendous beer.  The dwarves had celebrated the final battle by creating a new ‘Black Fairy Brew’ and it was absolutely terrible.  “Got the sudden urge to travel?”

“A bit.”  His cousin smiled.  “More like I have someone to travel _with_ , and no pirate can stay still for long.”

“Lily.”  Bae had to smile; he’d felt more than a little guilty for coming between Emma and Killian—even if Emma had broken it off with Killian long before she’d taken up with him—but he could tell that Killian was crazy about Lily.  _And Lily’s sharp enough to keep up and sharp enough to land jabs of her own when he gets saucy._

“Aye.  She’s…she’s special, Bae.  And she’s never been treated like a princess before.”  A dark look crossed Killian’s face.  “She’s had bad luck dogging her every step of her life, and I want to take her places, to treat her right.  To give her the kind of happiness she deserves.”

Bae found that oddly touching, particularly since the earnest desire to make someone else happy was shining out of his cousin’s eyes.  “I can help you come up with a few places, yeah.  You gonna sail there, or drive?”

“She likes the sea.”  Blue eyes lit up with sheer joy.  “I thought perhaps we’d sail, so long as I can meet any ridiculous legal requirements the outside world has.”  A sniff.  “As if you could regulate a nautical art like sailing.”

“I’m pretty sure the government has tried.”  He took a breath.  “But we can find that online, you know.  And I’m sure that someone can magically forge you any documents you need.”

Once, Bae would have hated the idea of suggesting magic do such a thing, but now he was okay with it.  Just a few weeks ago, he’d gotten a good look at the angry and scared man he’d been, and he’d discovered that he hadn’t much liked Neal Cassidy.  Neal had been the man he’d created for himself when he hadn’t been able to deal with the world, when he’d wanted to hide from more than just his father.  Neal had been a way to hide from _Baelfire_ , too, and not only from the pain of having had his family and his home torn away from him.  He’d wanted to forget being that trusting boy, wanted to forget loving his father so much and feeling so let down.  Bae supposed it was only natural to have felt that way, particularly after everything that had happened to him back then, but he’d let that life go for a reason, and he didn’t want it back.

“Aye, I suppose I could ask either uncle.  Probably your father, though, assuming that cursed law degree of his imparted any practical knowledge.”

Bae snorted out a laugh.  “Y’know, Pop as a lawyer is terrifyingly fitting, isn’t it?”

“He’s always been annoyingly good at loopholes, anyway.”  Killian sighed.  “But, I suppose we all are family, so one must be kind about such things, yes?”

“Yeah.  We can all rib one another lovingly.”  They exchanged grins, and then Bae went and got a map.  “All right, let’s find you some romantic vacation spots near the ocean.  Without our eyes shut.”

Killian gave him a narrow-eyed look of confusion.  “Is there some pop culture reference there I’m missing?”

“Nah.”  There was no need to tell him that story.  It would just complicate things, anyway. 

Bae had already found Tallahassee.  He just hadn’t realized at the time that they weren’t looking for a geographical location.

* * *

 

Titania was, in Belle’s opinion, a pain in the nether regions.

“If you ever want to get out of this cell, you’re going to have to learn to live with humans,” Belle said as patiently as she could.  This wasn’t the first time she’d sat down to talk to the two remaining fae, but it was the first time she’d come to talk to Titania alone.  Previously, she’d tried to talk to Titania and Hobyah together, but that had been utterly useless; they only played off of one another and grew more determined to resist her efforts to help them.

Rumplestiltskin told her that she was wasting her time, but Belle had promised to protect her grandmother’s people if she could, and she would not break that promise.  _I will do my best, anyway,_ Belle thought to herself.  Experience had made her finally accept that you couldn’t fix everyone or everything, but she would do everything she could.  Perhaps there was a way to integrate the fae into the rest of the world, and maybe then they could even free the others who were still locked away.  The thought of her grandmother’s people sealed away in another world for eternity _did_ pull at her heart, but Belle didn’t want to bring down another Armageddon on Storybrooke, either.  If the fae weren’t willing to respectfully live with others, she would leave them there.

Titania rolled her eyes.  “I _have_ to do nothing.”

“No, you don’t.  You’re welcome to stay here forever, although I suspect the people of Storybrooke will get sick of paying for your keep eventually.”  Belle tried to keep her tone mild, but it was _hard._

“And what would you have me do?” Titania snapped.  “Live like a human?  Like _you_?”

“I am human.  Or at least mostly.”  Belle knew that her power wasn’t entirely human, though, and that was clearly what Titania was referring to, at least judging from the fae’s raised eyebrow.

“You should not be.  You should be the Black Faery.  Or”—a sneer—“the White, if you cannot stomach the darkness.”

“I am _me_.  I don’t need some title to tell me who I am, and neither do you.”  She folded her hands as patiently as she could.  “People in this town understand redemption and change.  You can have a chance to be whomever you want.”

Narrowed eyes greeted that optimistic statement.  “And if I _want_ to be a fae of the old world?  What then?  Will you _understand_ me then?”

“No.  Then we’ll stop you.”  Belle didn’t need to point out that the odds were stacked against the two remaining fae.  Even Maleficent was not likely to welcome them into her fold; she was too busy with Lily and Morgan to care for two lovers of chaos like this. 

“You are hardly the only option we—” Titania cut off, seemingly realizing that she’d said too much.  The next words came hurriedly.  “We can always stay here.”

“That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Belle studied the fae with critical eyes, her mind whirling through the problem.  Maleficent wouldn’t have offered, not this soon.  Belle had spoken to her just the other day when she’d returned Morgan’s letters, and Maleficent was too content with life to cause mischief at the moment.  But if not Maleficent, then who?

Titania’s stony silence only gave Belle more time to mull the problem over, running through ‘options’ in her mind.  Maleficent was out, and Morgan might assume leadership of the fae if asked—she _was_ half-fae on her mother’s side—but she wouldn’t do it without telling anyone.  Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing to do with Belle’s maternal ‘relatives’, and Mordred was universally hated by the fae.  That left no one in the family, and only one other person who was even tangentially related to the fae enough that they would listen.

“You’re referring to Blue.  To Reul Ghorm.”  Belle wanted to groan in frustration, but she stopped herself.

Titania said nothing, of course, but Belle didn’t need her to confirm _this_.

* * *

 

“What will I do as a ‘mayor,’ anyway?” Richard looked terribly confused, but David didn’t miss the way Galavant was all-too-obviously trying not to snicker behind him.

“He said they’d never elect him.  He was wrong.”  The knight was grinning madly, which only made Richard look more morose. 

“I was a _king_.  I was even a very _bad_ king before I was a good one, but at least I was born to do that!”  Richard shuddered.  “How in the world am I supposed to be an elected ruler?”

David honestly wasn’t sure how to answer that; he hadn’t expected Musicbrooke to turn out elections so quickly, either, though.  The Musicbrookers, however, seemed to have a very firm idea of who they wanted to lead them, and they’d elected Richard by a landslide of over eighty percent.  Galavant had swept in as their sheriff by an even wider margin, and they’d already arranged for their wives to each work with the other—Isabella was apparently there to keep Richard on the straight and narrow, while Roberta was going to work with Galavant as his deputy sheriff.  It was a neat arrangement, and one that seemed to please the Musicbrookers, but it was almost enough to make David’s head spin.

“Day by day, I guess,” he answered after a moment.  “It takes some getting used to, but as long as you were a good king, you won’t find it much different.  There’s just more paperwork.”

“Paperwork?!” Richard looked like that offended him to his core, and Galavant only laughed harder.

“Relax, Richard.  I’m sure Isabella will help you with that, at least a little.”

Richard pouted.  “She still hasn’t forgiven me to conquering her country back home.”

“Well, you were a bit of a dick about it.”

“I was an Evil King!  I was doing my best to live up to the trope, thank you very much.”

“And _that’s_ a trope that I don’t recommend you try living up to here,” David cut in before they could continue squabbling.  As entertaining as the pair was, he did have work to get done.  Particularly since Robin had snuck out to help Regina with her _own_ re-election campaign and Emma was…well, he didn’t know where Emma was.  But David trusted that if she was patrolling somewhere, it needed to be done.

Unless she was necking with Baelfire.  He liked Bae quite a lot, and had always sort of cheered for Emma to get back together with Henry’s father, but David really did find this re-invigorated romance of theirs a little bit unsettling sometimes.  They’d been circumspect enough before sharing True Love’s kiss, but now his daughter seemed to think that was reason enough to stop being shy and throw caution to the wind.  David couldn’t count the number of times he’d found them kissing or otherwise giving him gray hairs, and it was starting to get a little, well…much.  He was happy that his daughter was happy, of course, but he was also a father who had to resist the urge to yell at her suitor.

But as far as problems went, he could live with having a problem like that one.  It was much better than the alternative.

* * *

 

Emma was actually out with Lily, helping her track down a trio of idiots who had vandalized Tad Cooper’s house.  Not that Tad hadn’t probably deserved the vandalism—he did have an enormous habit of nicking things from people when he was bored—but the alternative was letting Maleficent know that someone had targeted her friend and co-parent, which would have undoubtedly gotten messy.  So, they’d tracked down the trio of malcontents and Emma had scared them into being smart again.  Or at least sort of smart.  She doubted they’d try the same trick twice, anyway.

“Thanks for coming along.”  Lily looked terribly relieved.  “Mom would _definitely_ have overreacted, and it was just toilet paper and spray paint.”

“Both of which magic can easily fix,” Emma agreed.

“Yeah.  Even _I_ could manage that one, but I think Mom’s gotten more protective over Dad since they decided they don’t want to be together, you know?  Now Dad is after some cute knight from Camulodunum, and they’re getting along really well.  Particularly since he stopped serenading _her_ and started serenading Galahad.”

Emma almost choked.  “Galahad?” she had to ask.  Her own knowledge on Arthurian legends was seriously lacking, but even Emma remembered that Galahad was supposed to be the purest knight of them all.  “He’s romancing _Galahad_?”

“Yep.  Isn’t it weird?  Apparently, he was supposed to be dead, but he’s still around somehow—something about he’d actually worked with Mordred against Arthur—and he and Dad are, well, um, getting it on.”

“I didn’t need to know that, thanks.”  Emma really didn’t need to know too much about anyone’s romance, but at least this was better than Lily gushing about Emma’s own ex, which was just awkward.

“Me, neither.  But that’s what friends are for, right?”  Lily’s smile was hopeful, and maybe even a little afraid, but Emma returned it with her own grin.

“You mean that if you can’t mess with friends, who can you mess with?”

“Pretty much.”  Lily took a deep breath, suddenly looking uneasy.  “I’m glad you brought me back here, you know.  And not just because I got to know both my parents because of it.  I’m…I’m glad to be your friend again.”

“Me, too.”  Emma swallowed back a strange feeling of emotion, surprised how _hopeful_ she felt instead of just being awkwardly uncomfortable.  “It’s good to have you back.  I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

They hugged, and Emma felt something clicking back into place, something she’d thought she’d lost years earlier.  _Maybe this is what a happy ending feels like,_ she realized.  _It’s not just about romance, and it’s not even just about family.  It’s about having a place in the world where you’re accepted and happy, and where you feel at home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the final chapter, Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three—“Ask Ev'ry Person if He's Heard the Story”.


	123. Ask Ev'ry Person if He's Heard the Story

It took them _forever_ to make it to Storybrooke.  First there was Elsa to convince, which took longer than anyone expected when representatives from two neighboring kingdoms came knocking on the door demanding to know what had happened.  _Then_ they had to go to Misthaven via ship, looking for the doorway that Grand Pabbie thought was there.  But it turned out that while Grand Pabbie knew an awful lot about magic, he certainly didn’t know _everything_ , so that was an absolute bust.  Of course, while they were there, Kristoff picked (and won!) a fight with an ogre, and Anna found herself learning to cook for the first time, which had been a lot less successful than Kristoff’s fight with the ogre, if she did say so herself.

That side trip took up almost two weeks, though, and left Anna really annoyed.  She just wanted to go check on her friends, but getting there felt _impossible._ Just when she’d started to lose hope, however, a friendly realm-hopping rabbit showed up in Arendelle, doing a tour of neighboring realms just to see if everything was still okay.  It turned out that their next closest world (aside from Misthaven, of course) was a funny little place called Wonderland.  The White Rabbit was from there, and he offered to take them to Storybrooke on his way home.  Anna jumped at the chance despite Elsa’s objections, and soon enough, she and Kristoff were jumping through a rabbit hole towards Storybrooke.

Weird though that was, it was certainly better than traveling via enchanted chest.  Particularly when said chest was busy taking on water.  But since pretty much anything was better than that, that wasn’t saying much.

The guy that they ran into after climbing out of said rabbit hole, however, didn’t seem to agree.

“Wow.”  The brown haired guy reared back, staring at them skeptically.  “I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my day, and while this doesn’t exactly take the cake, seeing a rabbit dig out of the street kind of takes the cake.”

Anna frowned.  “We didn’t bring any cake.”

“It’s just a figure of speech.”  The stranger blinked.  “I’m, um, going to go out on a limb and assume that you aren’t from around here.  Hence the portal.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” At least he wasn’t an idiot, but Anna wasn’t sure who he was, so she had to tell herself to be cautious.  Kristoff was certainly looking at the guy with suspicious eyes, at least, which was good, because it meant that Anna could just be curious, right?  “We’re from Arendelle.  Well, except the Rabbit.  He’s from Wonderland, but he was nice enough to give us a ride.”

“It seemed to be the best way to end things amicably,” the Rabbit spoke up with a shrug.  Then he turned to them.  “But if you’re satisfied, I’ll be on my way.  Queen Anastasia merely wanted assurances that Storybrooke survived, and that does seem to be the case.  Will was very particular about _never_ coming back to this ‘horrid place’, as he called it, and—”

“Yeah, why don’t you stick around for a few minutes,” Kristoff cut him off.  “Just in case.  Looks can be deceiving, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure everything’s fine.”  Anna looked around, noticing that the diner was still there, and people seemed to be moving around in what seemed to be a normal fashion.  If something had gone really wrong here, surely there’d be signs, right?  Storybrooke hadn’t seemed like the kind of place where people would just quietly accept something crazy happening when she’d been there before, but even Anna had to admit that she hadn’t really _seen_ much of the town.  Elsa had seen a lot more, but Elsa was stuck at home playing queen.

“Maybe.”  Kristoff didn’t look convinced, and he looked the stranger up and down.  “I didn’t catch your name.  No offense, but we didn’t see you last time we were here.”

“Ah, well, that’s because I probably wasn’t here.”  A strangely off-kilter grin. “I, ah, took a bit of a leave of absence of sorts.  It’s a long story.  But I didn’t exactly catch who you two are, either, and I’ve never heard of Arendelle.”

“You haven’t?  That’s funny.  Well, I’m Anna, and this is Kristoff.  My sister Elsa was here with us last time, but she’s back home, being—”

“Busy.  She’s busy.”  Kristoff gave her one of his paranoid looks, which made Anna sigh.  She knew that she was generally kind of reckless and maybe a little bit overly friendly, but Kristoff really did go overboard trying to compensate for that sometimes.

“Right.  Well, I’m Baelfire.  Some people call me Neal, though.”

Kristoff caught on right away.  “From that curse, right?”

“Um, not exactly.  But close enough.”  He glanced around.  “So, what brings you guys here, anyway?  It’s not every day that a portal opens from other worlds.”  A grimace.  “In fact, we’ve actually been trying to prevent that recently.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Anna said quickly.  “We just wanted to see our friends to make sure everything is okay!  Kristoff and I have _both_ been friends with David for years, and Belle came to Arendelle once.  I promised Elsa I’d check on Emma, too, and the Rabbit has to say hi to Belle, too, from Will Scarlet, and—”

“Whoa, yeah, I get the idea.  Okay, you know people.  I can help you find some of them, if you want, though I suspect Belle’s going to be harder to find.  She’s gone off to talk to Blue about some stuff that you probably don’t want to get in the middle of.”

“Blue?  Is that one of the fairies?”  Kristoff asked, making Anna think hard.  She vaguely remembered the fairies, but she hadn’t really paid much attention to them.  She knew they were supposed to be good, of course, but Misthaven had always been a confusing place, and Storybrooke was even worse on that front.

After all, the fact that the scaly lizard-like evil sorcerer she’d met had turned into a nice guy _and_ married her friend made things more than a little weird. 

“Yeah.”  Baelfire grimaced.  “Blue is definitely a fairy.”

He said the word like it was a curse, and _that_ really got Anna’s attention.

* * *

 

“I’m surprised to see you here, child.”  Blue gave Belle what was probably her _best_ maternal smile, but Belle was done falling for that act.  Particularly now that she was—strange though it felt—her great-aunt’s equal in terms of power.

That was why she’d come alone, instead of bringing Rumplestiltskin like he’d practically begged her to.  He thought that talking to Blue was an utter waste of time, but he was also concerned that Blue might try something shady.  Belle didn’t think that was that stupid, or at least not after Rumple had killed Danns’, but she certainly wasn’t in a trusting mood.  It had taken her weeks to worm the truth out of Titania and Hobyah, but she finally had gotten to the bottom of what was going on with the two remaining fae.  Now that she knew, Belle didn’t like it one bit.

“Please don’t call me that.”  Belle intentionally refused the seat Blue offered her, squaring her shoulders and standing as tall as she could.  She felt like a blimp, now that she was showing more and more every day, but Belle didn’t care.  This needed to be done.  So, she gave Blue a hard look.  “I might be much younger than you, but I am what you are.”

“Very well.”  Blue pursed her lips.  “What can I do for you, then, Belle?”

“You can tell me why you’re making offers to the fae behind my back.”

“Excuse me?”  Blue actually had the audacity to look offended.  “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“According to them, because you’re the closest thing they have to a leader these days.”  Taking a deep breath, Belle forced herself not to lose her temper.  Anger made her magic _much_ less predictable, and although she hadn’t done anything catastrophic yet, she was very careful to try to keep herself optimistic and happy.  Her magic was light in nature, so very light, but that didn’t mean that light couldn’t burn.  “You offered them sanctuary.”

Blue sniffed.  “Well, that would certainly be better than being locked away in the asylum for the rest of their very long lives.”

“You do know that they killed people.  And we have a justice system here, one that we actually intend to make _work_.”  Belle could hardly contain her desire to spit at Blue; it wasn’t the fact that Blue wanted to ‘help’ the fae that annoyed her so.  It was the fact that Blue had promised them no punishment for their crimes.

“Fairies are hardly humans to be subjected to human laws.”  Blue smiled benignly.  “We take care of our own issues.”

“Just like you took care of my grandmother.”

Blue flinched, actual anger entering her eyes.  “ _I_ would not have killed her.  I would have—”

“Exiled her using Henry’s heart,” Belle cut her off.  “Just like you did in the past.  Because _humans_ are so much less important than fairies, and it doesn’t matter if you have to burn up a _child_ to save a fairy life.”  The books on Blue’s shelves started to rattle slightly, and Belle throttled down her anger with an effort, biting out each word in turn.  “I didn’t want her to die, either.  But she gave us no choice.”

“There is always a choice.”  A sad shake of the head told Belle that Blue thought she’d made the wrong one, but Belle was beyond caring for what Blue thought.  Blue had redeemed herself a little by helping heal people in the final battle, but they both knew that Blue could have done so much more. 

“Yes, and my grandmother had one.”  Belle let out a careful breath, struggling to keep from shouting.  “And so do you.”

“Of course I do.”  Blue folded her hands, and for a moment, Belle sympathized with every time Rumplestiltskin had ranted about fairies and their insular worldview.

“That’s really all you’re going to say, isn’t it?”  She wished she could sound incredulous, but by this point, Belle was just sadly unsurprised.

“I made my point.”

Fury raced through Belle, making more books rattle.  She clamped down on it again, forcing herself to speak calmly.  “Then let me make mine: leave the fae where they are.  They will serve the time that the _law_ demands for their crimes, and then they are my concern.”

Blue’s eyebrows rose.  “Yours?”

“I promised my grandmother that I would look after her people, and I will.”  Belle would also make sure that both Titania and Hobyah answered for the people they had hurt, but ironically, those two had been two of the less-bloody-minded fae.  _Or at least so far as we can prove._

The month and a half since the battle had been full of figuring out the law and trying to apply it.  Musicbrooke had held elections while the Camulodians struggled to figure out what kind of society they wanted to have, although they’d already co-opted Mordred into running whatever government they eventually settled on.  Storybrooke’s town council met fairly constantly, working out a system of laws that was a compromise between the old world and the new.  David had led those committees, with heavy input from Regina and Rumplestiltskin, whose law degree had turned out to be very useful, particularly since he had a near-encyclopedic level of knowledge concerning laws back in the Enchanted Forest, too.  In the end, Lamorak and his bully boys had been put on trial for extortion—and in a few cases—murder.  Now the worst of them were locked up while the minor players were stuck doing years’ worth of community service, and Belle didn’t feel a flicker of pity for them.

They were even drawing up a new town charter, one that Belle had hoped Blue would support.  But it was obvious that Blue was determined to have her own private fiefdom within Storybrooke, where the fairies answered only to her.  The most worrisome thing was the one fact Belle had _definitely_ not mentioned to Blue: Titania seemed to think that Blue would get the other fae out of exile and use them to bolster the fairies’ power, reuniting the fae and fairies into faeries once and for all.

As little as six months earlier, Belle wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from confronting Blue.  But now she remained silent, waiting and watching.  Being forewarned was being forearmed, after all, and she would take a page from her husband’s book and wait to see what would happen.  If Blue was truly determined to seek power for herself, they would stop her. But if she wasn’t, and Titania was only hoping that she would, a confrontation now would serve no one.

Meanwhile, Belle would do everything she could to help the human residents of Storybrooke recover from years of upheaval and battles.  She had the power to do what needed to be done, and she _would_.

So, she left Blue’s office without expecting any response…and without a flicker of guilt.

* * *

 

David hadn’t been expecting Kristoff and Anna to show up, but he was a little glad they had.  Robin was off at a doctor’s appointment with Regina, Emma was at the elementary school giving a presentation on how magic could help with solving crimes, and as a result, the Sheriff’s Station was pretty empty.  Being alone was never a good thing, particularly now that everything had quieted down and left him missing Snow more than ever, so he was really glad for the company.  Even if listening to Anna was kind of like listening to Baby Neal when he got babbling.

“He’s so cute!”  Anna was actually leaning over Neal at the moment, who David had brought to work that day.  Neal seemed to like her, too, and commenced a good babble that entertained Anna to no end.

“I’m sorry to hear about Snow,” Kristoff said quietly while Anna made faces at Neal.  “I didn’t get to know her well, but I can…well, I can guess how you have to feel.”

David swallowed, but still found his hand drifting towards where his wife’s heart beat in his chest.  “Yeah.  Part of her will always be with me, but…it’s not the same.”

“If we can do anything—not that I really think we can make it better—just let us know, all right?”  Kristoff’s round face was full of genuine emotion, and David nodded.

“I will.  It’s been long enough that I’ve figured out to live without her, though I never really expected that I would have to.”  He let out a breath, feeling that now-familiar pulse of warmth and love rush through him.  _I’ll always love you, Snow,_ he thought.  _No matter what._   “Luckily, I have a lot of family around, and I know that Snow would want me to go on.”

“Speaking of family, how’s Emma?  Elsa wanted us to check up on her, and we honestly don’t know enough about this town to figure out how to find her.  We were lucky that what’s-his-name showed us how to find you.”

David snorted out a laugh.  “Baelfire.  He’s actually the one Neal’s named after.”

Kristoff gave him a funny look.  “Good friend of yours?”

“Um.”  David realized that he should have thought before sharing that tidbit of information, because this one was _really_ hard to explain to outsiders.  “He is now, yeah.  But Snow and I named Neal because Bae—or Neal, which he was going by at the time—died to save all of us.”

“He looked pretty alive to me.”

“That’s kind of a long story.”  David sighed, trying to figure out how much of it to share or just to leave it at that.  Kristoff, however, had just kind of shrugged, reminding David of how very laid back Kristoff was. Kristoff was a practical sort, and one who took things at face value.  He was definitely the counterweight needed for Anna’s dreaminess, too.  David liked them both a lot, and Anna had helped him discover important things about himself when they’d both been younger, but he’d found they were both much more likeable together. 

In the end, Anna rescued him from having to explain their (even more these days) weird family tree by deciding that she was going to teach Neal to fly.  David stepped in to rescue his giggling son before that could go too far, and figured he could leave it to Emma to explain how her dead ex-boyfriend was now her boyfriend again. 

* * *

 

“We’ve got some visitors from Arendelle,” Bae said by way of greeting, walking into the shop a little while after lunch. 

“Oh?”  Rumplestiltskin never had much liked that world, although he had to admit that his last visit there had gone better than ones in the past.  Belle was rather fond of Anna, too, and the rest of the family had made friends with Arendelle’s royal clan, so he supposed that he should be on his best behavior.

He also hoped they weren’t there for help of a non-ice magic sort, but the odds of that were probably low.  _Belle can help them,_ he decided.  _It’ll be good practice for her, and I’m happy to hold her cloak while she does._   Adjusting to the fact that Belle could match him power-for-power had been an interesting experience, but Rumplestiltskin found it was one he usually enjoyed.  For him, power was security, but for Belle, it was a way of helping people.  And he sensed that she was much happier when she wasn’t the ‘junior’ member of their partnership, even if she’d never say as much.  So, Rumplestiltskin was happy to wear the mantle of the mysterious sorcerer while his wife became the bringer of goodness and light.

Though he was trying to keep her from exerting herself too much at this point in her pregnancy.  Belle was almost six months along, and Rumplestiltskin had to fight the daily urge to protect her from _everything_ and _everyone_ , much to her displeasure.  They’d mostly managed to find a happy medium, however, and their marriage was doing better than ever now that the insane string of calamities had finally stopped.

“Yeah.  Named Kristoff and Anna.  Apparently, they know Belle—and I’m hoping you never did anything terribly evil to them.”  His practical son didn’t sound very hopeful, though, and Rumplestiltskin had to snort at the wary expression on Bae’s face.

“Not recently, no.”  He shrugged.  “Our last meeting was even rather civil.  I took Belle to Arendelle to find her memories of her mother’s death.  It went well enough.”

“That’s a relief.”  Bae snorted.  “They came through a portal with a white rabbit.  Snarky little rabbit, actually.”

Now _that_ was at least a little interesting.  Rumplestiltskin had met the White Rabbit a few times in his days as the Dark One; he’d even contemplated cultivating the Rabbit’s friendship in order to use him as a portal jumper.  Unfortunately, he’d learned that the Rabbit’s magic had the same limitations that Jefferson’s did, and the Rabbit could only travel to lands _with_ magic.  That had made the Rabbit’s hole-digging abilities less than useful for his purposes, so he’d shelved the idea and left the White Rabbit alone.  Yet Bae was waiting for an answer, wearing a bemused expression that said he thought his father was old and losing touch.

“Yes, we’ve met.”  Rumplestiltskin cocked his head.  “But why in the world did he bring the other two?”

“I’m not really sure, but he said something about delivering a message to Belle from someone named Will.”

The thought of Will Scarlet brought an instinctive scowl to Rumplestiltskin’s face, but he tried to push his old feelings aside.  Will had been merely friendly with Belle when he left, and eager to patch up his relationship with his own True Love.  In his heart, Rumplestiltskin knew he had nothing to worry about, but the old, nervous spinner in him still wanted to rush to Belle and make sure she hadn’t suddenly decided to leave him.

_I trust her,_ he told himself firmly.  _And Scarlet would have come himself if he was trying to romance my wife, not sent a rabbit.  Even he’s not that foolish._

“Interesting,” was all he said, forcing his insecurities back.  Doing so was easier these days, easier than it had ever been.

“Is he the one who Belle had that stupid fling with?  She mentioned him once, said she’d been lonely and dumb.”

Bae’s question made him blink, and Rumplestiltskin had to fight back a smile at the phrasing.  If Belle had told _Bae_ about Will, that truly meant she’d never felt anything for the scrappy thief.  So, he was able to smile easily enough when he answered: “That’s the one.”

“Hey, at least Belle’s ex isn’t hanging around.”  Bae shrugged, but Rumplestiltskin could see the way anxiety was trying to creep into his son’s pseudo-casual posture.  “I can’t say the same for Emma.”

“And here I thought that the pirate was busy romancing Maleficent’s daughter.”

Bae gave him a dirty look.  “The ‘pirate’ is your nephew, Pop.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Point stands.”

“Yes, he is.  And he seems happy with her, too.”  Bae sighed quietly, slumping against the counter.  “It’s just…I don’t know how to do this.  Any of this.”

“Any of what?” 

“You know.  Long term romance.”  Brown eyes so very like his own turned to Rumplestiltskin, and they were more than a little wide with panic.  “What if I screw it up again?  What if I screw _her_ over again?  Emma means the world to me, and I can’t afford to mess this up.  There’s no way she’d forgive me a second time.”

“Have you done something that requires forgiveness?”

“No!  Of course not.  I’m just…” Bae trailed off, gesturing helplessly.

“Nervous,” Rumplestiltskin finished for him, smiling softly.  “You feel like you’re out of your league, like she’ll find someone better and walk away without looking back.”

“Yeah.”  His son suddenly looked so very sad.  “I mean, I’m just a spinner’s kid from the Frontlands, y’know?  She’s a princess, Papa.”

Reaching out, Rumplestiltskin put a hand on his son’s arm and squeezed gently.  “Do you think she cares about that?”

“No.”  Bae shook his head.  “I mean, I know Emma doesn’t give a damn about what we were born as, but…she’s still the Savior.  And I’m just me.  I don’t deserve her.”

“A wise woman once told me that love isn’t about deserving.  Love is about love.”  _It took me long enough to understand that, but now I think I finally do._

“That sounds like Belle.”  Bae finally cracked a smile, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled.

“Probably because it was her.”  He studied his son.  “Now, what brings on this sudden attack of nerves?”

Bae had always been far braver than his father, had always been able to adapt and adjust to any situation.  So Rumplestiltskin doubted that any small spat with Emma had brought this on; no, there had to be something significant going on.  Something big enough to shake Bae’s usually casual confidence.

“I’m, um, thinking about—eventually, I mean, not yet—trying to, ah…you know.”

“I know…?”  He waited for Bae to stop stuttering and say something sensible, but his son only gestured wildly.

“You know!  Relationship stuff.  Making it matter.  All that.”

What Bae was trying to say hit him like a ton of bricks, and Rumplestiltskin barely managed not to gape.  “You’re talking about proposing to Miss Swan?”

Bae cringed.  “Yeah.  I mean, it’s got to wait a bit, since we’ve only lived together for a month, but I want to spend my life with her, Papa.  I missed my last chance because I was a stupid coward, and I’m not going to miss out on this one.  I love her.”

“I know you do, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin squeezed his son’s arm again, forcibly calming his own racing mind.  He’d always wanted Bae to be happy, even if that meant his son being involved with a woman with whom Rumplestiltskin had—at best!—a contentious relationship with.  But he’d been on much better terms with Emma since she’d become the Dark One, and in the end, that didn’t really matter.  What mattered was how _Bae_ felt.

And Henry, too, but they all already knew what Henry would say about this idea.  He’d ask his father why he hadn’t proposed a month earlier.

“Are you okay with this?” Bae’s voice was suddenly small, and for a moment, he seemed like a six year old, desperate for his papa’s approval.

“Of course I am.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t even hesitate.  “I know how much she means to you, and you _did_ share True Love’s kiss, Bae. That would have made a believer out of me, even on my worst days.”

That finally made his son smile, right up until nervousness stole the expression away.  “I’m going to suck at this when I do propose.”

“Haven’t you done that before?” Rumplestiltskin asked before he could stop himself.  If he’d been an absolutely honest man, he would have found a way to tell Bae that he’d killed Tamara, but there was still a little too much of the old Rumplestiltskin left in him to volunteer that information.  If Bae asked, he wouldn’t lie…but now wasn’t the time to bring it up.  Bae was happy, and some wounds didn’t need to be picked at.  _She betrayed him, and he didn’t seem upset when he learned she was dead,_ he told himself.  _He never asked who did it, either.  For all I know, Bae might have already guessed._

He wasn’t going to ask, though.  Not when Bae was shaking his head.  “No, actually Tamara proposed to me.  It seemed too fast, but I was lonely and she was all I had…so, I said yes.  Seems pretty stupid now that I know she was using me.”

“No worse than my relationship with Cora.” 

“Yeah, no, I think you win there, Pop.” Bae grimaced.  “That woman was seriously scary.  Not to mention psychotic.”

“Let’s not mention that, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t argue, but he was glad that he could think of Cora without too much anger.  He _had_ loved her, once, with every fiber of his broken and darkened heart.  Theirs had been a destructive love, however, and it had taken Belle to teach him that there really was something better out there.

It had taken Belle’s love for Rumplestiltskin to remember how be to worthy of this amazing man his son had become, too.  Cora would have hated Bae, and Bae _really_ would have hated her.

But Cora was gone, as was Tamara, and they were both in far healthier relationships.  So, Rumplestiltskin talked his son through his nerves over asking Emma to marry him, and then took him to the jewelry store downtown to help him start ring shopping.

* * *

 

After Anna and Kristoff’s visit, time seemed to pass quickly in Storybrooke.  Belle insisted on housing the pair for a week’s visit, and although Anna still gave Rumplestiltskin sideways looks from time to time, they managed to get along fairly well.  Anna did make a few very poorly timed jokes about Emma and Killian’s breakup, and at one point they were all fairly sure that Lily wanted to burn her to a crisp, but Emma managed to talk Lily down.  Those two grew closer and closer, and they ended up sharing a lot of somehow-not-awkward double dates with their respective beaus as the months ticked by.

Life was pretty normal until Emma found herself holding _Regina’s_ hand while Henry’s other mom gave birth, and if that wasn’t both weird and out of place at the same time, she didn’t know how else to describe it.

“No one is going to try to steal _this_ baby, are they?” Whale asked while Regina groaned.

“Do I look like I care?” Regina snarled.  “Just get her out of me!”

“I was just checking.”  Whale shrugged, and then added: “Strangely enough, there’s some parts of this process that can’t be rushed.  Just keep breathing, and—”

“Don’t choke him, Regina!” Emma got in just as Regina’s hand tried to wrench free of her own, and she could tell _exactly_ what Regina had in mind.  “He’s a jerk, but he’s not worth it.”

“Besides, he’s still the only doctor in town, love.  We need him.”  Robin was probably trying to sound reasonable from Regina’s other side, but all it did was earn him a glare.

“I hate you sometimes.”  Regina’s voice dropped to a growl. “Particularly _now_.  This is all your fault!”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say, given how said child had been conceived, and Robin looked stricken.  “Gina, I—”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” she snapped.  “I knew what I was getting into.  I don’t hate you for _that_.  I hate you for being reasonable!”

Robin’s laugh was strained, but another contraction cut off anyone else from saying more, and then Emma managed to get Regina’s attention on breathing instead of bitching.  Elaine, the midwife from Camulodunum, continued talking Regina through things, and at least Regina _listened_ to her.  It didn’t stop Whale from cracking sarcastic comments from time to time, but they were mostly able to ignore him.

Once the baby was born—and not stolen—everyone forgot about their differences, anyway.

* * *

 

Hours later, Regina finally felt like she might eventually be human again.  She was grateful that Belle had dropped by with a potion to help her insides heal more quickly, even if it made her more tired than she wanted to admit.  Still, she had Robin at her side and their daughter in her arms, and Regina thought that was just about perfect.

“She’s beautiful, ‘Gina,” Robin whispered, trying not to wake their little girl.  “Absolutely perfect.  I can’t thank you enough for—”

“Hush.”  For once, there was no sharpness in her voice, and Regina liked that.  “Don’t thank me.  She’s my daughter, too.”

Robin just planted a wordless kiss on her forehead, and Regina felt the distant flare of perfect magic as he did.  For a moment, the feeling made her close her eyes, marveling at how _peaceful_ she felt.  She had doubted so many times if she would ever find true happiness, had done so many terrible things that she had doubted she’d _deserve_ it, yet here she was.  Her life wasn’t perfect; she would never forget that her daughter had been conceived when Zelena raped Robin, and Regina would never truly forgive herself for the horrible crimes she had committed, but she could accept that.  She could be who she was: a mayor who had learned how to lead, a mother to her sister’s daughter, and a woman who loved so fiercely that she could feel her heart burning with the fury of it all.

Now she looked at the little girl who she wouldn’t trade away for a thousand children of her own and smiled.  “I think she’s going to have black hair.”

“I think she is.”  Robin chuckled softly.  “There’s no one in my family with black hair, love. I think you’ve rubbed off on her.”

“Me?”  Somehow, that hadn’t occurred to Regina, and it made her look up at Robin with wide eyes.

“Yeah.”  He leaned in to kiss her forehead again.  “You.”

Regina couldn’t quite explain why that brought tears to her eyes, but it did.  Perhaps their daughter _was_ hers in more than her heart.  Perhaps she wasn’t.  In the end, it didn’t really matter.  Regina would love her all the same.  Gently, she brushed at the so-soft hair on their daughter’s head.  “I love her so much already.  I love her so much that it hurts.”

“Me, too.”  Robin’s voice was full of wonder, and several moments passed in blissful silence as they just watched their sleeping daughter.  Finally, he asked: “Shall we call her Raven, then?”

“Raven?” Regina tested the name out, and found she rather liked the way it sounded.  They’d discussed several names, and Raven hadn’t been one of them, but somehow that just _fit_.  “Raven, Robin, Roland, and Regina?” She laughed despite herself.  “Poor Henry might feel left out.”

Robin snorted.  “I think he’s secure enough not to worry.”

“I know.”  Regina had been joking, and she’d actually been rather touched when Henry had insisted on being there for the birth.  He was a little young for this kind of thing, so they’d  kicked him out before it got really messy, but Regina knew that her eldest son loved her just as deeply as she loved him.  “Raven Hood, or Raven Locksley?”

“I was thinking Raven Mills, actually.”  Robin’s words took her breath away, but he just shrugged.  “Locksley was my title before I gave it up, and Hood is a rubbish last name.  So, I thought we might all take yours, assuming it’s all right with you.”

Regina just kissed him like her life depended on it.  She figured that was answer enough.

* * *

 

Two months to the day after Raven Mills was born, Gabrielle Gold screamed her way into the world.  Her father was a nervous wreck during the birth, having never seen _anything_ like this before—somehow, Rumplestiltskin had managed to avoid women giving birth, despite the high number of babies who had passed through his hands—but Belle barely seemed to break a sweat.  She did almost kick him out of the room when Rumplestiltskin started fretting, but Morgan yelling at him had shamed him into calming down.  Either that, or the idea of his brother mocking him for being unable to stomach his own child being born did the trick, because he knew that Mordred was in the crowd waiting outside.

Bae was there, too, as were Henry and Emma—who was finally sporting that ring on her finger after Bae needed the last two months to work up the courage to propose.  Had David not inadvertently ruined the surprise by asking Emma if Bae had popped the question yet, they might _still_ have been waiting to find out if those two would ever tie the knot, but Bae had hurried to make up for that, much to his father’s amusement.  Killian was _still_ teasing him about that, now that he and Lily were back from their three month tour of the eastern seaboard, and Rumplestiltskin found that the idea of the formerly-one handed pirate waiting outside the hospital room no longer bothered him. 

They had entirely too much family these days, Rumplestiltskin figured, but all disgruntled thoughts left his mind the moment he held his baby girl in his arms.  She was absolutely beautiful and looked nothing like him, which Rumplestiltskin figured would be a blessing as she grew older. 

“Oh, Belle.” He didn’t have any other words, just a besotted smile for his wife that he transferred back to their daughter after a moment.

Belle’s smile was radiant, too.  “I think she looks like you.”

“Let’s hope not.”  But he managed to laugh; Rumplestiltskin was a father, again, and this time he wouldn’t screw things up.  He wouldn’t give up his relationship with Baelfire for anything, but he was determined to do _right_ by this child from the start.

It was also nice to know that his daughter would never go hungry, that she’d never lack for necessities—or even luxuries—and that his wife would love her every bit as much as he did.  Grow though Rumplestiltskin might have done over the last nine months, he would never shake the memories of struggling alone to keep his son alive through hard winters.  Or those of having frightened his son with his power, of chasing a beloved child away because he could not contain his own darkness.  _Not this time,_ he vowed.  _This time I will be the father my child deserves._

“I think you’re beautiful,” Belle said as he handed Gabrielle back over.

“I think _she’s_ beautiful.”  He kissed his wife gently.  “Almost as beautiful as you.”

“Give her time,” Morgan put in from Belle’s other side, smiling like the proud grandmother she was.  “I think your daughter is going to break many hearts.”

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that.  “Better she break their hearts than I their heads,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

“Rumple.”  Belle chided him gently, but she didn’t look too put out.  They were both too happy to take him seriously, even if Rumplestiltskin _did_ plan on terrifying the life out of any boy who thought they could take liberties with his little girl.

Seventeen years and a dozen boyfriends later, his legendary ability to intimidate would-be lovers failed him when Gabi announced that she was dating Raven Mills, who knew that her ‘Uncle Rumple’ was far more bark than he was bite.

Watching them kiss for the first time, however, damn near gave him a heart attack.

* * *

 

Of course, that was hardly the end of the story, or even the high points.  Henry had started writing in earnest after the Final Battle, but he’d been careful to go back and record the stories of both curses, too, because his original storybook only covered the casting of the first curse.  Writing without the quill was slower, but he figured that he had time—and a computer, too, which sped things up in ways he really liked.  Maybe someday he’d publish the stories, he figured, although he knew no one would believe they were true.

Still, he was the Author.  It took him a long time to realize how important that role was; when he was younger, Henry just wanted to change things, just wanted to be a hero.  But as he grew older, Henry started to understand that there were many heroes in the world, and not all of them fought with swords or magic.  Most of them weren’t perfectly heroic, either; maybe things had been simpler back in the Enchanted Forest, but in Storybrooke, things were _real_.  And he didn’t have to be just some knight or prince from a fairytale.  He could be that _and_ the Author, and Henry rather liked the idea of younger generations reading his word.

After all, who would he have been without the Book in his life?

“Whatcha doing?”  A small hand tugged on his sleeve, making Henry look down.

Seeing his youngest uncle made him smile.  “Writing a story.”

“Is it a fun story?”

“It’s the _best_ story.”  Reaching down, Henry pulled Gideon into his lap.  Gideon was just six, now, the baby of a very large family, and Henry had babysat him—along with Gabi, Neal, Roland, and Raven—too many times to count.  “You’re in it, too.”

“ _Me?_ ”  Brown eyes widened, and for a moment, Henry had to grin to himself.  Everyone from the Cornwall side of the family seemed to have those brown eyes, from Morgan on down.  That was a link to the paternal side of his family that Henry had never expected to have, and he liked it.

“Yep.  We all are.”

“What’s it called?”

“You know, I was going to change the title.”  Henry chuckled to himself, glancing at the place where the original Book was propped up against the side of his desk, always there to remind him about how everything had begun.  “But I think I’m not going to.”

Gideon peered at him with wide eyes.  “Then what is it?”

“It’s a classic.  _Once Upon a Time.”_

“Isn’t that just how stories start?”  His little uncle frowned, and Henry shook his head.

“Yeah, it’s a start.  But it’s a lot more than that, too.  It’s the story of who we are.”

* * *

 

FINIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it. Wow. 845,000 words later, this story is finally done. I’m still a little in shock.
> 
> That said, I’m not quite done with this universe—I plan to write oneshots here and there in the “Ruins & Battles” universe, so look for them both here and on tumblr. In the meantime, if you’re on tumblr and so inclined, please vote for Ruins & Battles as Best Series (this story isn’t eligible after winning Best AU!OUAT and Best Season Rewrite last year). Also, if you’re reading this story’s remix, A Different Battle, look for an update to that fic this week.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me through this wild ride of a story!


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